Liaden sniffed. “What good is a secret to us?”
The man held up a hand with his long pointer finger outstretched. The translucent skin of his palm stood out in the darkness, drawing Finn's attention to the Traveler's long, cracked fingernails. “Ah, but a secret is good for many a thing,” the Traveler explained. “If only you knew the secrets that this group held!” He withdrew his hand and steepled his fingers together in excitement.
Finn's pulse sped. This man couldn't possibly know her secret. They had only just met him, yet her heart was in her throat none-the-less. There was something inhuman about the Traveler. Something that Finn did not trust at all.
The Traveler gave Finn a small, knowing smile. “Sadly it is not my place to tell the secrets of others,” he explained, looking directly at her.
He turned back toward Branwen. “A place at your fire is the only boon I require. The gift shall be a secret, as I have been traveling a long way, and am without my crafts.”
Branwen nodded excitedly as the remainder of the party crept closer. Few mortals were immune to the lure of a secret, Finn thought to herself. Iseult was still nowhere to be seen. Some already held too many secrets to have room for more.
“The seasons are changing,” the man began dramatically, “and I do not mean the unseasonable rain. The lines are faltering, undoing the old and bringing life to the new. Trees will fall,” with those words he looked at Finn, “and changed earth will be left in their place. A storm is coming, and once again, I do not mean the rains.”
Finished, he looked down at the fire, humming as he turned his hands back and forth to warm both sides.
“What kind of a scunner-tongued secret was that?” Kai asked incredulously.
Branwen glared at Kai. “Shhh! The Traveler's secrets must be interpreted. We have just been gifted with a great wisdom.”
Finn had an uneasy feeling that the Traveler's prophecy had something to do with why she was no longer a tree. The lines are faltering. What lines? She had to know more. She had made this journey to find answers, to find a way back to her old life. Perhaps this Traveler could help her.
“I will share your camp tonight,” the Traveler announced. “Do not fear, the others of my kin will remain unseen.”
“They're not unseen,” Liaden snapped. “I saw them last night as well. You've been following us.”
The Traveler smiled up at Liaden. The firelight reflecting off the shiny skin of his head made the lighthearted look seem menacing. “Sharing the same route is not following, Gray Lady.”
Liaden glared at the Traveler, but it was obviously a cover for her unease. “How do you know where I hail from?”
The Traveler chuckled. “I do not speak of your city, my lady.”
Liaden shook her head and stalked off to the other side of the great pine, followed by Kai. The rain had lessened to a drizzle, but it was still not wise to leave the sheltering circle. Iseult was still missing. The man had to be utterly soaked.
Àed had remained immobile during the entire exchange. After his naming the Traveler for what he was, he had refused to acknowledge the strange man again. Finn knew she would likely be better off following Àed's example, but the Traveler's words repeated in her head, trees will fall. He knew what had happened to her, she was sure of it.
Finn stood and shifted her weight from foot to foot. She wanted to speak with the Traveler of her problems, but she could not do so while Anders and Branwen were still present. She decided she would have to wait until the twins and everyone else fell asleep. Hopefully the Traveler would not mind being wakened. The Traveler acknowledged her with his strange reflective eyes, as if he read her thoughts. He further verified this with a slight inclination of his head.
Iseult was not fond of Travelers at the best of times. Not only had his people had troubles with them in the past, he had met them himself along the road on his own travels many times. He was growing less fond by the minute as he stood alone in the freezing rain, still as a statue.
The Ceàrdaman knew far too much for his liking. He did not understand why they searched for secrets, when they knew them all already. The few he had met always seemed to know everything about him, yet they pestered him about his lineage, about what he knew of his people.
They had named him Meirleach. Thief. It was uncomfortable to be named thief whilst among employers. The weight of what was left unsaid was more uncomfortable still.
