The Sword and the Song (13 page)

After Morrigan’s revelation,
Aine redoubled her efforts searching Queen Shanna’s journals. There was no guarantee she would find what she was looking for there, yet something
 
—whether it be intuition or Comdiu’s leading
 
—kept her reading until her vision blurred and her head ached.

Instead of passages about the runes, however, Aine stumbled across something unexpected. She shoved a piece of ribbon into the book and marched down to the Ceannaire’s office, where Eoghan sat alone, bent over a similar-looking book.

“You have to read this.” She shoved the volume under his nose and flipped it open to the marked page.

He frowned but he didn’t argue. When he finished reading the passage indicated, he blinked. “I don’t understand. That can’t be right.”

“What reason would she have to lie?” Aine turned the book around toward herself. “‘The druid Struthair claims that the spirits can be bound so they cannot harm humans, but it requires a language that has long since been forbidden in the nemetons. Few are able to even read it. Fewer still know where
to locate the keys so it can be deciphered.’ They have to be talking about the runes, don’t they?”

“I can’t imagine what else. We already knew that the druids were the ones who bound the sidhe in the first place. But we’d assumed it happened prior to Daimhin’s time, prior to the coming of the Way.”

“This means that at one point, the druids weren’t in opposition to the Balians.”

“Or the sidhe were a big enough threat for them to put their differences aside,” Eoghan said.

Aine circled around the table to where she could perch on the chair opposite him. “What do they mean by keys, as in the meanings for the runes? They knew they existed but they didn’t have access to them?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard anything of the sort. Either no one read this journal or no one thought this fact was significant. After all, the sidhe had been bound for some time, and despite the fact they were growing stronger, their influence was confined to places where faith was weak.”

Aine remained silent, thinking. It all had to fit together somehow: the sidhe, the runes, the druids. But the answer remained just beyond her reach.

“I’ll keep reading. If you come across anything
 
—”

“I’ll let you know. This is good work, Aine.” He met her eyes fully for the first time in days and gave her a warm smile.

Her heart hiccupped at what she read there in that unguarded moment, clear indication that his feelings toward her really hadn’t changed. She managed a nod and scooped up her book, then fled the study as quickly as possible. Either telling him about her gift hadn’t broken its effect on him, or his feelings
 
—like her husband’s
 
—had nothing to do with magic after all.

Either way, until Conor came back, she needed to stay as far from Eoghan as possible.

But the isolation in her chamber with the journal didn’t last long. Refugees continued to stream in and stretch Ard Dhaimhin even further to its limits. As soon as word came of another siege on another small fortress and the resulting flood of escapees from the battle arrived, Murchadh called Aine back to the healers’ cottages.

“There’s not much I can do for malnutrition,” Aine whispered to the healer when she saw the line of skeletal-looking people in front of the cottage.

“It’s worse than that,” Murchadh said. “They’re fleeing an outbreak of disease because they had too many people crammed in behind the walls without proper sanitation, and they were kind enough to bring it with them.”

So that was the real danger, and not just to the new arrivals’ health but to Ard Dhaimhin itself. The city’s excellent sanitation, skilled healers, and strict discipline kept any influx of disease from sweeping unchecked through the population, but that continued to work only if the newcomers were healthy.

Ard Dhaimhin had no space for quarantine, so she couldn’t wait for the medicines to do their work. At the same time, she wasn’t about to spread the word that she could heal by touch. Instead, she gave her patients a dose of foul-tasting herbs mixed with oil
 
—most people believed that for medicine to be effective, it had to taste awful
 
—and healed them while she was making a show of her examination. Most were too distracted by the terrible aftertaste to immediately notice that their symptoms had gone, and by the time they did, they just assumed Ard Dhaimhin had knowledge of exceptionally effective medications.

She’d never thought she would find herself lying to so many so frequently.

“Are you sure you can keep this up, my lady?” Murchadh whispered to her when they were halfway through the day’s patients.

“I’m fine. A little tired and thirsty, but not nearly as exhausted as I’d expected to be.”

Murchadh looked as if he didn’t quite believe her, but he said nothing, just continued to dose the patients with the foul-tasting medicine before Aine set to her examinations.

