by David Hodges
Cameron joined the other observers in forming an arc around the casket while Ollamh stood alone with his back to the quarry cliff.
Ollamh pulled a short staff made of knotted wood from what looked to be an exceptionally old leather case. It was bone dry, grayed, and smoothed over by many hands. Deep veins of a silvery substance ran through it. They were thicker and more numerous than the red Fuil in Ionga, and they became increasingly concentrated and intertwined toward the top of the staff.
Cameron wondered if it was a cured staff. If so, the Fuil seemed to lack the trace of blood that was necessary for curing. What use it could be of at a funeral was beyond Cameron.
Ollamh approached and began folding down the Eslene cloth until Otus’s chest was exposed. He pulled out a vial of a dark red liquid and poured it onto the center of his chest. Most of the thick liquid pooled in the center, though a few rivulets dripped away. He raised the staff and touched the head of it to the center of it to the small crimson pool.
At first, Cameron could see nor hear a change, though he doubted he would hear much over the dominating sound of the water rushing down the falls. After a few seconds of intently staring at the staff, he could see slivers of coppery Fuil spreading over Otus’s chest. They were emanating from the staff and inching outward in all directions as the pool of blood shrank.
The veins continued spreading outward, thickening at the same time, until all of his visible skin, his chest, his hands, his face, had veins of Fuil within inches of one another.
An impossible thought flashed over Cameron’s mind.
Then, before he could consider its feasibility, Ollamh removed the staff from his chest.
Faron approached the casket and placed an unstrung bow on his chest. He held his hand there for a moment before letting go. He was not wearing a look of grief or loss. It was a look of anger, and it turned to determination. He backed away, and he and Ayalon each picked up a torch. They laid them down on opposite ends of the thatch, and backed away as the flames spread. The casket was engulfed in a matter of seconds, and a thick plume of smoke rose above it.
Alviva and her mother were holding each other tightly.
They all waited there silently amidst the crackling and hissing of the raging fire. After a short while they were dismissed to let the body burn.
Cameron stared at the waning fire, burning no more than a hundred yards in the distance. He looked down at the roasted piece of meat on his plate and felt light headed. He pushed the plate away and leaned back in his chair.
“We’re supposed to be celebrating his life,” said Daniel.
“Forgive me if I’m not in the mood. I don’t know if it’s him I smell or the mutton.”
Daniel looked down at his own plate and sighed as he pushed it away. He poured Cameron and himself each a pint of ale. “At least have a drink.”
As the fire burned down, a pair of men left the group and headed toward it. They led a horse and wagon that contained a shovel, hammers of varied shapes and sizes, a table, and a grinding wheel.
When they arrived, Cameron could make them out in the distance as one began setting up the table and grindstone. He focused in on them to get a better look. He was used to the sensation in his eyes by now and was able to quickly gain a clear image of the men at work.
One of the men had a shovel full of charred remains. A rib cage. He set it on the table, and his partner set to breaking it apart with gloved hands. He returned with a skull, then traded his shovel for a hammer. Without a hint of hesitation, he smashed the skull into bits.
A blurry hand snapped in Cameron’s face. “What is it?” asked Daniel.
Cameron’s vision returned to normal. “Nothing.”
After a few more drinks, Cameron joined the group in departing back toward the falls.
The thatch and casket had been reduced to black char and traces of glowing orange embers. He looked at the table where the men had been pulverizing Otus’s remains. He was surprised to find it spotless. Only a stone bowl full of fine ash sat on top.
As the observers gathered, Ollamh picked up the bowl and carried it over to the edge of the cliff, adjacent to the waterfall, then waited as Alviva’s mother went to join him. She looked down at the ash for a moment, then closed her eyes. After a deep breath, she tossed them over the waterfall.
The heavier ash scattered into the falls. The finer ash hung there for a brief moment in front of the falls. Shimmers of coppery dust were visible amongst the gray, gently swirling in the light breeze. Then it was swept away from the cliffs, out toward the vast expanse that stretched beyond Talamh.
Cameron felt his chest tighten. If a soul was freed at death, he imagined it would look something like that. He had only ever been to one funeral, an uncle’s, or at least Daniel’s uncle. There he was forced to endure a long winded sermon, typical of a Christian burial. This ceremony was more far more moving for him, he could not deny that.
He waited there with Daniel while Alviva and her mother thanked the observers. They deserved a respite from all this, their own grief was enough to deal with.
As the last few observers offered their sympathy, Cameron noticed Ayalon talking to Faron. He could not make out what they were saying over the sound of the waterfall, but it was clear that Faron was not pleased with whatever it was his father had to say. Faron turned away from Ayalon who was still speaking and walked toward Cameron.
Zofia intercepted her husband before he reached him. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“It’s nothing.” He looked to Cameron and Daniel. “Let’s get back to the village.”
Cameron nodded and mounted his horse.
Daniel went to Alviva and gave her a quick kiss on her hand. In the days leading to the funeral, Alviva’s forlorn expression had faded only at his small comforts.