Many saw the Ceàrdaman as mysterious, magical beings. They were what remained of the Tuatha De, or at least they were the only ones to not hide themselves from the realm of mortals. To most, a meeting with a Traveler was a treat. Iseult knew better. He knew them for what they were, tricksters and thieves. If you did not satisfy their payment, they took what they pleased, not discriminating between objects and people. They viewed both much the same.
Now there was one sharing their fire. Iseult couldn't help but wonder what the Ceàrdaman saw when he looked at Finn. Surely they knew more at least than he, and he was fairly certain that he knew quite a lot. Still, knowing what was in Finn's mind could likely save him a great deal of trouble. He knew he had to know more about her the first time he saw her. He had been the one who had encouraged Anders to invite the Mountebank along on their journey, an idea that Anders had eagerly lapped up. Had Anders refused, he would have parted ways with his company in order to follow Finn.
Leaving to follow Finn on his own would have been a contradiction to his duty, as he had agreed to escort the twins all the way to Migris, but he would have done it. It would have bothered him had he needed to break his contract, but leaving Finn anywhere near the Traveler irked him far more than anything. Still, he was not ready for his secrets to come out, secrets about who he was, and what he planned, at least not to everyone.
For a time, Branwen tried to wheedle more information out of the Traveler, but he made it clear that he had said what he had to say, and would say no more. When she prompted him about what he had said in regards to Iseult and Liaden, he simply pretended not to know what she was talking about. Eventually Branwen gave up and thanked the Traveler for his visit, then excused herself from the gathering with a yawn.
Almost immediately after Branwen retired, Àed and Anders excused themselves shortly thereafter. It had been too easy to get the Traveler alone, really. Finn looked at the bald man and he once again acknowledged her with a nod. Finn suspected that he had influenced the others in some way to leave them, though she did not understand how that was possible.
The Traveler arose and reseated himself near Finn, so that they might speak quietly. “Ask your questions, Dair Child,” he whispered.
Being near the man made Finn uneasy. His presence gave her a feeling like touching her body to ice. He had called her Dair Child, Child of the Oak. It was true, she had been an oak, but the Traveler made it seem as if the term meant more.
“Why would you answer my questions, and not Branwen's?” Finn replied softly. “I've nothing to give you in return.”
The Traveler shrugged, lifting his white cloak to pool around his skinny neck. “She is not of the old clans, she would have no use for the secrets I possess, except to write them in one of her little books. The Gray Lady might have use for me, if she had bothered to be polite.”
“Gray Lady?” Finn asked, though she knew it was not her business.
“Of Clan Liath,” the Traveler explained conversationally, “those who see the Gray, the inbetween places. She did not see my people first by happenstance. The others stood no chance of seeing us.”
“Liaden didn't seem to understand why the others could not see you,” Finn commented.
“Liaden?” the Traveler chuckled. “What an ironic name for her to choose. Liaden of Clan Liath. More ironic still that she doesn't even know what blood flows through her veins.”
Finn shook her head, unsure of what the Traveler was going on about. “I think her parents probably chose her name, but that's beside the point. I saw you. Not last night, but tonight,
before you approached. Does that mean that I hail from this Clan Liath as well?”
The Traveler shook his head. “The old bloods run strong, and you are not simply of the blood. You are of the Dair, and you must tell me how you came to be here.” He eyed her intensely, as if daring her to lie.
Finn stumbled over her words, not sure what to say. “I-I was hoping you could tell me how I came to be this way. You see,” she swallowed the lump in her throat before going on, “for as long as I can remember, I was a tree.”
The Traveler tsked at her. “I can see it in your eyes, the other memories. You have them, yet you deny them. What are you running from?”
Finn shook her head sharply. “I have bits and pieces. It's just my imagination. I remember nothing.”
