by Cory Huff
“We must prepare for a battle,” he started. “We have scouts confirming, but we need to be ready for roughly 300 enemies, composed of orcs, goblins, ogres, and minotaurs.” The officers let out gasps then immediately stifled them after Garrick’s sharp look. She approved of his ability to silence them.
“This woman, Dubhaine, is an elf. Sorry, they call themselves Tuatha. She is instructing me on what to expect. We have a great deal of new information to process right away. Please try to keep up.” He turned back to her and said, “explain the Hidden City again please.”
Dubhaine wanted to roll her eyes. Instead, she squelched the unnecessary action and rigidly repeated herself in a clipped manner, letting a little bit of Mindee’s personality bleed through, “A large portion of Atania has been hidden from your eyes for over a century. The Winter Queen and her Court decided that the Duine’s access, your people’s access, to the Ogham, er, the magic, should be cut off. So they made your ancestors forget about it, and made the city invisible to your eyes. The invading army is using the Hidden City to ambush you. They are on their way now.”
“This can’t be real,” muttered one of the officers.
Dubhaine’s eyes flashed. Mindee was angry. “It’s real,” she said in a low, threatening voice. “One of your people violated the Gaeas that we put over you. She taught herself how to use the Ogham, and she started teaching others. Someone was sent to kill her, and when they failed, it was decided that you would all be eliminated and Atania would be razed to the ground.”
“What is a Gaeas?” asked an officer.
“And who violated it?” came another question.
“Why are you helping us?” asked yet another officer.
Mindee was frustrated. They were wasting time, but Dubhaine understood. She tried to speak in a less hostile manner. “I am, in part, one of you. My father was a Duine, a human. I have lived among you for a long time, watching over you and preventing your people from accessing the Ogham to keep you safe.” Her face and voice hardened again, “I failed. The penalty for failure is severe. It is unjust. I want to help you survive.”
She realized as she was saying it that she didn’t just mean the annihilation of humanity was unjust. She also felt that what the Cumhnantach’s threat to end her life for failure was unfair. Saving them was as much about her survival as it was humanity’s. Mindee locked that thought away for consideration later.
The officers looked at her in wonder. She imagined they were trying to reassess their notions of what was real.
“Gabalifix, the minotaur emperor who is leading this army, is merciless. He is a dangerous tactician who previously led a massive army. My advice is that you shut your gates and protect your knights. See if you can get them to lay siege, and I will go for help.”
Garrick nodded. “300 creatures from legend is perhaps more than we are prepared to take on. Where will you go for help, and how long will we need to stall?”
“I will go to your people on the Thir. The roaming clans of the Bloodstone and Black Ravens.”
The first officer spoke up again, “What? Why would they help us?”
“Because this is their homeland as well,” responded Dubhaine. “The ancestors of the tribes were not tribesman. They were officers and soldiers in the Atanian army, which was broken at the end of the Hartland War and when the Gaeas hit, they forgot who they were. They forgot the purpose of their banners, turning them into symbols of worship or power. The Bloodstone tribe was King Darian’s honor guard, and even they forgot who they were.”
Garrick took a deep breath and let that sink in. “So you think because their families were from here, they will help us?”
“It’s your best chance. Maybe your only chance.”
Dubhaine watched Atania fall with barely a whimper.
The church closed its gates before Gabalifix’s army arrived. When the small but terrifying motley approached, Lord Commander Garrick Cimarron spoke to the Emperor himself under a flag of truce just outside the gate.
Dubhaine watched. The Emperor was calm, even genteel. She couldn’t hear from the walls of the church grounds, but he shook hands with the Lord Commander. The Lord Commander came back after thirty minutes of negotiations and spoke to his officers. After a moment he stopped, looked at Dubhaine and waved her over to partake of their conversation.
He spoke to the entire officer contingent, “The Emperor made his terms very clear. We stay inside the church grounds, and they will leave us alone.” He sighed and paused for a moment. He seemed shaken. “He said they are here looking only for a specific few people. They will impose martial law while they search for them.”