As Cameron rode through the woods, he wondered about the cured staff. It was as if the staff itself could cure a body, the way it imbued veins of Fuil across Otus. It was a preposterous notion, the body had been burned after all, but there must have been a reason for it. “That staff that Ollamh used... what exactly does it do?”
Zofia replied, “It’s a Fe, not an ordinary one, but it’s purpose is similar to a traditional Celtic Fe, used by druids to grant safe passage to the afterlife. The wood is aspen, those carvings on it are Ogham script that were added to it over time. The origin of our Fe is unknown. It could be as ancient as the Ladder and the Spheres. It’s unlike any other cured artifact we possess, in fact it behaves very much like the Spheres. Fuil can be extracted from it, but it doesn’t recharge on its own. Instead, it can absorb Fuil, no blood necessary either. It can hold an incredible amount... in fact it’s never been saturated. We have no idea how much Fuil it can absorb. The only use we’ve ever discerned is that which you’ve just observed.”
“It doesn’t actually work, does it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, what you said about passage to the afterlife, there’s no proof that it works is there?”
“Of course not, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t working. The mythology says that our Fe is meant to allow for life to continue after our bodies fail, not in some distant heaven, but right here, on our own paradise. Many believe that the Fe allows us to continue living on through our Cineáls.”
Cameron tried not to roll his eyes. He had heard of crazed claims of reincarnation before, though he had heard of werewolves as well. “Do you believe that?”
Zofia replied, “I’m not sure, but I certainly hope it’s true.”
24
HAZEL
Hazel sat at the end of a large wooden table that was arranged with many others along three sides of the market square. The long tables, stocked with food and drink traced the perimeter, though one edge was left open with a large platform set up. A variety of instruments and musicians covered the stage along with a podium at the front and center.
Lanterns hung on the large tree trunks that were scattered throughout the square,
illuminating the bustling expanse. Nearly every table was fully seated.
Fergus and Daniel were already getting started on their second course.
Bjarke and Uschi arrived at their seats, each of them holding a pitcher of ale. Bjarke sat the pitchers down next to another and peered in to find it empty. He looked at Fergus and Daniel, surprised at the rapidity of their consumption. “Should’ve brought more!”
Just as Bjarke took a seat, the music stopped. Ayalon himself, who had seemed more and more elusive since Hazel arrived, took to the stage and stood behind the podium.
He looked even more haggard and more solemn than when Hazel had last seen him. It had only been a week, but the stress of missing the Sphere and the threat of Einar still looming beyond the reach of the guard must have been taking a severe toll.
The crowd’s attention shifted and everyone grew silent as they awaited his commencement speech.
He began speaking with a distant stare, his gaze disconnected from his audience. “This evening, under the final full moon of the final harvest, let us celebrate the ninety first Samhain as a united Talamh. During the festivities of the next two days, I ask that you remember why we came together as one people, remember that we must cherish the harmony and security we have worked so hard to preserve, and remember that this way of life does not come without a price, we must work for it. There is much we have to be grateful for and much we have to lose should we fail in our duties,” after a long pause, he continued, “and of course... enjoy yourselves as we celebrate.” He waved a signal to a man standing next to an enormous pile of wood. Beside him, a wolf sat patiently.
Hazel could not make out the man’s face. He was cloaked in darkness, far from the light of the lanterns. There were nearly a dozen statues as tall as him surrounding the wood. The man struck a flint to the torch he was holding, setting alight a bright flame that cast the contours of his face under a dramatic orange hue. It was the same man that had startled Hazel when she was sneaking around Ayalon’s manor.
Uschi leaned toward Hazel and said in a hushed voice, “That’s Coinín and Ulric’s father, Aatu. He’s second in command of the Laochra.”
Hazel’s thoughts were interrupted when Aatu touched his torch to the pile of wood, setting it ablaze to form towering flames.
Fergus began clapping, but quickly stopped when he found himself applauding alone amidst silent onlookers.
The wooden statues surrounding the bonfire were illuminated. Arrows with large round tips hung down from each of the statues. Though the figures were back lit, their shapes were clear. A stag, a wolf, a lynx, a bear, a hawk, a hare, a lizard, and a spider. The beating light of the flame cast them in an orange outline, pulsing stronger and stronger. The statues seemed dangerously close to the fire, just beyond the flame’s reach.
Eight archers approached the statues, converging upon the bonfire as they walked over the freshly fallen leaves that surrounded it. Each of them had a bow in hand. Alviva was amongst them. Each of the archers approached the statues and strung the arrows that hung from them.
Alviva walked close to the bonfire and quickly lit her arrow before backing away from it and returning to where she stood. She touched her arrow to the next archer’s, and each archer did the same until a ring of eight ignited arrows were pointed up toward the sky.
Bjarke whispered softly, “Her father used to light the arrows.”
A bass drum beat three times, then on the fourth beat, all of the arrows were loosed. For a brief moment, they formed a nearly perfect circle around the full moon, then they vanished into the darkness.
The crowd erupted into cheering and a jovial tune began to play from the stage.
Alviva wiped a tear from her cheek with her sleeve and walked back to a table where she joined her mother.
Hazel suddenly felt so insensitive for celebrating earlier that day when she could have attended the funeral. Her chest tightened.
