Age of Valor: Blood Purge

by D. E. Morris

  “Mairead? My dear, are you quite well?” Rhiamon paused and looked down into the younger woman's face. “You look pale. I knew the heat would get to you in this dress eventually.”

  “No,” Mairead argued weakly. “I need water.”

  “Of course. Here, sit here.” There was a rock nearby where a few ravens had taken perch. Rhiamon waved them away, unaffected by their complaints. Others out walking had been watching and hurried over with cups of water without even being asked. Someone else brought a parasol. All of them were deeply concerned, though none more than Rhiamon. She took someone's offered fan as Mairead drank and created a bit of a breeze, instructing someone else to pour some water on a cloth to put on the back of Mairead's neck. When the minutes ticked by and she saw the color returning to Mairead's cheeks, she smiled with great relief. “There you are. Feeling better now, hmm?”

  Mairead nodded, her stomach settled some. “Forgive me,” she whispered.

  “There is nothing to forgive, sweet child. These past few days have been trying on all of us. No doubt you have overdone it in one way or another. Let me show you what I have prepared and then I will take you to the House of Maidens to rest for as long as you like.” With the parasol in one hand, she extended the other to Mairead and helped her to her feet. Together they walked side by side once more, Mairead looking more the mistress with Rhiamon her attendant taking care of her. They didn't speak again as they traveled, but every once in a while, Rhiamon would look down at Mairead and smile at her like a mother who was proud to be escorting her daughter on an important journey. The path they took led out past the village, past the boundaries she'd found on her own. This was the way Lilia told her about, the way to the ringstones.

  “You have been with us for nearly two weeks,” Rhiamon remarked when the village was no longer visible behind them. Mairead was watching birds fly overhead. She worked to keep herself calm and to push away all of the thoughts that had begun racing through her mind. Dark theories as to why she was being taken so far away from all the others blossomed and she almost missed Rhiamon's words. “I have grown quite fond of you since you have been here. Many of us have. Your kind nature and gentle spirit has attracted people to you in ways I have not seen in some time. You have a gift, Mairead, especially with the children.”

  She dipped her head in thanks. “I am the eldest of five girls so it is a natural role for me to fill. Forgive me if I stepped into a position I was not meant to step into.”

  “Nonsense, my dear. Knowing you were here gave me great peace while I was away. I knew my people, no matter their age, would be well cared for.” Rhiamon's eyes slid in Mairead's direction, amusement sparkling in the deep blue that reflected the sunlight burning brightly before them. “It would appear the children are not the only ones attracted to you.”

  Careful to hide the disgust that rose up within her, Mairead nodded and kept her gaze on her feet. “You speak of Derog...your son.”

  “Ah, so he has told you. I knew I sensed a closeness growing before I left and something different upon my return.”

  “Does this please you?” She looked sideways at the older woman, trying to glean all she could from the expression that was always so meticulously constructed to convey only what she wanted others to see.

  Rhiamon lifted her chin and took a deep, slow breath. “Time will tell.” As though to assure Mairead, she reached over and squeezed her hand. “Wait until you see what I have to show you and then ask me again later.” She didn't let Mairead go as they continued on. The path curved once more and opened up into another valley filled with rolling hills, all of them decorated with rings of stone. None of them were so grand, however, as the one closest to them. The hill itself was steep and at least fifteen feet high, but the stones were the most intimidating part of all. Each one was at least twice the width of either woman and three times their height, all of them fairly rectangular but still irregular in size and shape from one another. They'd been gouged into and chipped over the years, stained by moss and animal droppings, but they were still beautiful and menacing where they stood, the shadows they cast long and dark.

  Mairead took in the emerald grass that swayed in the summer wind, perfect and whole as though no feet had ever trod upon it before. The whistles of different songbirds echoed throughout the valley, underscored by the harsh cries of ravens and crows fighting over carrion that had been brought here over night, remains left to fester in the heat of the day. All around the hills were the remnants of life: feathers, bones, tufts of fur, dried scat. Inside the ringstones, it was pristine, as though even nature regarded the space inside the circle as sacred and knew better than to defile it.

  “What is this place?” Mairead asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  “This is what I have wanted to show you. Up until now, you have not been ready.” Rhiamon tugged on her hand. “Come.”

  With no small amount of hesitation, Mairead allowed herself to be led up the incline and into the circle of stones. Only once she passed into it did she realize that it was not as untouched as she believed, standing below with her view obscured by one of the tall pillars. A wide-rimmed silver bowl sat on the ground in the middle where the grass had been burned away. Whether there had once been a fire pit or a low brazier, it was there no longer. It only served in making the bowl gleam brighter among its charred surroundings. Along with the bowl was a fluted pitcher of water, a hyssop branch, and several bunches of different flowers and plants tied in little bundles all stacked neatly together, waiting to be used.

  Almost escaping her attention was a sword leaning up against the side of one of the pillars. A raven sitting atop that same pillar gave a throaty cry, making Mairead's stomach tighten.

  “Relax,” Rhiamon cooed, a ripple of laughter in her voice. It did nothing to ease Mairead's nerves. “You can trust me, Mairead. This is a safe place for you.”