“The Dair,” the Traveler began, his voice taking on a lecturing tone, “are among the oldest of the people, the old clans. Where they came from, no one is sure, not even I. My people, the Ceàrdaman, existed before the appearance of the Dair, though that is not to say that the Dair did not exist in some way before us. There was no creation that my people could see, the Dair just suddenly were. We called them the Children of the Oak, for their command over nature. Well,” he clarified, “not command really, oneness. There existed one prominent clan, the Cavari, who became more involved with the world of the common folk while their kin were content to live on the periphery.”
Finn listened intently. She knew all of this, somehow. It lingered in the corners of her mind.
“The Dair lived in peace for a time, until the conflict with Uí Néid. No man knows the reason for the conflict, the people of Uí Néid and the Cavari both held their secrets closely. They took those secrets to the grave, as both clans are extinct . . . mostly.” The Traveler waited for Finn to process what he'd said.
Her thoughts swirled like an angry ocean. She wondered how she knew what an ocean was. Uí Néid was near the sea. A picture of a great city formed in her mind, with rows upon rows of small ships bordering the harbors, and tall people dressed in grays and black. Finn shook her head rapidly, willing the images away. It was like all of the other scenes she had recalled. Sometimes it was a place, or sometimes it was just a feeling, swimming through her mind and eventually leaving without an explanation.
The Traveler smiled warmly. “I have given you many secrets, Dair Child. Now you must tell me why the Cavari went to war, and why they disappeared. Those are secrets known to very few, and I would have them.”
“I do not know,” Finn muttered, her misery apparent. “I had hoped you could make me a tree again.”
Sudden anger flashed over the Traveler's pallid face. “You know very well that a tree is not your natural state. A tree is a tree, and a girl is a girl. You are a girl. I have given you a great boon, and I would have it repaid.”
Finn stood and took a step back, desiring distance between the Traveler and herself. “You gave your information willingly,” Finn whispered harshly. “I informed you that I had nothing to trade, and we made no deal of an exchange.”
“It is what we do, who we are,” he rasped as he stood and took a step forward to close the small amount of distance between them. “We give our secrets, and our crafts, in exchange for boons. I have given you a very great secret, and the payment must be high.” The Traveler's face was no longer serene, his reflective eyes frightening in their fury.
Finn began to tremble, ever so slightly. “I have nothing to give you. I have nothing in this world. No people. No home. No memories.”
The Traveler pressed close enough to Finn that the edges of his white robe brushed the hem of her skirts. “I will have my payment,” he growled.
Finn stumbled away, with the Traveler matching her step for step. She reached the edge of the great pine's shelter, and took another step out into the rain. Her back knocked into something hard and damp.
“You are not welcome at this camp any longer, Ceàrdaman,” Iseult stated coldly.
Finn's body flooded with relief as she turned to the side so that she could have both Iseult and the Traveler in her sights.
The Traveler laughed bitterly, then sneered up at Iseult. “This is no business of yours, Meirleach. If only you knew how tragic it is, you coming to the rescue of one of the Dair.”
Iseult chuckled. “I know the histories of my people, Traveler. I know secrets much greater than yours.” Iseult stood perfectly still, but there was a tension to him like a bow-string strung too tightly. Where the Traveler emanated cold, Iseult was thrumming with controlled energy.
The Traveler's sneer deepened. “You cannot know such things, Meirleach. You are a mere man; a shadow of what your people once were. Your blood means nothing in this time.”
A smile curved the edges of Iseult's mouth as water dripped steadily down his face. “Then why, Traveler, are you so very angry?”
The Traveler turned and spat into the fire. The flames went out suddenly with a loud hiss, as the Traveler glided away into the darkness. The Traveler's actions were muddled in Finn's thoughts, as if at one moment the Traveler was there, and at the next, he was a vague white shape in the distance.
Finn reached numb fingertips up to push damp strands of hair away from her face. “Why did he call you Meirleach?” she asked shakily as she looked up into Iseult's shadowed face. “Who are you?”
“It means thief,” he stated plainly “My people were the best thieves in all of history.”
“Who are your people?” Finn asked nervously, though she had a good idea she already knew.
