“He does well, but he is still very angry about you decision to come here. Unfortunately, he has been seething over it all these years.” Daire chuckled lightly. “He truly has not changed from how you remember, has he?”
“No, I suppose not.” The priestess paused. “Have you truly come to take me home?”
Daire nodded. “Aye, that I have.” He hesitated slightly. “Father decided that mother has kept you here long enough. The time has come for you to return to Tara.”
“Ceallach did?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Tara is in need of its High Priestess.”
The mild tenseness in his voice did not go unnoticed by the priestess. “What are you not telling me, cousin?” demanded Shiovra gently.
Daire placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “Come back with me to Tara. Don’t wait for father. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Shiovra frowned, knocking his hands away. “Don’t want to see me hurt?” she demanded. “What are you talking about? You are not making sense. I am safe here. There is no one in Rúnda who would hurt me.”
Anger was quick to flash in Daire’s eyes. “You are being naïve if you think they will just let you walk away!” he shouted. “They may have decided it was time for you to leave, but you will have to leave on their terms. With you heeding their every word, they gain everything.”
So it is your desire to use my daughter to your own gain?
The old memory of her mother’s words resurfaced in Shiovra’s mind. She shook her head, keeping her voice calm and hard when she spoke, “Please explain to me the meaning to your words.”
“Ten years ago mother came to Tara with the sole attention of gaining you, for what you are capable of. Why else do you think Tríonna fought against her so hard? To protect you!” Daire took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “Please, cousin, understand. Mother means well, but she manipulates our lives to secure her plans. She will willingly use you like a pawn, moving you about to her desires, like she has done to all of us!”
Be wary of Réalta’s words lest she catch you upon her web.
Shiovra clenched her fists as Deirdre’s painful last words echoed in her mind. She looked away from Daire.
Daire stepped back. “It is your choice, Shiovra, and your choice alone,” he said. “Wait for them to send you off, or slip away with me. The choice is yours to make.” He paused. “Did you know that the betrothal she spoke about when you were eight is to a Milidh man? Or has she neglected to tell you?”
Shiovra balked. “She would not do that…”
A short laugh passed Daire’s lips. “She can and she has,” he retorted. “To a man from the village of Dún Fiáin. I heard her tell father of the decision.”
Her nails bit into her skin as she clenched her fists tighter.
Daire met her gaze, his eyes unwavering and warm. “But, remember this. Even if you decide to leave with me, there shall always be those who will hunt you because you are a High Priestess, the last High Priestess of the Túath clan,” he murmured. “Understand this. They would kill to get to you, even Rúnda will not remain safe from their eyes forever. Trust me, like you used to do ten years ago, and come with me. I don’t want to see you used. But decide first…whether you are going to get killed or fight back!”
Be wary of Réalta’s words lest she catch you upon her web.
Hesitantly, he reached a hand out and touched her cheek. “Shiovra, I have given you the truth. Will you prove my words? Ask them of the betrothal. Ask them why I was not permitted to visit. Ask why you were not allowed to leave.” Daire met her gaze firmly and said in a soft voice, “Come with me.”
Frowning, she half-heartedly knocked his hand away. “Enough,” Shiovra told him. “It has been ten years, Daire. I am no longer a child. I will seek answers, and I will do so my way.” She looked at him briefly then, turning away, left the cottage.
Daire frowned and shook his head.
“What did you expect?” came Réalta’s voice.
He turned to his mother, looking her in the eye with a cold gaze. “Céad Míle Fáilte, a hundred thousand welcomes to you too, mother,” he said bitterly. “Or do you not remember me after leaving me to at Tara for fostering so many years ago?”
Réalta brushed it off. “She cannot escape her destiny, Daire,” she continued. “I am merely guiding her.”
“Guiding her?!” he shouted. “You are using her like a pawn! You hide her away here, keeping her from her own kin!”
“No one is forcing her to remain here!” retorted Réalta. “She remains her of her own choice!”
