Buadach bought them to a mansion, it had massive oak doors and was run down and overgrown with vegetation. It would have been magnificent in its earlier days.

The doors opened and a wizened old man stood there, dressed like a servant. He bowed to Buadach as they walked in and then struggled to push the massive doors back into place behind them. They boomed loudly as they closed and a beam dropped into a cradle on the door, locking them in.

“Welcome to my home,” said Buadach. He showed them to a room with two beds.

“I will call for you soon,” he said. Make yourselves comfortable. There is a hot bath for you. Victuals will be served at Sunset.” He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Celthair and Mags alone.

There was dust on everything and when Mags sat on the bed a cloud of dust enveloped her, making her sneeze and cough.

“Well, it’s a bed and bath, but it’s a little dusty and smells” said Mags, wrinkling her nose. “He must have fallen on hard times.”

After they had eaten, having been served by the little old man a meal of bread and vegetable soup, they were taken to a large hall where they came before Buadach, who was now sitting on what resembled a throne. Albeit a small one, raised up slightly and leading up to it dusty yellow rugs. The throne was made of a dark coloured wood, hewn from the forests of Sennol to the south of the city.

Celthair noticed something leaning against the throne and saw that it was a black sword. It seemed to throb slightly in her vision, like it was going in and out of focus for her.

Her mind suddenly went to her friends whom she had been captive with, and she looked at Buadach.

“Sir, how can we rescue my friends?” she asked. “We must start tomorrow.”

“You will, tomorrow,” said Buadach. “But you will need help.”

He reached down and picked up the black sword.

“Who do you say you are?” he asked. “I want you to say it.”

Celthair opened her mouth to speak, but Buadach held up his palm.

“Wait,” he said. He got up and walked over to her, reached out and handed her the black sword.

It was hot where he had been holding it and it still throbbed.

“Now, he said, “say who you are, your full title, stating your family name to your great grandfather”. His eyes watched her and flicked back and forth from the sword to her eyes.

“I am Celthair, daughter of King Tuatha De Daanan Findabair, son of King Aillel, son of Emain the third of the line of Emain.”

As she spoke the sword vibrated and hummed. It was heavy to begin with, but it grew lighter, and she lifted it easily over her head. She did not know why she did it, but it felt right, she felt like all the doubts and worry for her friends lifted. She felt she could just walk to where they were and rescue them. Her shoulders went back, and she felt taller. Static filled the air around her and her hair went frizzy, rising around her like an aura.

Buadach, his eyes bright, laughed. “Amazing,” he said, laughing some more. “You are a natural, you are indeed of the line of Emain.

“What is this?” asked Celthair.

Mags had stepped back. From her perspective, Celthair had changed. Her eyes went darker, and she seemed to grow in size. The air around her hummed and when she looked at Mags and grinned, she looked wild and slightly scary.

Buadach, finally stopped laughing and cackling.

“Celthair, you have ability, amazing abilities, you are a natural. Has your father ever let you hold the sword Salchah?”

“No,” said Celthair. “I did ask once but he said no.”

“Tuatha is not the chosen one. Cathabad and Rhiannon, both thought so, but no, I never saw Tuatha do what you just did. Celthair, you are the chosen one, the true bearer of Salchah and the scabbard of Athlethan.”

“But what are you talking about?” asked Celthair. “This is not Salchah, this is a different sword. A black sword, this is…”, and it suddenly dawned on her. “Mac Roth,” she spat, throwing it to the ground. She stepped back looking at it in horror.

“Yes, it is,” said Buadach. “From Mac Roth’s corpse I took it at the base of Mount Triune. But I have never seen it react like this, not in Ruad or Amerghin’s hands even. Celthair, you have the ability to control Elemental power and not be corrupted by it. You are too pure, too powerful.” Buadach licked his lips with anticipation and picked up Mac Roth. He held it toward Celthair once more, but she stepped away from him.

“You can use this to save your friends, you will not be defeated, and you will have this city at your feet. Don’t be afraid of it, Celthair. In Amerghin’s hands it corrupted him, his mind was already dark and lost. But it has a new owner, the pure and beautiful daughter of Emain. You will bring light to the people of all the Deep Lands. You will save all people, with this sword in the west and Salchah in the east, all will be united as one. Celthair, you will bear this sword to the white eternity, it is written.”

He motioned the sword toward her, willing her to take it.

Celthair heard the words of Buadach and the doubt she felt was fading. So, they were wrong, there was nothing to fear from this sword and Elemental power in the right hands, her hands. Her pure hands. She would use it to do good and help people.

She stepped forward and reached out toward it.

“Are you sure?” asked Mags nervously.