She watched the other officers faces as they took in this news. Some were shocked and horrified. Dubhaine looked back at the Lord Commander: he looked resolved.
Inside her mind, Caile spoke to Dubhaine. “He may fancy himself a general, but he recognizes he is in over his head. Buying himself some time is a smart move.”
Sure enough, the next words out of the Lord Commander’s mouth were, “I agreed to his terms. Our priority has always been to protect the faith and finish the temple. I spoke with our leader Aemon Ban before this, and he told me to protect the temple at all costs.”
The officers remained silent. They didn’t look happy about it, but what could they do?
Leaving a detachment of twenty outside the church gates, Gabalifix the Great led his small army down to the road, toward the central market district.
Dubhaine watched from the top of the wall as the Lord Commander, and his officers turned to tell the people inside the church walls what was happening. She observed the news spread among the workers, soldiers, and clergy as they realized they were trapped inside the church grounds and their loved ones were at the mercy of the invading army.
As the panic set in Caile spoke again, “Just like the Tuatha did when Cyric’s army was on our doorstep.”
Dubhaine couldn’t stay here and watch this. As the officers ordered the men to take control of the grounds she slipped into the crowd. She had to get away. Using a simple misdirection trick, she pointed the attention of the nearest soldiers away and went down the exterior of the wall. Lightening her weight with the Ogham, she let herself down the stones and disappeared into the winding streets near the church.
Dubhaine made her way through the city, moving as quickly as she could through the side alleys, trying to keep an eye on the Emperor’s army. She watched as the crowds fled before the terrifying creatures out of fairy tales. However, the army efficiently penned them in, forcing them into the center of the markets to listen to the Emperor proclaim victory over them.
“Your church will not protect you,” he intoned over the dead-silent market square. His voice was deep and sonorous and made Dubhaine think of silk over polished steel. The Emperor continued, “There will be taxes. There will be rules, martial law. Listen and obey, and I will be a gentle ruler. Resist us or fight any of our soldiers and you feel my strength.”
His soldiers then began collecting spoils. They took anything that looked valuable. Jewelry. Large hams. Loaves of bread. The people of Atania were not wealthy, but that didn’t stop Gabalifix’s army from taking what they wanted.
A few men tried to resist by holding on to their food. They ended up on the ground with bruises and broken limbs. The soldiers beat one of the men into unconsciousness. Dubhaine thought she was about to watch a man die, but a minotaur covered in tattoos and piercings put a stop to it. “Enough. They get the point.”
This tattoo-covered behemoth must be an officer. He ordered the soldiers to begin interrogating everyone. Dubhaine did as she had done for a century, moving among the fringes of the crowd, listening. The Emperor’s men were looking for anyone who had stories about strange things happening in Atania. Anything unexplained or mysterious. They were looking for people who had used the Ogham.
The people seemed astonished that these mythical creatures were asking if anything unexpected had happened. They didn’t
dare speak the truth of the situation, that the most unusual thing they had ever seen was happening right now. A woman cared for the man who had been beaten nearly to death. She leaned over his bleeding face, crying. Dubhaine heard her say, “Spirits, if you are there, if you are as real as these creatures, save us.”
11. The Phoenix
Early in the morning, just before dawn, Aidan woke up at Nia’s gentle prodding. “What’s going on? Are you OK?” he asked.
Nia nodded and spoke in a quiet tone, “I have to go Aidan. Crysania, the Tuatha woman who came here with me, is training me on how to be a druid, like my mother. She says if I want to learn, and I do, I must return to the Hartland forest with her. I just wanted to say thank you for trying to save me. It is not your fault that you couldn’t.”
Nia watched as tears welled up in his eyes. “I miss you, Nia. I miss our talks. Everything is so…hard now.”