“She remains here because she knows nothing else!” snapped Daire. “You say the time has come for her to leave, but you could have easily trained her in Tara. You had to take her away and keep us out.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “I will sit idle no longer!”
Réalta frowned. “It is not for you to decide! She will leave for Tara, but not with you.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Shiovra made her way through the apple orchard, far beyond the clearing. Hiking her skirts up, she waded through a stream, then continued on, letting the wind be her guide till she came upon a tree with branches that were low enough for her to reach. She climbed up carefully and stretched out on a thick, strong branch. As she sat there leaning against the tree trunk, she let the songs of birds lure her into utter relaxation, soothing her into tranquility. Sleep began to weave through her body and Shiovra closed her eyes.
She will willing use you like a pawn, moving you about to her desires, like she’s done to all of us.
She flinched at the memory.
You are being naïve if you think they will just let you walk away! They may have decided it was time for you to leave, but you will have to leave on their terms.
Rubbing her face, Shiovra leaned against the trunk of the tree. She had not slept well after the confrontation with Daire the day before. His words had triggered memories from the night of Deirdre’s death. For ten years Shiovra had been training on Rúnda, leaving her family behind and doing all Réalta told her without question. Yet, with Deirdre’s last words, she had begun to doubt the purpose of keeping her on the island. She could have easily remained in Tara for her training, by the side of the people she was to protect and her kin. Yet, Réalta had purposely separated her from them and after ten years, Shiovra had nearly forgotten that important fact. Nearly.
She titled her face up to the sun, allowing it to bathe her in warmth. Away from the small village, she would be able to think clearly and decide what would be the action to take. The day was beautiful, even with the gray clouds moving in and drifting over the sun and the breeze grew in strength, rustling the branches and leaves around her. Shiovra smiled lightly, relishing in the warmth that filled her.
That was, until she felt herself drift off to sleep and her balance was lost.
Shiovra tumbled from the tree, rather ungracefully, colliding with nearly every branch as she fell. Closing her eyes tightly, she prepared herself for the ground, which she knew drew dangerously near. To her surprise, she was roughly half caught and half landed upon someone who grunted from the impact. Snapping her eyes open, she scrambled to her feet.
Ceallach Neáll lay sprawled out on the ground. He looked up at her in shock, and then smiled as he climbed to his feet. The Fomorii man was tall and slim, with long, silvery-white hair that reached to the middle of his back. He had pale, ice blue eyes with slit pupils. He bore several blue woad marks on his face, given to him by the Túath in honor for what he’d done for them.
“Is this how you greet those who trespass through the apple orchard?” he queried. Though his face was set in its usual emotionless manner, laughter hinted in his eyes.
Shiovra found his amusement to be rather suspicious, being the man often displayed very little emotion, if any. “Please forgive me,” she said quietly, dusting off her garments. “I did not mean to land upon you.”
“Fret not,” Ceallach replied. “I do not be
lieve you intentionally fell upon me. It is not every day that a High Priestess drops down upon you from nowhere.”
She glanced around at the trees. “I came here to think.”
“To think?” Ceallach asked. She did not respond, only looked at him silently. “What troubles you?” He stepped closer and placed a hand lightly upon her shoulder.
Shiovra did not reply at first, but instead studied the man’s face. From the tightness of his lips to the slight firmness of his grip upon her shoulder, she knew why he was there, and it did not please her. He was there for one purpose only, to be sure she did not run off with Daire. “Many things, Ceallach Neáll,” she began slowly, brushing his hand away. “Many things that I had nearly forgotten and had never truly questioned, but should have.”
Ceallach looked at her, face unreadable. “Such as?”
“Why do you keep me here?” she questioned harshly. “Is remaining on Rúnda essential to my training as a priestess in some way?” Her voice demanded an answer and she watched Ceallach with a narrowed gaze.
“No,” came his short reply.
“And is there a reason why my kin have not been allowed to come, nor have I been permitted to visit them?”
He watched her impassively.
