Even though she faded physically, Celthair was healing inside, in her heart the corrupting effects of the sword no longer had a hold. It would never leave her, but she was able to think more clearly each day.

She was sitting up in bed a few days later, having eaten under Mags loving eye and her eyes rested on a figure outside her door.

“Who is that?” she asked Mags.

Mags glanced up, “Oh that’s just Ciaran, he has not left that door since you arrived here. He only goes to a room across the hall to sleep then comes back there all day.”

Celthair began to cry.

Her lack of emotion over the past weeks had left a massive void to fill. It was love she felt and regret at hurting his feelings with Darragh. Love was the feeling she had missed dreadfully. No longer did she want to hurt him.

“Ciaran,” she called out.

Ciaran leapt into the room; sword drawn.

“What is it?” he cried out, “tell me who it is.”

Seeing him standing there, looking alarmed suddenly made Celthair giggle. Then she began to laugh, holding her stomach and pointing at Ciaran’s confused face. This only served to make her laugh louder and longer.

Before long Mags was laughing and then Ciaran stood there with a foolish and grinning expression, still confused but feeling the humour of the situation. When she had settled down, she motioned to Ciaran to sit next to her on the bed. She took his hand.

“Oh Ciaran, I am so sorry,” she said.

“I should hope so,” he said. “Laughing at a man doing his job is not good for his ego.”

“I’m sorry for that too,” said Celthair. “But I had not laughed for so long, it all just came out. I feel so much better for it. Ciaran, I do love you, but I was so ashamed of myself. Look where it got me, If I had not pushed you away, I am sure this all would have never happened.”

Ciaran leaned in and kissed Celthair on the forehead. When he stopped, she leaned her head back and put her hand behind his head, pulling his lips down to hers. Ciaran melted into her, their arms wrapping around each other.

“What about Darragh?” asked Ciaran.

“Nothing happened there,” said Celthair dismissively. He is lovely and so respectful. But he lacks what you are to me.”

“What am I to you Celthair?” he asked.

“Everything,” she said in her warmest and softest voice.

But Celthair’s eyes grew ashen once more. She had suddenly remembered all the pain of loss and death outside. “Has anyone we known died?” she enquired.

Ciaran looked sad as his mind went to what was occurring outside.

“Yes, thousands, many of your soldiers have died as well. Reports are in that there are about thirty thousand dead. More die each day, only a few succumb, but the same amount each day. They are past blaming you; they are looking for answers, for a cure.”

Tears spung into Celthair’s eyes and she looked like she was going to be sick. She had not known these people very long, but she suddenly felt remorse and a pain in her heart, her stomach churned, for the terrible losses she had inflicted upon these people. But it was as much a lesson for her as it was for them. They trusted the power of Mac Roth a little less. But they knew nothing different. It would take someone who would be able to teach them of something better.

“Take me to the gates of the palace,” she ordered, “I want to make an announcement.”

“Not a good idea, you are still weak” said Ciaran, Mags nodded in agreement.

“Nonsense, there is no time to waste,” said Celthair, “We must seek a cure, and I will find it! I need to tell the people. They need to see that I care. I will not be their queen till I have done this one thing and bought them peace and health once more.”

Celthair sat up and swung her legs off the bed. She felt weak and shaky. Mags helped her stand and then assisted her to slip on her leather armour, doing up the buckles and adjusting her boots. She stood and felt strength coming back to her muscles as they began to warm up with the movement.

She painfully walked to the window and looked down at the people gathered below. They looked beaten, some of them weakly draped over fences and benches.

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Celthair felt some compassion for them, so she made her way as quickly as she could down the stairs of the palace. She made her way through the crowd. Ciaran close behind, fearing for her life.

Those who could, followed her curiously. Some spoke up and berated her.

“You have bought a curse on us, may you be cursed also, heir of Amerghin.”

She walked over to them and took them by the hand, looking into their eyes.

“For this I am truly sorry,” she bowed, “I will make this right, if I can, I will do my best for you.”

She did this with every person she met, and she left them with a glint of hope. After they had met her, they began to believe that it could not have been her, she was too kind and beautiful of nature. This was the real Celthair. A perfect representation of the nature of both her parents. Strong, humble and compassionate.

A warrior, dressed in dark leather, light battle armour, approached Celthair and when she saw him, she reacted instantly. “Dom,” she said excitedly. What are you doing here?”

Dom recounted how he had met Ciaran a few cycles prior. But she sensed a sadness in his disposition. “I know what you have done,” he said, “The Elemental pandemic has claimed my wife, Gretta, he paused, tear in his eyes. “I blamed you Celthair, you stepped beyond your abilities and bought this on us all.”

