“How’s he doing up there?” Donal asked.

“He’s still out,” Siobhan said.

“Not to sound judgmental, but you’ve been healing him for over an hour,” he said. “How much longer will it take?”

"This isn’t a bruise or a stab wound—or even a broken bone," Siobhan said. "Most of the recovery can’t be done by a spell. Your body feels every bit of your hand, from the outside of your skin down to your bone. Now it feels nothing, and yet sometimes the body’s fooled into thinking it still does.”

“Then there’s the treatment. We had to close something without anything to close it with—and you know how that turned out. And to top it all off, he’s right-handed. Everything is going to be harder for him now. Any of these factors would be too much for some people, let alone all of the them.”

“So what have you been doing to him, then?” he asked.

“Trying to heal the damage we did by closing his arm,” she said. “Trying to prevent it from becoming infected. Trying to ease his pain. The truth is I’d have better luck with that with the herbs and bandages I used on your brother back home than I am having with magic.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

She gave him a smile that begged one in return.

“Now you do,” she said.

Donal looked over the nearby treetops to the hills that crested above them. This route was meant to be shorter than that of their adversaries yet they spent most of the past hour going south and southeast.

“Maeve, how much time are we saving exactly?” Donal asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How much sooner will we arrive in Kilmacrennan before Breaslin does?”

“Four hours, maybe. Six if we’re very lucky but, given our run of luck lately, two hours would be a stretch.”

“That’s all?” Donal said.

“They’re riding on the better road,” she said. “We’re running with a wagon over rougher road.”

“What if we found a place to camp for a few hours?” Finn asked. “Maybe we could ride into the village without the wagon.”

“Six people and their full gear on four horses? They’d tire too quickly.”

“That would be another reason to stop,” Finn said. “So we can address the real possibility that it won’t be all six of us going.”

Maeve turned her head to catch Finn with one eye.

“At a time like this!” Maeve said. “Are you seriously keen on—”

Gavin cleared his throat.

“You know,” he said, “I know someone up the road that owes me a favor. I’m not positive that it’s on the level of quartering a group this size, but it’s tucked behind a small line of hills as this whole range thins out. Even if all we do is refresh our water from his pond, it would be worth it.”

“Not the worst idea,” Siobhan said. “At some point we’ll need to rest and plan.”

Maeve’s head was still craned toward Finn, but she looked at Gavin as he rode alongside her.

“If you truly think it’s worth it, then we’ll go there,” she said.

“I do,” Gavin said. “The turn is a quarter of a mile past these curves.”

"Cut that question a bit close, did we?" she asked.

The passing landscape was nowhere near as idyllic as the valley from which they escaped. Earthen colors dulled the green of the hilltops. Large stretches of tall grass were pockmarked with large bushes and patches of dried grass. Turf-covered boulders littered the roadside, most of them nested on top of their own pile of pebbles and broken stones. Late-season dog violets and buttercups were the only sources of vibrant color.

The ridge on their left flattened. A road emerged from behind it and joined their road twenty yards ahead. The group turned left and followed this new road into the hills. Gavin held up a hand for them to stop short of a cabin.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll go talk to them.”

Gavin dismounted and knocked on their front door. A small child no older than eight years old opened the door and hugged Gavin’s leg. The child then wrapped its legs around Gavin’s, forcing the smithy to lug his lopsided shoe into the house, closing the door behind him.

“I thought Gavin didn’t have any family in the north,” Siobhan said.

“He doesn’t,” Maeve said.

Siobhan grinned.

“Perhaps it’s just some widow that’s taken a shine to him.”

“Siobhan, does it look like I’m up for any of your slagging right now?”

“Ah well, don’t worry,” Siobhan said. “I’m sure she’s only beautiful in the conventional way.”

Maeve turned her body backward and pointed a finger at Siobhan. The only thing saved Siobhan was the sound of the door closing a second time behind Gavin.