“No answer?” A frown crossed her face and she looked away. “I came to Rúnda because I thought it would be for the best. I thought that I needed to come here so I could train to be the priestess that Tara deserved. But you have just denied that need. When Deirdre came that night, wounded and dying, the words she spoke to me with her last breath set me to wonder. I didn’t know what to think of what she told me, at first. Then Daire came, speaking words I held in disbelief. I needed to think.”
“And?”
Shiovra meet his gaze once more. “I am leaving.”
Ceallach did not appear the least bit surprised, as if he had been waiting for those very words to fall from her mouth. “Oh, is that so?”
“My training is finished, is it not? You cannot force me to remain here any longer. I am leaving Rúnda and returning home,” Shiovra said firmly.
“Why?” he demanded simply, voice smooth.
“Because I no longer belong here,” she replied. “How can I be the High Priestess of Tara if not in Tara?” Offering a curt smile, Shiovra began to head down the path worn in the grass.
Ceallach stepped in front of her, blocking her. She moved to step around him, but he was quicker.
Shiovra had expected as much. “Leave me be.”
“If you desire to leave, you will have to face a trial of skill.”
Shiovra’s eyes narrowed as she felt Ceallach draw upon the energies surrounding them brought on by the approaching storm.
He brought his hand up swiftly and cast it out. What followed was a strong gust of wind that slammed into Shiovra with such force she stumbled back a few steps.
Shiovra quickly shielded her face. Waiting for the wind to subside, she lowered her arms. “This is my choice, Ceallach Neáll. You shall not stop me!” she shouted, glaring at him.
“You made a vow, did you not?” he countered, voice dark and distant. “If you wish to leave Rúnda, it shall be by my judgment!” Ceallach thrust his palm towards her. Another biting gale slammed into Shiovra, knocking her off her feet. Twigs from the surrounding trees flew with the wind he thrust at her, catching on her garments and glancing across her skin.
Hissing, Shiovra hastily climbed to her knees and gathered the energy surrounding to create a rippling barrier around her. Ceallach’s attack was strong and she fought to keep the barrier. She was getting tired of his Fomorii tricks. Biting back the pain, Shiovra rose to her feet once more. “I no longer need your permission. I am leaving whether you or Réalta say so.”
Ceallach paused, arching a brow. His voice was hardly above a whisper, his words wrapping around her. “We shall see about that.”
Shiovra’s frown deepened. It seemed the man had more Fomorii tricks up his sleeve. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and calmed herself, focusing on the wild energy dancing all around them. If he wanted a fight, he would get one and he would lose.
Opening her eyes, a sweet smile spread across her lips. She brought her hands up, energy rushing through her body. Her hands tingled slightly as a brilliant white lightning crackled around them. It wasn’t the first time she had channeled such power, but it still took a great deal of her own personal energy.
Shiovra drew Ceallach’s gaze and held it firmly. She would not hold back any longer, would not bend to their every word. She was the High Priestess of Tara, not their personal underling. Taking a deep breath, she flung the lightning at Ceallach.
The man made no attempt to move, only let it shatter as it slammed into a barrier much like her own had been. A frown spread over his face and his eyes showed the strain at holding his barrier up under the pressure of her attack. Irritation flashed in his eyes and he brought his hand up, tossing something at her.
Shiovra caught it in her hand, looking down at the small pebble that was as black as night. Darkness began to surround her, blinding her. She could see nothing, not even Ceallach himself. All went quiet. She frowned, closing her hand around the pebble. “Tch. Another Fomorii trick,” she muttered to herself.
Clenching her hand, she looked around the endless space of darkness. Even in darkness, light could be found. Small at first, hardly noticeable, little flecks of light drifted up from the unseen ground. Shiovra offered her free hand out and one of the specks lighted upon her palm.
She will willing use you like a pawn, moving you about to her desires, like she’s done to all of us.
Shiovra felt strength fill her, her energy renewed, and she knew what she needed to do. She brought her hand up, palm facing the sky. The specks of light began to gather, joining together above her hand. Brighter and brighter it burned, breaking apart the darkness. The orchard became drenched in a light so brilliant that Ceallach was forced to shield his eyes.