  “Everyone keeps telling me that.” She heard the panic in her own voice and winced, but when Rhiamon began pulling the gloves from her fingers, she gasped and yanked her hands away. Rhiamon was far too quick for her and held her fast, both determined and amused.

  “There is no reason to hide who you are any longer, child. Let us stop this foolish pretending.”

  Shocked into submission, Mairead stared at the older woman as her gloves and scarf were removed. “You...you know? Did Derog tell you?”

  “My son is an idiot,” Rhiamon said gently. “I am surprised he figured it out at all. My dear, I knew what you were the moment we met. When you have been alive as long as I have, have known as many Gaels as I have, you do not have to see the skin of their hands, their arms, or their legs to know what they are. I see it in your face as well, even if others cannot, especially in your scarring.”

  Mairead took a step back, hands and neck exposed, and wrapped her arms around herself, defenseless. All she had was Niam's pin. In a pinch, it could do a small amount of damage, but would it be enough if Rhiamon meant to harm her? “Your people hunt and kill my kind. Your son kills my kind and you let me get close to him. Was this all some ploy to lower my defenses?” She eyed Rhiamon's multitude of crimson markings. “Are you going to kill me now?”

  “No, Mairead, no.” Rhiamon closed the distance between them and took her by the shoulders, sincerity wrinkling her brow and making her grip firm. “When I told you that you have become dear to me, that was not a lie. Of course I would not harm you, neither would I allow anyone else to touch you. I saw what was happening between you and Derog and perhaps I should have stopped it, but there may be good to come of it if you trust me.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” Mairead demanded, her voice stronger than before as her fingers gripped her pin.

  “I only wanted to help you.” Rhiamon glanced over her shoulder at all the things laid out in the middle of the clearing. “I know the background from which you come and that this will feel contrary to everything you have been taught to believe, but just sit for a moment. Please.” She released her hold
on Mairead, but guided her by the elbow to the elements that had been prepared for them. Not knowing what other option she had, Mairead chose to go willingly for now, silently praying with each step for protection and deliverance. She could feel the tremors of fear spreading throughout her body and wanted nothing more than to run away, but there was nowhere safe for her to go. It was possible for her to transform and fly away, but given Rhiamon's mercurial state with the hunters and her violent outburst in their company, there was no telling how she would react. There was also a likely chance that they were not as alone as they appeared. Sitting, she glanced around but there was no one for company but the birds that had been there all along.

  “Tell me,” said Rhiamon, folding her knees under her on the other side of the charred grass. She selected specific amounts of the flowers and plants before putting them into the silver bowl to mash with a bit of water. “You must have tried many poultices and creams for your scars to try to heal them and diminish their appearance. What about magic?”

  There were small marble vials of oils that Mairead hadn't seen from which Rhiamon added several drops, sending the heavy musk of frankincense and lighter floral scents of lavender and geranium into the air. Her eyes followed the movements of the mixing, her sense of unease threatening to grow but at war with a strength quietly blooming within her. “Elvish magic, yes.” She lifted her gaze to Rhiamon's face, unflinching and defiant. “Light magic.”

  Something in her tone made Rhiamon break into a slow grin, but she did not pause her in her work. “Say whatever it is you wish to say, Mairead.”

  Looking at her own hands, seeing her bare skin in the sunlight again, it was clear to see the difference between her and Rhiamon. Cruel children said she had lizard skin when she was younger. It was thicker, the lines deeper and much more prominent to any that took the time to look. For years she had been embarrassed by it but now, she couldn't have been prouder of what it signified.

  “You see me for exactly what I am; you told me that there is no longer any reason to hide.” Once more, Mairead lifted her eyes, challenging. “Why is it that you continue to do so?”

  Instead of being offended or angered, Rhiamon's grin turned feral, as though she were looking at a kindred spirit she had been searching for. “So, she is not merely a wilting figure in the background, just as I suspected.” She continued mashing her ingredients together, returning her attention to her work. “Suffice it to say that what lies hidden underneath my surface is a secret best revealed at another time. Now...” Tapping the pestle on the side of the bowl, she visually examined the side of Mairead's face. “It seems suspicious, I know, to bring you all the way out here for something like this, but this is where we would find the most peace, where we would least likely be disturbed. Once this is applied, you need to let it settle for a time, and you would not have that opportunity with everyone else about. Upon the lives of my people, those were my intentions, well and truly.”

  As much as she wanted to believe Rhiamon had ulterior motives, she knew how much the woman cared for each member of her village. Her hunters, it was now apparent, were expendable, but the men, women, and children she shepherded each and every day were treated as though they were her own family. A promise on their lives was not one to be taken lightly.