“Yes!” said Celthair, taking the humming and slightly throbbing sword from Buadach.

“Tomorrow, we rescue the slaves.” She said holding up the sword.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Nothing can stop us,” Celthair thought, “I’ll save everyone.”

“They aren’t slaves,” said Mags under her breath, “they are the good people of Athlethan!”

She didn’t realise, but she had found the first mistake this sword made Celthair make, it was the mistake of pride. Celthair was slightly less humble than she had been when they first arrived in Buadach’ s mansion.

In Sennol, the new and smaller Mt. Triune rumbled for the first time in twenty cycles and some magma burst out its side and landed on the cold rocks like spittle.

The next morning Celthair and Mags awoke to a grey sky, fine misty drops of moisture floated through the air, dampening everything till it was dripping. Celthair sprang from the bed and was surprised to find she was holding the swords hilt in her grasp. When she let go her fingers felt stiff and sore. It was as if she had been holding it tightly all night and her hand was tired. She shrugged and picked it up again, strapping the scabbard to her waist and thigh.

After breaking their fast, they left for the city. Celthair felt confident and powerful. She strode through the gates, Mags followed hesitantly, not sharing her friends enthusiasm. When they arrived at the market, Mags was horrified to see Celthair walk up to the slave merchant who had sold them on the previous day. Celthair tapped him on the shoulder with the sword. The man was large and dirty, with a messy beard and a large paunch. He turned and saw her. He stared for a few moments at the tip of the sword then followed it with his eyes to the bearer. When he saw her, he began to laugh. A group of men gathered around her.

“Ah, the slave girl, escaped, have we? Let’s get you back to your owner.” He grabbed the end of the sword with his gloved hands and pulled it, expecting and easy removal of the sword from her grasp. Celthair pulled the sword, and it sliced through the glove and deep into the man’s hand. He cried out in surprise and annoyance. He stepped back and motioned to his men. “Get her,” he said. “But don’t hurt her, we don’t want to have to give a refund.”

The men circled her, watching the sword. Two of them attacked from the front and the back simultaneously. Celthair stepped back and slapped one of them with the flat of the sword, the other she spun and cut his arm deeply.

“Do not touch me,” she said menacingly, “I will not hurt you if you give me a list of your clients who have my friends.”

More of the men leaped at her, and stepped back or fell, wounded.

A crowd had now gathered, and people were watching the event unfold. Soon all the men were standing back. The slave merchant glowered at her. “You are in trouble,” he said, “The enforcers are coming.”

Sure enough, some soldiers appeared, bearing the plumes and standards on their shields of the Dark soldiers of the dark city. They saw Celthair with the sword and surrounded her quickly. They grabbed the merchant and spoke to Celthair.

“You are to come with us. The council will see you now.”

Celthair was furious, she stood in front of the speaker and held the sword toward him. “I am not going anywhere, this man must give me his client list, he sold my friends, my people and I want them back.

“I have a legitimate business here,” said the merchant. “I want her arrested for attacking me and my men.”

The leader of the soldiers looked the merchant up and down disdainfully. “A woman bested you, did she? I suggest you leave before I set her on you again. I want that list bought to me now.”

The soldier turned to Celthair. “Now, I suggest you give me the sword. Weapons are banned in the market.”

“You won’t want to do that,” replied Celthair. The soldier looked annoyed. “Put it away and give it to me, now!”

Celthair walked away, “Show me to the council, let’s go.”

The other soldiers blocked her way, preventing her from leaving.

“You will be sorry if you do not let me pass, and take me to this council,” said Celthair menacingly.

“Take her!” the leader said to the men. They leaped forward. It was the last thing they remembered. Celthair drew Mac Roth and held it up. Her eyes flashed and then turned dark. Lightening, purple in colour, flashed along her arm and up the hilt to the sword tip. The clouds in the sky went darker and seemed to swirl above her. There was a crash of thunder and a flash, and the soldiers were flung outwards, landing at the feet of the gathered crowd who were now running and crying out in fear.

Celthair lowered the sword and stood, her shoulders back and head high, she looked formidable and dark. Her voice boomed out.

“I am Celthair, daughter of Tuatha De Daanan Findabair Emain. I alone wield the power and sword of Mac Roth. I am the rightful heir of Athlethan and Sennol.” When she finished her voice echoed and boomed off the surrounding buildings.

There was a commotion and a group of people, richly dressed stepped out from the crowd, looking at her, appraising what they saw. They had heard her words and did not look afraid.

“Can you validate your claim?” a woman said, stepping forward.

“She can!” said a voice behind Celthair.

She turned and Buadach stepped forward.

“She is indeed a descendant of Emain, and she will bring leadership and prosperity back to these lands. She bears the sword Mac Roth, once held by Amerghin her grandfather, Lord of Sennol.