She also took the opportunity to scan their thoughts for information of interest, but for the most part, she found nothing but mindless fear. They had been fleeing for their lives, often ahead of the actual siege. It seemed that word of the other attack
 
—and the fate of the inhabitants
 
—had now gone before the druid and his men, to the point that all the women and children were sent out before the fighting began. Aine had to give the villagers credit for their bravery. They were not professional warriors; they were merely farmers with mostly rudimentary implements, defending castles that were not their own simply because they felt they had to oppose the evil that Keondric represented.

“My lady,” Murchadh said, “you should take a break. Why don’t you get some fresh air while you check on the herbs? I think the burdock fruit in the hedgerow is overripe, but we might be able to salvage some of it.”

The stern look on his face said he wasn’t going to be dissuaded, so she removed her apron and slipped out the door. She kept her head down as she trudged the well-worn path through the cottages to the walled garden, hoping the city’s inhabitants would take a clue from her posture and keep their distance.

She let herself into the small garden and raised her face to the thin rays of sunlight filtering down from the overcast sky. She had once spent hours in the garden, digging in the earth,
drawing strength and peace from the landscape, cataloguing each healing herb, pulling the weeds that threatened to choke out the useful plants in her garden. Mistress Bearrach’s garden at Lisdara felt far away now. Who tended it now? Had it been razed by Keondric’s men? Did anyone see the value of her hard work in the midst of war?

She sank down on the wall, once more feeling the weight of what they faced.
Can we even win this fight, Comdiu? It feels as though every time we make progress, the next wave is worse and harder to endure. What is Niall doing? How can we stop him?

Aine sighed, tracing an aimless pattern in the dirt with her toe. She resisted the urge to call out to Conor. They’d agreed on nighttime communications so she wouldn’t risk distracting him in a moment of attack, when his attention needed to be on his opponent.

“What is that?”

Murchadh’s trembling voice interrupted her thoughts. She straightened at the note of alarm. “What is what?”

“That.” He pointed at the design at her feet, and with a shock, she realized she had been tracing the shield rune over and over with her foot. How had she managed to do that without noticing? She’d been praying for wisdom and direction
 
—was this her answer?

Murchadh’s leather-shod foot shot out and smeared the rune into oblivion. “You mustn’t, my lady. I don’t know where you learned that, but it is not for you to know.”

“I don’t understand. The runes are part of the foundation for Ard Dhaimhin. They exist on the objects of power we still possess, not to mention the Rune Throne itself. There isn’t anything evil about them.”

“No, my lady, not evil. But powerful beyond measure. There
is so little we know about their origins that those who use them without understanding could bring us to ruin.”

She studied the healer, taking in the sudden authority of his speech. “This is no idle belief. You’ve seen them before. You know something about them.”

Murchadh looked around and then gripped her arm. “Come, this is not something of which we should speak in public.”

“Then come to Carraigmór and tell us what you know.”

“No, my lady. What I know is not for anyone else to learn. You will not convince me otherwise.”

She softened her voice, even though frustration was welling up inside. “You understand that once I tell Eoghan about this, he will summon you.”

“Aye. And if he summons, I will come. But I will not do it voluntarily.” Murchadh gave her a funny little bow, turned on his heel, and marched back to his cottage.

Uneasiness swelled inside her as she studied the obliterated design in the dirt. The healer was not given to hyperbole. What did he know that frightened him so much that it required a direct order to divulge?

The passage from this morning came back to her instantly. Knowledge of the runes had been forbidden once before. It couldn’t be a mere coincidence that this had happened on the same day, right after she had asked Comdiu for direction. An idea began to form in her mind. Could it be true? She had to look at the rolls of the brotherhood.

When she burst into the Ceannaire’s office, it was not Eoghan sitting at the desk but Riordan. “Aine? What’s wrong?”

“I need to see the brotherhood’s roster. The most recent volume.”

He didn’t question her, just pulled the heavy tome from a shelf and laid it on the desk. She had to guess where to look
based on Murchadh’s age, but after several minutes of scanning the membership, she came to the healer’s entry:
Murchadh (age 30)
. She frowned. She’d always assumed he had come to Ard Dhaimhin as a youth, raised in his healing vocation. Then she saw the notation at the end of the line, the spot reserved for the city or kingdom of origin:
Sliebhan, Banndara N
. She flipped the book closed. She didn’t need a translation to know that
Banndara N
. referred to the White Oak nemetons.

Murchadh had been a druid.

As Aine had expected,
Eoghan summoned Murchadh before the Conclave as soon as he heard what the old healer had told her. The man halted before the nine men and Aine, his wrinkled skin turning the color of faded, bleached linen.