Nia nodded. “I’ll be back in Atania. I don’t know when.” She longed to tell him all about what had happened to her with the Tuatha. However, there was no time. She tried to convey her care in a simple hand squeeze, knowing it was wholly inadequate.
A shadow darkened the door to the room. Aidan looked up and saw the Tuatha woman. “You’re Crysania? Thank you for healing and helping Nia.”
Crysania nodded. “Nia has spoken a great deal of you young Aidan. You are a good friend. You are caught up in a struggle between forces you cannot comprehend. Proceed with great caution. I will send Nia with more information when she is ready.”
Nia silently wondered when she would be ready. She had so much to learn.
Aidan nodded. “Do you know how long it will take?”
Crysania peered into Aidan’s eyes and reached for Nia’s hand. “She learns quickly. Her heart is open, and she listens with all of her soul. She truly is descended from the great druidesses. I think she will come back to you when the Spirits see a need for her to do so.”
She and Nia turned and walked out the door. Aidan stood up and followed them out. As they exited the house, they walked into the dawn light. Nia wondered what Aidan saw as their forms faded in the sun. She remembered the children’s tales of Thir Na Nog.
Nia shivered as the light faded on Ghealdar and they stepped into the Tuatha temple dedicated to Talamh, the earth spirit. She did not remember being brought here. Crysania said she had been born here by Tine, the hearth spirit itself. Nia had been close to death, and Tine had demanded that Crysania, the tall, pale-skinned Tuatha with long black hair who led the Tuatha druids, personally care for Nia.
Nia’s first memory of this place had been waking up in a haze while they changed her bandages. Her horrific burns had hurt more than anything she could imagine. She had begged for death while they changed the soaked, medicated dressings along her right side, including her face. The bandages had done their work. The water used to soak the bandages was the purest spring water from the sacred underground pool, infused with herbs for healing and pain relief.
While she recovered, she had asked questions and listened. Crysania Songcrest was the highest druid of the Tuatha. She had never married because she had been too busy. At a young age, she had been the only Tuatha Druid to survive the Hartland war. She had dedicated herself to the service of the spirits, and under her leadership, the ranks had filled with new acolytes. She was also the daughter of Tarkin Songcrest, the eldest of the Tuatha, and leader of the Amhranaithe Sidhe, the Blade Singers, the warriors of the Tuatha. Together, Crysania and Tarkin led the surviving people of the Tuatha. Crysania swore her acolytes to secrecy, forbidding them from even discussing the human woman in their care. The Tuatha would not understand why Crysania was caring for her. Many would not care if Tine himself appeared before them to explain this human girl’s presence, despite their reverence for the Spirits. Despite her conflicted loyalties, Crysania would not endanger this woman who was so crucial to Tine.
Crysania spoke, interrupting Nia’s reverie, “You are dismissed, Nia. You did well. Now go back to your herbal studies.” Crysania sent her to the back chambers behind the main temple area. She walked a few paces, paused, then turned around. She wanted to see what Crysania would do next. Leaving here for the first time in weeks had awoken her curiosity. She padded along silently through stone halls illuminated by softly glowing moss, walking behind Crysania and hoping to catch a glimpse of the main temple chamber. As Crysania moved from the secret cave to the main temple, the illumination became brighter, the moss augmented by additional glass globes holding small fires.
Nia watched her walk into a large, unobstructed cavern of unworked stone. There was a deep, cold spring at one end where she had fetched the water used to wash Nia’s wounds. Kneeling in front of the spring was a blonde haired Tuatha covered in dirt and forest detritus. She had managed to pull a bucket of the spring water out and was lifting it in handfuls, scouring the earth off of her face and neck. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing the curly hair into a semblance of respectability. The blonde elf smiled when she saw Crysania, and applied a handful of holy water to her armpits. Nia was mildly shocked. It was something she would have done at home. The woman was making a mess on the ground in front of the holy spring. Crysania would have to have an acolyte clean the stone. The new Tuatha shivered at the bracing cold of the water, shook her whole body and it reminded Nia of nothing more than a cat shaking off the rain.