  Rhiamon motioned for her to lean forward and Mairead obliged, stomach clenched as she held onto the stubborn defiance that told her she could somehow run away if needed. The poultice was smeared onto her cheek by Rhiamon's own hand, her fingers gentle and methodical as they worked the rough, fragrant mixture into her scarred skin. As she began to massage upward into the less injured sections above Mairead's brow, her skin started to tingle as though it were on fire, quickly gaining gathering intensity and leaving her breathless. All at once, the fire she felt went icy cold. Frightened, Mairead looked to Rhiamon's face and saw her lips moving, but could hear no words being formed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her own voice sounding far away, terrified and small. Rhiamon gave no answer, only continued her soundless muttering. Mairead's skin went numb and for a moment, there was a rushed feeling of blessed relief. All too quickly, she realized the numbness was spreading throughout her entire body. She could no longer feel the entirety of her face or her neck. Her hands and feet would not obey her commands to move and before she had time to even try to cry out, everything went dark around her.

  She saw the valley as though she were in her dragon form, hovering so high above that the mountains and the trees appeared much smaller than they had been just seconds ago. Her gaze swept the landscape, taking in the mottled hues of green that stretched on for miles as wide planes of grass met the edges of forests and steep mountain inclines. A deep cerulean slash cut through the land to the east of her where the river ran clear and quick, but where Rhiamon's village should have been was only nature, wild and free. In fact, Mairead realized, there was nothing man made to be seen, save the one ring of stones where she and Rhiamon had been sitting within, yet even they were not the same. Moss and vines crawled up the great stones as though they had been there, untouched, for hundreds of years. She looked down, half expecting to see her own body waiting there below but there was nothing, not a single person or instrument used in whatever spell had been cast upon her.

  Drawn to the familiar structure, she flexed her muscles to lift her wings and allow herself to descend. It was a sudden and startling realization that she was not in her dragon form, that she was in no form at all. She could direct her line of sight and turned every which way to try to get a look at herself, but there was nothing to see. She simply didn't exist on the visual plane. There was a brief urge to panic, but curiosity was more powerful a motivator. If she wanted to go lower, how was she to do it? Before her own question could even finish forming in her mind, she could see the ground rising up to meet her, slow, but steady and controlled. Her aim was for the direct center, to land in the middle and see if anything had changed with the stones themselves.

  Something stopped her. Though she had no physical body, she felt it when she hit the invisible barrier that prevented her from entering the ring stones, like walking into a sheet of clear glass so clean that you didn't know it was there until it was too late. Mairead pulled back and tried again with the same result. She tried entering the circle from the side and found it impossible from there as well. Confused, she turned for the river and found herself there in half a breath, feeling the icy cold water running over her invisible body. In another instant, she was on the highest mountaintop that overlooked the entire area where Cynefin should have been. Clearly, she could go where she liked, but as she returned to the ring of stone, she butted once more against the wall that was unseen and kept her from going within. In frustration, she turned away and came face to face with a man she had never seen before.

  His ocher skin was blemished with scars that traced lines across his face like a worn map; some of them were deeper than others, and some were more newly acquired. He had long black hair that was tied back in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, but he was unkempt and windblown, as though he'd come in from rough waters. Dark brown eyes considered her but gave little away. Even when he frowned, the beard that framed his thin lips concealed much of his expression. “This place does not belong to you, Señorita.” Before she could ask what he meant or who he was, he reached out as if to take her arm and grabbed hold of her, despite there being nothing there. “Perdóname.”

  Before she knew what was happening, the strange man flung her into the air as if she was nothing more that a stone he was skipping across the surface of a pool of water. Mairead was speechless, her every thought nearly frozen as the landscape flew beneath her in a blur of color. She willed it to slow as she had willed herself to move but nothing was obeying her. Nothing, at least, until she was far out at sea and her surroundings began to slow. In the distance she could see an island approaching, one of great familiarity. It made her heart leap with a longing for home and the embrace of those sh
e missed, just knowing the island belonged to the kingdom of Siness. Though Horse Head Island was far from Altaine, it was a place that had always been close to her heart for reasons she never quite understood. The two giant statues that reached well into the sky, fifty feet tall at least, took up most of the island. One of the horse heads looked up as though the rest of the horse, buried underneath the island and concealed by the surrounding ocean, was rearing up in protest of capture. The other looked down, resigned to its fate. They were old and pocked, likely as old as the ring stones.

  Mairead touched down on the thin beach of the island and looked at the ground, startled to see her feet, along with the rest of her body once more. She lifted her head to gaze up at the magnificent statues before her, heart racing. “Go on.” The strange man was there beside her where he hadn't been just a moment ago. He lifted his chin toward the horses, eyeing the hundreds of holes that appeared as though they had been meticulously cut out one by one. She wasn't sure that he was to be trusted, but she moved away from the water and closer to her beloved statues. Feeling small in between them, Mairead placed her hand against the cool stone of the horse that had its face turned toward the sky.

  A light blinked to life inside one of the holes at the bottom of the statue, pale yellow and quick to spread. It started in the base of the other statue as well, making Mairead's head swivel between the two as she watched the light climb, illuminating each and every hole. The color changed as it moved. From yellow it transitioned to gold, then to orange, turning to red when it finally reached the top. With each light that came to life, Mairead felt a pressure rising within her. She lifted her hands, staring at them, watching herself shake and feeling as though she would burst into flame at any moment. She felt if she opened her mouth, fire would surely come streaming forth and she could be consumed. Terrified, she spun to look for the stranger in the hope that he would help her, but he only watched with the same blank expression.