“Thank you for coming, Brother Murchadh.” With a warm smile, Eoghan gestured to an empty seat. Murchadh cast an uneasy glance around the table before settling into it. “We’ve called you here because
 
—”

“You want to know about the runes.”

Aine exchanged a glance with Eoghan. They’d thought they would to have to pull the information from him bit by bit. She’d never expected him to come right out and acknowledge it.

“Aye. We want to know about the runes.”

The healer heaved a sigh and dropped his chin forward to his chest, his hands clasped in his lap. For several moments, Aine thought he wouldn’t answer or perhaps he had fallen asleep. When he raised his head, he wore a look of resignation. But instead of addressing Eoghan, he looked to Aine. “Ask your questions, my lady. I will answer you truly.”

Aine considered her questions carefully before speaking. “Were you a druid before you came to Ard Dhaimhin?”

Surprise flared in the healer’s pale gold eyes, but he nodded. “Aye. I was raised from infancy at Banndara.”

“What made you leave the nemetons? What made you leave the Old Ways in favor of the brotherhood?”

Murchadh licked his lips, a tremor shooting through his body. “What do you know about the history of the druids?”

“Very little.” Aine glanced around at the Conclave members, who all looked as perplexed as she felt. “I know there are those who stay with the Old Ways
 
—devoted to nature and the unity of all life. And I know there are those who delve into blood magic.”

“Like Niall.”

“You knew Niall?”

“I knew
of
Niall. You see, the druidic religion is not so far removed from the brotherhood as most believe.”

Murmurs erupted around the table. Eoghan held up a hand, and the whispers stilled. “Go on.”

“I am not saying that we believe in the same god. I’m not saying that those who serve the gods and goddesses of the Old Ways accept the truth as we know it. But our lives are similar: humility, devotion to our rites, self-sufficiency. At least that’s how the nemetons have operated since the druids were confined to them in Daimhin’s age. But just like here, just like in the kingdom, there are those who are seduced by the promise of power, who are tempted to reach into things forbidden.”

“The Red Druids,” Riordan said from the opposite end of the table.

“Aye. You see, the Red Druids understand the power of blood. This is not so far from what the Balians believe in, the power of the blood of Lord Balus. But the druids of the nemetons also understand the power of the word.”

“The power of the word,” Eoghan said. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

Understanding dawned within Aine. “The power of written language.”

“But the druidic magic is of the oral tradition, is it not?” Gradaigh asked.

“Aye. It is now. Because . . .” Murchadh hesitated. “The runes were given to us first.”

“That’s preposterous!” Dal thundered, jumping to his feet. “The runes were brought to Seare by King Daimhin.”

Eoghan stared at Dal and gave him a barely perceptible shake of his head. The older man visibly drew his composure around himself and sat down in a huff.

“That’s not entirely true,” Eoghan said quietly. “Lady Aine has recently found some writings that implied King Daimhin and Queen Shanna rediscovered them
 
—with the help of the druids.”

“Have you never wondered why the magic of the isle predates the coming of Lord Balus?” Murchadh asked. “Why some of the wards seemed so old? Why the druids’ influence was so feared?”

“Speak plainly,” Dal said. But now his tone was far more frightened than angry.

“Very well. But I warn you, you may not like what I tell you.”

Murchadh looked at every single one of them in turn, his gaze lingering on Aine. “The meanings of the runes were given to a few who existed here on the isle. They were not given to our order. Our order was formed from those to whom Comdiu granted the understanding of His divine language.”

Angry voices erupted around the table, but Aine barely heard them over the whoosh of blood in her ears. Aye. It made sense, considering how the shield rune on Morrigan’s body had blocked her power. The only thing that could overcome the gifts
of Balus would have to be other gifts of Comdiu. That would explain how the shield rune had also warded off the dark spirits of the isle. “They were given to the druids to bind the sidhe, to stop their power. But the sidhe corrupted your order.”

Murchadh’s shoulders slumped, this time with relief. “There were still those who had the clarity of mind and purpose to put them to their intended use. With the runes, they bound the sidhe to a sort of half realm, to the forests surrounding the nemetons. And then they scattered the runes across the land. They recognized that even though it was too much power to be contained in the hands of one man or group of men, there still might be need of it later.”

“I don’t understand. Scattered how?”

“They etched them on the standing stones, spread across the whole of Seare. The secret was to die with those who knew, all but a select few. When the bindings faded and the sidhe were loosed, it was those druids who worked with Daimhin to reclaim them.”