“Here’s us,” he said. “My friend told me that some odd-looking fellas—clearly Breaslin’s men—have been coming round lately. He doesn’t want to know us, much less take us in. Which is why I promised him that if they catch us camping next to his pond down the road, we won’t have any clue who lives in this cabin behind me.

“He told you that?” said Maeve.

She raised her nose and held eye contact with Siobhan.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“What’s his name, then?”

“Maeve… I just told you what I promised,” Gavin said. “I’m not telling you until this whole thing’s over, in case they catch us.”

Maeve’s shoulders and smile sunk as the air left her sails.

“Right. Take us to the spot, then.”

****

Again. And again. And again.

Siobhan had saved Niall’s life. The group escaped the abbey. They had covered their tracks. Gavin had even secured a secluded spot to recover and rest. The adrenaline that had coursed through Donal’s blood had faded, and the bigger picture started to unfold before him.

Gavin relieved Siobhan and watched over Niall while she and Finn watered the horses. Maeve climbed the ridge the separating their camp from the main road to check for scouts and pursuers.

Donal got the first chance at whatever rest was possible but all he could do was replay the order of events in his head, over and over:

> He throws the knife at the archer.

>

> The fight resumes.

>

> Niall loses his hand to the brute.

After several dozen replays in his mind, Donal began to imagine alternate sequences until he settles on what he should have done:

> He throws the knife at the brute.

>

> The chamber freezes in stunned silence.

>

> Donal throws his spear at the archer.

>

> Everybody’s fine.

He tried to force his eyelids shut to squeeze a nap into this brief opportunity, but his eyes inevitably opened and drifted to the spot where Gavin tended to Niall, and the cycle started anew:

> He throws the knife at the archer.

>

> The fight resumes.

>

> Niall loses his hand to the brute.

There was no peace to be had. Not right now.

Siobhan didn’t want you to throw the knife, Shadow told him. She wanted you to pass it to someone who could do something useful with it. But you thought you could save them and look what happened.

You can’t even save yourself from me.

For years he allowed himself to be convinced that Shadow had the better perspective. It didn’t matter how illogical its argument was—Shadow was always right. If it was talking, any extended argument would end in some form of pain for Donal.

Look at Niall.

Donal turned his head away and started rubbing his hands and forearms.

I said, ‘Look!’

That was your doing. What’s going to happen to Maeve or Siobhan in Kilmacrennan because of you? What’s going to happen to Finn? Who’s going to pay for your mistakes next time?

****

“Is he… leaving?” Siobhan asked.

Finn looked from Siobhan to the camp. Donal approached them with a sack slung over his shoulder and his spear in hand. He walked straight toward Siobhan and pointed behind her.

“I need one of the horses,” Donal said.

“For what?” she asked.

“I need one. Just one.”

“You’re not getting any of these horses without an explanation.”

“You don’t understand!”

“You’re right, Donal, I don’t," she said.

“Why can’t you just trust me?”

“Usually I can. Put yourself in my shoes though. Someone comes up in the middle of mission like ours and starts demanding one of the horses without giving a reason why. Would you give them the horse?”

“You don’t understand!”

“Help me to,” she said.

Donal threw down the sack and ran his free hand up his hairline and yelled through gritted teeth. He stepped backward and looked toward Gavin and Niall.

“Please,” he said. “Just one.”

“The number of horses isn’t what I’m concerned out.”

Finn looked closer at the arm Donal held to his head. Several small scratches were visible on the outside of his forearm between the sleeves of his hauberk and his wrists. Each of the scratches were new. Tiny red smears from them pointed to his hands. These weren’t battle marks or from the rubbing of his chainmail. It was worse than that.

Finn held up a hand to enter the conversation.

“Donal, you can't blame yourself for what happened Niall.”

"Seems to be the thing to do," Siobhan muttered.

Donal’s head sunk toward his collarbone and his back stiffened. He turned his whole body to Finn, standing two feet away.

“This doesn’t concern you!” he yelled.

Donal turned his body back toward Siobhan. Maeve descended the hill towards camp to investigate the argument.

“It concerns all of us,” Siobhan said. “Why are you any more at fault than the rest of us?”