“Care to dance?” asked a voice from behind.
Hazel recognized it as Elisedd’s and smiled, spared from having to wallow in her guilt for long. She let him help her out of her seat, then joined him in dancing with the others who had already surrounded the bonfire in pairs.
Elisedd slipped his hand behind her waist and set to dancing with her. Hazel could feel her cheeks getting warm. She tried not to think about it and focused on the music as she danced with him. The song ended and the crowd applauded. A new song began, this one was slower.
Elisedd leaned in toward her, close enough for Hazel to feel his breath on her neck. “You’re a good dancer,” he said.
The words tickled her ear and sent a shiver down her spine.
As they turned together, Hazel noticed a boy staring at her from one of the tables. She recognized him. He was the stable boy that Elisedd had been speaking with when he discovered her in the hay loft, Augie.
His brow was furrowed, his gaze fixed. He looked jealous, wounded even. He glanced away when he noticed Hazel watching him back.
She did not know what to make of it. She had never even spoken with the boy.
He rose from his table, and in doing so, he knocked over a full pitcher onto a man’s lap.
“Watch it, lad!” the man shouted.
Elisedd turned to see the commotion.
The boy’s look of embarrassment became one of anger as he locked eyes with Elisedd. He turned and stomped off into the woods.
“Pardon me, Hazel,” said Elisedd, sounding concerned. He walked briskly after him.
Hazel wondered what could have upset the boy so much. She decided to go and see if she could help Elisedd. She walked past the tables and into the woods where the light faded away. Before long, she heard faint voices. She continued toward them.
“What do you expect me to do, start dancing with you in front of the whole village?” said Elisedd in a hushed voice.
“No. I’m not an idiot. But you know she has feelings for you, and it looks to me like you’re planning on moving forward with her. I know this has to end some day, I just wasn’t expecting it to be so soon.”
“It won’t be,” said Elisedd.
Hazel heard a soft smacking sound as she approached.
Elisedd was leaning on the stable boy, holding him up against the tree. They were breathing heavily. Their lips were locked.
Hazel gasped.
The pair of them jumped away from each other and turned to look for the source of the sound. Elisedd spotted Hazel.
She was frozen in place.
“Hazel,” Elisedd said, mortified.
“Forgive me,” Hazel said. She turned and began to walk away. She wanted so badly to run, but felt foolish enough in her current state.
Elisedd caught up to her and stopped her. “Hazel... wait. You mustn’t tell anyone, please.” His voice was trembling. “I’m so sorry.” He shook his head.
Hazel’s embarrassment began to fade, but only just. “I won’t.”
Elisedd took her hand. “Thank you.”
Hazel managed a nod, pulled her hand away, and turned back toward the bonfire that was burning in the distance. As she approached the fire and headed away from the celebration, Fergus noticed her and left his dancing partner, Bede, the librarian.
“What’s wrong?” asked Fergus.
Hazel did not realize her eyes were overflowing. She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m going back to my room. Goodnight.”
“Hazel?” Fergus said, concerned.
She continued on past him.
Hazel clutched her pillow, feeling like a complete fool. She had mistaken his kindness and friendship as flirtation and romance. It seemed so obvious now. The way he carried himself around her, so effortlessly, not a hint of anxiety in any of his gestures toward her. No man with romantic feelings would have been able to behave with such ease. Surely he knew how she felt about him, but what else could he have done?
She began to realize there was no one to blame for the misunderstanding, not even herself, but it did little to change he
r feelings at that moment.
Ollie jumped up onto her bed and pushed his forehead into her cheek. He purred loudly as she scratched his head.
“You love me, don’t you, Ollie?” Hazel continued holding him as she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Hazel heard strange sounds, voices she realized, though they were not normal. They carried a high pitched, ringing echo. The walls of the cavernous room were a crudely cut stone. Hazel was peering in from the corner, crouched low to the ground. She looked behind her, there was a tunnel that led to a wooden door in a pile of rubble. She had no idea where she was.
“There are more among the Laochra who would join us, we need them,” a voice spoke in earnest.
“No. We can’t take the risk of recruiting others... we can no longer be sure who to trust, not after what’s happened with Otus.”
“What of Clara? Why isn’t she here?”
“She’s afraid. ”
“What if she reveals us? She’s lost her husband; she fears for her daughter.”
“She will not, I’m certain.”
“What of the Samhain? Do you agree to the plan?”
“I’ll make sure I’m seen... the Ladder and the Sphere? Is everything in place?”
“Yes.”
“Should we succeed the fate of Talamh will be in our hands.”
Hazel awoke with a gasp. On top of her, Ollie was kneading her chest. A dream.
25
CAMERON
Cameron laid awake in his bed. Every night was a restless one, but with the laughter and shouting that periodically burst out from the street, it seemed futile to try to fall asleep.
He decided to continue his new habit of walking toward the village gates to wait and see if a search party would arrive or depart. He would sit there for an hour or more, waiting. He had seen a handful of groups come and go. Each time he asked of any news, he was brushed off or disappointed.
He grabbed his longbow and quiver and went downstairs and onto the street. Before he could take more than a few steps, he saw a pair of young men strutting his way.