She took that to her advantage. Moving forward, she swiftly took his blade from the intricate scabbard it resided within. Without missing a step, she slipped back and twirled the blade to point the tip at Ceallach. Shiovra stood ready, her well-trained hand upon the hilt and the blade tip poised at his throat. “I am one of the Túath clan and High Priestess of Tara. I have faced many trials in my life here and have prevailed over them all,” she said. “I will not begin to fail now because your desire to cage me here.” She stepped closer, placing the tip of the blade but a breath away from his throat. “You will hold me here no longer, Ceallach Neáll,” she continued. Shiovra dropped the sword to the ground. “I am leaving.”
“You will not!” came Réalta’s voice. She stepped up to Shiovra, her eyes burning with deep anger. “Have you forgotten? You made vows when you came this island…”
“My vows were to the Great Mother Dana, not you!” retorted Shiovra, eyes flashing with vexation. “I have a duty to serve and protect the people of Tara, our people, and I cannot fulfill that duty if I remain here! Look what happened to Deirdre.” she spun away from Réalta and began to leave.
“You don’t know if you could have prevented that!” Réalta shouted.
Shiovra turned back briefly. “I could have tried! But no, I have been stuck here for ten years, focusing on training I could have easily done back home in Tara.” Having said thus, she turned and began to walk away, then paused. “Merry part, Réalta Dubh.” Their voices drifted on the wind to her as she walked away.
“She reminds me of you when we first met,” said Ceallach.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Storm clouds gathered heavily as Dubheasa watched the boat bearing Ceallach Neáll drift away from the shores of Rúnda. Shiovra had been the first to depart, alone, and her heart felt heavy knowing what was coming. Her son, Kieran, would be the next to leave. As the priestess’ guard, he was never far from Shiovra. Even when he had trained in Ráth Faolchú, he had always returned to watch over her.
At the soft so
und of footsteps behind her, Dubheasa sighed. “When do you depart?” she asked of her son quietly, rubbing her arms against the chill carried by the wind.
“Soon,” came the soft reply. “Daire is waiting for her.”
She turned. “Kieran,” she began, looking at her son. “Take care of yourself.”
He smiled. “Of course. You too. Slán. Farwell.”
2. INTO THE DARKNESS
Despite the storm that had come upon her so suddenly, churning the waters beneath her boat, Shiovra had stepped onto the shores of Éire safely. Pulling the hood of her cloak up against the falling rain, she looked around at the lush, green land she had only been able to see from afar for ten years. Though she was still far from Tara, she already felt at home. With a sigh, she made her way from the shore and into a heavily forested area. She wasn’t far into the trees before the storm picked up, becoming more vicious.
The sky, which had only been cloudy earlier, was now black and menacing. The setting sun was well hidden behind a thick blanket of darkness. Rain had been falling softly at first, but now it came down in a torrential downpour that was so heavy it was blinding. Lightning played cruelly across the sky, like wicked hands that clawed at the earth. The rumble of thunder shook the ground, as if the earth itself trembled with fear and a bitter, rebellious wind tore over the land, howling eerily as it ripped through the trees surrounding Shiovra. The trees swayed and moaned in the roughness of the wind sending leaves and branches to tumble down in utter defeat. The trees seemed to have gained voice, as if they screamed in protest to the winds vicious onslaught.
Shiovra paused. She could feel the energy generated by the storm, wild and untamed, but also warning. A warning for her.
It was then that she heard it, distant shouts that were faint beneath the din of the storm. They were nearly audible and she could tell that they were coming closer, too close. Biting her lip, she quickened her pace.
The wind grew stronger and the lightning was relentless, but she continued onward till she began to feel weariness in her legs. Slowing her pace, Shiovra rested briefly against a tree to catch her breath. Closing her eyes, she pulled some of the energy created by the storm into her, harnessing its strength for her own.
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 4