“Why did the bindings fade in the first place?” Eoghan asked, his expression intent.

“I don’t know. That’s not something I was ever told.”

“Go on,” Eoghan said. “Why has no one revealed this until now?”

“It is our greatest secret. Those who still belong to the order would bear the secret to their deaths. The tattoos we take are a reminder of our responsibility as guardians of those runes, even if most of us no longer possess the ability to read them ourselves.”

Murchadh drew down his tunic to reveal the spiral of faded black ink on his chest. “Only by the grace of Comdiu did I reject the teachings of my order and turn to Lord Balus.”

“What I don’t understand is why you reacted so violently to the rune,” Aine said. “From what I understand, it was not the
runes themselves that you found to be evil but rather the fact that men were corrupted by their thirst for power.”

“Good men,” Murchadh said softly. “Ones who believed, at one time, in the only True God. And the thirst for power slowly twisted them, made them susceptible to the sidhe’s lies. If we, the ones chosen to bear that power, were corrupted by it, what makes you think you’re any different?”

Silence fell around the table. Aine had to concentrate on drawing her breath evenly in and out of her lungs. “If Comdiu erased the understanding of the runes from human knowledge, why would He allow some of us to read them again? Are you saying that He made a mistake in giving that power to man the first time? Are you saying He’s making a mistake again?”

“I am not qualified to judge the wisdom of Comdiu,” Murchadh said. “I only tell you what I know of the druidic tradition and how we came to be what we are now. And I offer a warning: using the runes for your own ends, being too dependent on them, may be your downfall, just as it was ours.”

Aine nodded slowly. “Thank you for sharing your knowledge with us, Brother Murchadh.”

The healer rose and gave them a little bow. Just before Murchadh reached the door, Eoghan stood and called after him, “Brother? You referred to the druidic order as ‘we.’ Do you still consider yourself one of them even now that you’ve accepted the salvation that Lord Balus offers?”

Murchadh thought for a long moment. “Do you still consider yourself a brother of Ard Dhaimhin even though you may someday be king?” With that cryptic question, the healer turned and slipped out the door, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

Aine’s mind whirred, trying to organize all the bits of information he had given them with what she already knew. Shanna had said the language had been scattered. That was most surely
the runic language that had been distributed across the standing stones of Seare, those old places of worship that predated the coming of Balianism. Shanna and Daimhin had likely collected them and compiled them in one place for their use. But where? The Hall of Prophecies held no such volume.

She looked up to find Eoghan watching her, a peculiar look of curiosity on his face. When she averted her eyes from his, they landed on a point behind his shoulder. The Rune Throne.

She broke into laughter, aware it was tinged with a bit of hysteria. Of course. It was so obvious that they’d continually overlooked it. She clamped her hands over her pregnant belly as stitches stabbed into her sides and she tried to catch her breath. “Truly, we are among the most foolish of people, or it has powers of concealment that we never dreamed of.”

All attention landed on her, some faces betraying worry, others outright bewilderment.

“The Rune Throne. It’s the key. It’s the object that contains all the runic knowledge of the kingdom, and it’s been right under our noses. It has to have some sort of concealment for us to have continually overlooked it. An added layer of protection in case Ard Dhaimhin was ever sacked.”

Full understanding hit her like an avalanche. The look on Eoghan’s face said he’d made the connection at the same time she did.

“The boy,” he said.

“Aye,” Aine said. “Not standing on stone. The standing stones.”

“Once Niall failed to take Ard Dhaimhin, he decided to compile his own key.”

Riordan looked between them, his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with his taking of the fortresses?”

“Old Balian fortresses,” Eoghan explained. “Some of them used the old standing stones as foundations or cornerstones. There are only a few intact circles left out of the hundreds that were once scattered across the country. Most of the original stones are now inside, part of, or beneath the oldest structures in Seare.”

“Which have the weakest defenses,” Aine murmured. “Convenient.”

“Not so convenient,” Riordan said. “No one really knows where all the stones are, where they were used, or how many existed. He’s taken two fortresses this month, but it could take him years to locate them all.”

“Then we have time to stop him,” Eoghan said.

“How?” Dal asked.

But Eoghan had no answer for that. As they exchanged glances around the table, Aine’s exhilaration at having solved the puzzle gave way to a heavy dread. They might know the druid’s plans, but without a way to fight him on his own territory, they were no closer to stopping him than they were before.