“Niece,” said the Tuatha with a relaxed smile. She looked down, “I seem to have made a mess in Talamh’s temple again. I was hoping I could finish washing before you returned and caught me. Do you think Talamh will forgive me?” She arched a mocking eyebrow as if she were not addressing the head of the Tuatha religion, but a child who needed a sense of humor.
Crysania seemingly couldn’t help herself, smiled, and shook her head. “Forgiveness is between the earth spirit and you, auntie Celestina.” They embraced, and Crysania wrinkled her nose, “You smell like a wet cat.” When they separated, Crysania’s white linen dress was smudged all over. It was also clinging to her immodestly. Celestina looked her up and down and instead of apologizing, she said, “I know you’ve been too busy to marry, but if any of our Tuatha brethren came in right now they might fall and beg to marry you that they might worship here nightly.”
Crysania stared at Celestina, looking mildly horrified, but mostly amused that Celestina would talk to her like she were another soldier. Nia smiled at the familiarity. It wasn’t something she could have ever imagined anyone having with someone as mystical and influential as Crysania. They were family. Nia’s heart ached for her own dead family.
Crysania smiled and asked, “What brings you in from the woods?”
“War.” Responded Celestina. The hairs on the back of Nia’s neck suddenly went up. “I killed a small troop of goblins in the woods more than a week’s travel East of here. They were scouts. It will probably take an army two weeks to get here once they figure out what happened to their scouts. We have at least that long to prepare. I’ve already told Tarkin. I went there first.”
Crysania took a long time to respond. “Do you know how many?”
Celestina shook her head. “I’m heading back out tomorrow to find out. I wanted Tarkin to have time to prepare in case something happens to me.”
Crysania smiled and said, “They’ll probably run away if they see you, auntie. After all, you are the mighty Sealgair.”
“Even a goblin arrow can get lucky niece,” she didn’t sound as if she believed it. “Come, let’s find some food and you can tell me all about the woman your acolytes aren’t supposed to be talking about.” She looked straight at Nia who thought she had been well-hidden. She turned and fled for the living chambers, hoping Crysania would not punish her for eavesdropping.
The wind carried with it the harbingers of war. The wind blew through the temple of Gaoth in the Hartland forest where the Tuatha lived. In the Hartland wood, even the birds carried messages for the Tuatha. Their song was full of confused warnings. There were too many g
oblins — too many creatures from the rocky mountains.
The wind also brought dreams.
Laying on her cot, Nia dreamed. It was a recurring dream that brought pain with a tinge of hopefulness. It was a dream of her early days here in the temple.
Nia looked at her own bandaged reflection in the mirror-like surface of the pond in Talamh’s temple. She had been in the temple for just a few days. Everything still hurt, but Nia knew she would live. She wanted to see how much of her flesh the fire had consumed. She reached up and began peeling off the bandage.
“You won’t like what you see.” Said Crysania, quietly.
The woman ignored her and slowly peeled away the bandage. As she did, it revealed red flesh, newly healed over, crisscrossed with scars. It had a melted appearance, like candle wax that had spilled over and hardened. The scars ran down the right side of her face and body. As she continued removing the bandages, she took them off down to the top of her thigh, where they stopped. She nodded slowly and pressed her lips together as if to gain control of the tears that dripped from her face and disrupted the reflection of her scars. She sat down at the edge of the holy pool.
She shook as she took in the damage. It was truly miraculous that she had lived. How could she ever recover? The fire had eaten her skin and muscle, leaving her emaciated.
She took some time to compose herself. The Tuatha woman who cared for her waited patiently. The earth, air, and water whispered to her that this moment mattered. Nia had a choice to make.
“Where am I?”
“You are among the Tuatha,” said Crysania. “You visit a place most sacred to us, where no human has come since before your great-grandparents. The cavern is the temple of the spirits among our people. It is holy. You were brought here by the fiery spirit Talam itself.”