Celthair immediately felt weak, took his hand and collapsed to her knees. A wave of nausea went through her body, as more evidence of her actions came to light. Tears ran down her eyes and she looked up at him.

“I am sorry Dom, I cannot ask your forgiveness, I will seek forgiveness for my actions. I promise.”

“I know,” said Dom. “I do not doubt that this is what you will do, you have the honour of your Father and Mother, you always have.”

He pulled Celthair to her feet.

“I will help you in your absolution,” he said. “But first I must go and finish my business. My Crew will remain here till this Epidemic is stayed. I will meet you, wherever you are. Do not wait for me.”

Celthair nodded, and she watched him leave, tears in her eyes, thankful for his forgiveness. Slightly glad that she had seen him once again after so long.

People watched her walk past silently, sadness in their faces. She bowed respectfully as she walked past. Suddenly a man, stricken with grief, attacked her with a stave. He came fast and she saw him coming. Celthair fell to her knees, head bowed and waited for the man to hit her. But it didn’t. She looked up. The man, tears in his eyes, looked shocked. Her humility had stopped his hand. “You killed my children,” he sobbed. Celthair rose and put her arm around him, looking into his eyes. “I did, and I will be punished,” she said. “I am leaving and will find a cure.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he kneeled in sorrow.

“Come and see me when I get back,” she said. “You will not be forgotten, neither will your children.”

The man nodded. He had some hope in his eyes.

Celthair, Ciaran and Mags made their way slowly to the seat of discernment, meeting more people who vented their anger and pain at her. A crowd followed and finally she stepped up on the raised platform where she had stood and made the dreadful mistake.

Celthair looked around and groaned as the memories flooded back. She winced as she remembered her pride and the feeling of power. She had felt that she was a worthy queen and better than all those who had been gathered.

She turned to take in the people’s faces, slowly, one at a time. Bowing toward them. The people didn’t see the same person. Before they had seen a woman, with the same golden hair, dark eyes and a sword grasped in her hand. Now they saw a young and humble woman, with a look of empathy. Those whose eyes she met, were instantly affected by her grace and demeanour. They saw a deep and fervent search for reconciliation. They saw a queen, Amerghin’s heir, a sorry and now worthy queen, determined to repair her and her grandfather’s wounds.

Celthair finally spoke, her voice bright and clear, no longer loud, dark and foreboding.

“People of Black city, I am not yet worthy to be called heir of Athlethan, Riangbra, whom you do not know is calling me to right this grievous wrong I have bought upon you. I wrongly sought help from my grandfather’s path. I will come back to you, and I will have a cure for this.”

When she stopped, there was silence for a moment and the crowd murmured. It sounded supportive. After a few moments a man stepped forward. He was dressed in the clothes of one who sat on the council.

“My lady, daughter of Tuatha of Athlethan. We accept your offer and will await your return. Our hope rests on you.” He bowed. “You are still our queen, and we accept your claim. Please return to us. I speak on behalf of the people here.”

Celthair thought she sensed fear in the woman, she looked nervous, and she did not look at Celthair’s face as she spoke. Celthair bowed once more and made her way off the platform and began to walk along the streets to the north of the city. As her, Ciaran and Mags went, along with those who said they would stay with her, from Athlethan. A man appeared with a horse. On its saddle were packs of food. He gave Celthair the reigns. “My lady, you will need my horse and food.” Celthair was surprised at the generosity and thanked the man. “You may have him back when I return,” she said. “No,” he said, “he is a warrior’s horse and always has been too good for me, but he will suit a queen perfectly,” he said. Again, Celthair thought she saw nervousness in this man too. Maybe he was giving this to them out of fear. She wiped away the thought. No, they wanted her to succeed, was all.

It did not take long and soon they all had hordes and food and another horse carrying large packs full of food for a journey. Cakes and Trias bread that would not spoil for many day cycles.

Celthair turned to Ciaran as they rode. “Ciaran, I have a request for you, and you will not agree. I must take the sword with me. It is a burden I must carry; I need to learn control over it.”

Ciaran shook his head. “No, you must not, it is dangerous.”

Celthair looked at him, her eyes pleading.

They looked at each other for a long while, their eyes speaking unheard words.

Finally, shaking his head, his eyes full of concern, Ciaran turned his horses head and galloped back to the palace to retrieve Mac Roth, the sword of the dark lord.

Buadach growled under his breath. Nothing was going according to his plan. He had been greedy and power hungry. Giving the sword to a woman, not trained in the use of elemental power was a mistake he had made because he had simply forgotten the training that was required to control it. He had revelled in her raw power that she had in her, that came from her grandfather. Buadach decided he was step back and watch from a distance, to see what would happen. He hoped Celthair would learn how to control it herself. He trusted the sword would corrupt her and then he could step in as her mentor.