The crowd gasped in amazement and the councillors looked impressed but quickly changed their face when they realised it would make them look weak.

“We need more proof,” the woman said.

By now the crowd was massive, it seemed as if the whole city was there.

“Kill her,” said Buadach in Celthair’s ear. “They will only try to hold you back. It will show the people you are the true heir.”

Something inside Celthair groaned. A flash of conscience that her parents had instilled in her. But it did not last. The sword had done its work.

Celthair stepped forward. Her face still black and glowering. She seemed to tower over the councillors. They stepped back nervously.

“W…well?” said the woman. “Will you prove it to us?”

The sword crackled and lighting went up Celthair’s arm.

She raised the sword and pointed it at the councillor. The purple lightning shot out and hit the woman in the chest. She cried out and sank to her knees falling forward onto her face. She was dead.

The other councillors stepped back, terror on their face, as did the people. They stared at her. No one dared approach her.

“Celthair!” a man’s voice shouted. Through the crowd a blonde head was forcing its way through till, breathless Ciaran stood before her.

“What have you done,” he asked breathlessly, looking at the dead woman.

Celthair looked at him coldly. “I have taken what is rightfully mine”.

“No, no, no” he said, “this is not you”.

“I assure you; it is, I am Amerghin’s granddaughter and heir of the whole of the deep lands. Step aside Ciaran, I am going to lead these people,” she said. “You can join me or go.”

Ciaran shook his head at her. “I will talk with you later,” he said.

“You will waste your time then,” Celthair said haughtily.

Celthair turned and looked at the crowd. “Now bring me the slave merchant before more of you die,” she said.

There was a commotion around the middle of the crowd and before long the crowd parted and two soldiers, half carrying the merchant placed him before her. He fell to his knees, looking at the ground. From his pocket he drew some paper and shaking, handed it to Celthair.

She opened it, stared at it for a moment and spoke.

“Where are my soldiers? She asked. Before long she had fifty Black soldiers before her. “Do you pledge fealty to me, the heir of Sennol?”

The soldiers placed their fists on their chests slamming their breastplates in unison three times. “Aye!” they all shouted.

“Who is the captain?” she asked.

A Soldier stepped forward. “I am!” he said.

“Take this list and bring me all my friends and countrymen. They are not slaves!” Celthair commanded. “Ciaran, you are to go and oversee that they follow my orders quickly and that any who have mistreated them are punished.”

The captain saluted and the soldiers marched off to fulfill her orders. Ciaran followed them, looking back at Celthair in wonder and fear.

Ciaran first went to Dom and Gretta’s house to thank them for their hospitality. He Told Dom that it was Celthair that had claimed the throne of The Black City. He did not act surprised. “I will come to see her soon, when things have settled down,” he said. “I have business that needs attending to first. I’ll see you later.”

***

“Well done,” said Buadach to Celthair. “You now have the peoples attention. Make me your advisor and I will help you become their leader and find ways to achieve amazing thing for this country”.

Celthair looked at Buadach. “You have helped me find my calling wizard, and for that I am grateful. You will be my advisor when I ask for advice. I do not want you second guessing my every move”.

Buadach bowed, his face angry when she could not see it, he rose, his face smiling graciously.

“Now,” Celthair said, “show me to the palace and make sure none of those councillors are there when I arrive”.

Mairghread was stunned, she had stood back and watched from a distance, the change that came over Celthair. She was too fearful to approach her. She cried when she saw Celthair kill the woman. She knew what had happened, with good intentions, Celthair had become corrupted. Whether it was her grandfather’s blood in her veins or a terrible choice, Mags did not care. She only cared for her friend.

She followed at a distance as Celthair walked into the palace. It had been built by Amergin, her grandfather and she arrived and stared in wonder at the statue of his likeness and of her grandmother Dagemar that adorned the foyer as they entered.

Celthair had not looked out for Mags like she always did. But Mags did, she did not take her eyes of Celthair. She vowed to follow Celthair and help her, to be there when she was needed. She waved to Ciaran when he saw her. He ran over to her, and they hugged. They were both glad to see a familiar face of their own people.

“What do we do?” said Ciaran. Mags looked at him and shook her head. “This is where we trust Riangbra. It is a test she is going through, to find herself. We must be there for her when she comes back to us”.

Ciaran looked relieved.

“I do want to punish those people who mistreated our friends, but I think I will teach them slavery is no longer tolerated and will be punished if they engage in it again.”

“Good idea,” said Mags, “we don’t have to be like Celthair is right now.”

“I’ll see you back at the palace later,” said Ciaran and he ran off after the departing soldiers.