“The people of Uí Néid,” Iseult answered without emotion.
Iseult ushered Finn back into the shelter of the tree while she processed his answer. He removed his sodden black cloak and gave it a few shakes before hanging it from a low branch. His only visible weapon was the short-sword at his belt, but Finn knew there must be more. It was common knowledge that true thieves kept their most deadly weapons hidden. She had no doubt that there would at least be a Sgian Dubh, a killing dagger, hidden in his boot or up a sleeve. She had seen it before when the Traveler had first approached them.
Finn looked in the direction that the Traveler had gone. She saw none of his people in the distance, though she would not be surprised if they yet lurked in the periphery. “Do you know who I am?” she asked, not wanting to see Iseult's face while he answered.
“I have known,” he stated quietly, drawing Finn's attention to his face whether she wanted to look or not. “I have seen your portrait. My mother made sure I knew the histories. It is important to remember what my people did, what we took.”
Finn tried to conjure some saliva to wet her throat, but her mouth had gone bone dry. “And what did your people take?”
Iseult shook his head, seeming almost angry at Finn's ignorance.
Finn raised her eyes defensively. First the Traveler, and now Iseult. Would no one believe that she knew nothing of her past? “I need to know what happened to me,” she snapped. “Why it happened. You said that you saw my portrait, that I was part of history. I must know why.”
Iseult raised his eyebrow at her sudden burst of anger. “So you truly have no memories?”
Finn refused to drop her gaze. “How much did you hear of my conversation with the Traveler?”
It was Iseult who dropped his eyes instead. “Most of it. His people cannot be trusted, but they do not lie.”
Finn crossed her arms. “So once again, you waited in the dark, only to give aid at the last possible moment. Why even give aid at all?”
Iseult began to speak and stopped several times as he rethought his words. Finally he explained, “I aided you because I owe you a debt, and that debt could not be served if you were stolen away by a Traveler. Still, I had assumed that your ignorance was a bluff. I had to be sure you truly did not know your own identity.”
Finn snorted. “You owe me nothing. You don't even know me. You only know stories your mother told you.”
Iseult's face settled into rigid lines. Finn thought if she touched h
is cheek, it might feel just like stone. She instantly regretted what she had said.
“I am all that is left of my people,” he whispered. “I am all that is left to fix the mistake that they made. The mistake that destroyed them. I am the only one who can bring honor to their graves.”
Finn's face felt hot. She felt like she might cry, but instead she laughed, an abrupt bark of sound. Surprised at herself, Finn glanced over to where their companions slept on the opposite side of the great pine, hoping she had not woken them. Iseult looked at her in question, and she cleared her throat nervously as she turned back to him. “I'm sorry, but I do not think I am the one you are searching for. Perhaps the portrait you saw was of an ancestor of mine. I cannot help you.”
Iseult shook his head in frustration. “The portrait was of Finnur, the first of the Dair to become known to the mortal realm, and High Priestess of Clan Cavari. The portrait was of you.”
Finn shivered as she gazed out into the darkness, still expecting to see the forms of the Traveler's at any moment. “I am not who you claim,” she said again.
Iseult's expression softened as he placed a hand gently along Finn's jaw to bring her gaze back up to his. “Then who are you?”
Finn shrugged. Tears began to steadily drip down her face as she stepped back out of Iseult's reach.
Iseult nodded to himself. “I will help you find the answers you seek. I swear it.”
“But why?” Finn asked, barely loud enough to be audible.
Iseult smiled softly. “Because if you are who I believe, then finding answers about your past will lead me to answers about mine.”
“But you are indebted to the twins,” Finn whispered, slowly accepting what Iseult was saying.
He glanced in the direction of their sleeping companions. “I will return their coin. There will be no debt.”
Finn shook her head. “We cannot abandon them. At least, not until we reach another burgh where they might hire a new sellsword. I would not feel right if something happened to them.”
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