His eyes darted between Siobhan and the ground. His posture relaxed after a few moments.

“Because I should have thrown the knife at the big man,” Donal said. “Then while everyone was stunned I would have hit the archer with the spear instead.”

“Donal, was the room stunned when you threw the knife, or did the fight start immediately?”

A grimace appeared on Donal’s face. The longer he considered the answer, the deeper it dug into his brows and cheeks.

“I don’t think you would have time to do both,” she said. “That’s why I told you to throw it at the archer, and you were dead on. Maeve and I would have died if you hadn’t done what you did.”

“You don’t know that!” Donal yelled.

He softened his tone.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just…”

He trailed off. Finn recognized the opportunity to try again.

“We understand what he means to you,” Finn said. “You’ve always gotten along great with him—sometimes better than you have with Murrough.”

Donal gritted his teeth.

“I told you I’m not talking to you!” he yelled.

Finn stepped backwards and raised both hands in surrender.

“Donal, why are you giving out to Finn?” Siobhan asked. “I’m asking the questions. I’m telling you, ‘no.’”

Siobhan always was wonderful with Donal. Her soft touch and the way in which she could intuit something without it sounding judgmental were some of his favorite things about her. Several of her monthly visits included a moment or two where she provided a safe ear to hear all of Donal’s grievances with his brother.

At this moment, however, in the midst of the fatigue, the pressure and the uncertainty, her facade was cracking. Finn rested his hand on her shoulder and let his expression tell her that he was fine—relatively speaking, anyway.

“I don’t need to hear it from him,” Donal said. “Honestly, I should have slid the knife to you.”

“You have to know it wouldn’t have done a thing to save anyone,” she said.

“I do not! Are you going to give me a bleedin’ horse so I can fix this or do I have to leg it there on my own?”

“I will not give you a horse,” Siobhan said. “But I hope you don’t go.”

“Watch me and see how far hope carries ya,” Donal said.

Donal turned and headed toward the main road.

Finn stepped toward his brother, knowing enough not to lay a hand on him in this state.

“Donal, think this through,” Finn said.

Donal spun around and put the tip of his spear three inches from his brother’s throat.

“I’ve done nothin’ but think about this. You were against the two of us joining this fight. Maybe you were right. You’re always right, aren’t ya?”

Donal’s sleeve slid up his raised arm, allowing Siobhan a clear view of the scratches. She’d seen the marks like these before--mostly in the first year after after the boys’ parents had passed--and got the explanation from Finn at the time. Any signs of annoyance left her face as she looked back at Finn.

Finn slowly showed Maeve his palm to stop her from advancing. She couldn’t know how many times in the past his brother threatened him—though never with such a weapon at his disposal. Donal’s eyes flared with hate. All Finn could do was hope that at least some of it was for Breaslin. In moments like these Finn knew he was rarely the real target of Donal’s hatred—and it broke his heart every time.

Maeve ignored Finn and yelled from the bottom of the hill.

“Donal, you know he’s just looking out for you. We all are.”

“Grand. Look all you want. Just don’t follow me.”

Donal held Finn’s gaze for a few more seconds and then spun around. The trio watched in silence as he disappeared around a bend.

Once Donal was out of sight, Gavin walked over to Finn and Siobhan.

“Don’t mean to pry,” he said. “What did he mean when he said he will ‘fix it?’”

“Hard to tell sometimes,” Finn said. “In the past, it would mean he’s running away. He’d see himself as a problem and the easiest solution would be to remove himself from the situation.”

“Now? I’m glad were at least three miles from town,” Finn said. “I think he’s going after ‘em all. I’m hoping that fatigue wears him down and cools him off sooner than usual.”

“I’ll go back up,” Maeve said. “We still have a few more hours until twilight; I should be able to see him for a while. You may want a horse ready to chase after him if it takes too long, though.”

“Just don’t let him see you watching him,” Finn said.

“I don’t know if I find that adorable or insulting,” Maeve said.

----------------------------------------