by J. M. Briggs
“Cathanáil,” Morgana breathed, her own eyes wide as she looked at the disk before a wide smile spread across her face. “Merlin, it's Cathanáil!”
“Are you sure?”
“I’d know that sword anywhere,” Morgana told him with a nod. “But I don’t see the blood, just water.”
“You can see different things?” Arthur asked, almost knocking Alex to the floor as he leaned forward suddenly. “But I thought-”
“This is a tool Arthur, one that responds to each mage a little differently,” Merlin told him, stepping forward and putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.
“Children! Get ready!” Morgana ordered sharply, releasing the disk and standing up. “The shadows are coming.”
21
In the Shadow of the Mound
802 B.C.E. Newgrange Ireland
The small opening into the hill was shadowed even as the sun shone down across the grassy plain. From his place several feet back, Arto tried not to fidget. His back muscles were tense and his legs were sore making it hard to stay still. He bit back a sigh and swallowed the saliva in his mouth to relieve his thirst. Glancing up towards the sun, he tried to calculate how long he’d been standing like this.
“Have you been here before on the winter solstice?” Luegáed asked in a low voice next to him, shifting slightly in his discomfort. His friend sounded as bored as he did which made Arto feel a little better.
“I have,” Arto answered in a soft voice, watching to make sure that no one was looking at them. “When I was much younger, Merlin wanted me to meet with the regional priests and see the inside of the complex.”
“It’s impressive when the sun can shine inside,” Luegáed replied with a tiny nod. “My father arranged for me to have the honor shortly before I went to join your efforts. He hoped that I’d carry some of the power of the ancestors with me that way.”
“It is an honor to be here once more,” Arto agreed even as his joint ached. It was unusually cold for the spring and he thought he could smell rain in the air. “But it isn’t the solstice today and I could do with some rest, not an honor.”
Luegáed chuckled softly beside him, adjusting his cloak with small movements so it covered more of his torso. Arto frowned, wondering if he could manage that on his own, but part of it had been tossed back over his shoulder to make Cathanáil easier to draw. So while he could get to his sword quickly, his right side was freezing in the early spring wind.
“I’m not sure what the priests are doing,” Luegáed admitted softly, still keeping his eyes locked on the figures who were moving around the entrance. “I may have grown up nearby, but I’ve never understood the ceremonies here.”
The mound was amongst the largest in the isles, a piled hill of earth that had been constructed generations ago. Arto doubted that anyone knew exactly when it had been completed and he’d already been regaled with many local stories about its creators. But it was more than a simple hill; a long passage led inside from the small entrance that aligned with the sun on the winter solstice. There were three small chambers at the far end of the passage that only priests and special guests could enter. Only the ashes and bones of the most honored were brought here.
When he’d been here as a boy, Merlin had taken him inside and he had run his fingers over the triskele carved into the stone at the far end of the passage. His mentor had spoken to him in a low voice about the power of the symbol, its meaning for the world. Arto shivered and exhaled nervously. This had been where Merlin had first told him about his power and his destiny to protect the Iron Realm.
“You alright?” Luegáed asked, glancing towards him with a worried expression.
“Just remembering an unpleasant conversation here,” Arto told him, grateful that his voice remained steady.
Unable to keep looking at the entrance, remembering the long corridor that to his younger mind had gone on in the dark forever, Arto glanced at the standing stones that surrounded the complex. They were smoother and more rounded than the ones at the great circle in the plains where his own people celebrated the winter solstice. Yet they were stunning; the triskele and other symbols carved deeply into the stone. These were newer, having been added only a few generations ago, similar to the large timber circle nearby.
“Do you think you will be placed here?” Luegáed suddenly questioned. “After the war?”
“My people have always been cremated at the plain stone circle,” Arto reminded him calmly, looking at his friend in the corner of his eye. “My father was cremated there.”
“I know, but my people place the honored dead here after cremation,” Luegáed told him. “I thought that maybe you would be included.”
“I am not from the western isle,” Arto answered carefully. “I do not believe that would be the case. Besides… I think that Morgana might have something to say about it and Gwenyvar of course.”
“But not too soon I hope,” Luegáed added quickly, a strange tone to his voice. “Many years from now when the war is over and you die an old man.”
Arto chuckled, but nodded in agreement, forcing himself to look back to the entrance into the mound. A priest stepped out of the dark passage and into the light of the sun, nodding to one of his fellows. They nodded in return and stepped away from the entrance. Arto straightened up as the men approached them and internally debated if this was the right moment for a smile or not. Thankfully, the priests merely nodded deeply to him. Neither of them were smiling and Arto kept his expression as neutral as possible.
“May the ancestors be with you,” one of the priests said in a very dramatic voice. Arto barely kept himself from chuckling.
“Thank you,” he replied with a deep nod of his own.
“We wonder, Arto, if we might speak with you in greater detail about the Iron Gates?” the other priest asked, a glint of curiosity shining in his eyes.
“Caisid!” Merlin’s familiar voice called. “Mochan.”
Arto turned to see his mentor walking towards them, a small smile on his face as his staff gently hit the ground with each of his steps.
“Merlin,” one of the priests greeted with another nod. “Thank you for being here.”
“Of course,” Merlin said kindly, glancing quickly towards Arto. “I wonder if I might have a word. It is so rare that I am able to speak with you.”
Next to him, Luegáed chuckled softly as Merlin distracted the two priests. Luegáed gripped his shoulder and started leading him back towards the nearby village. The gently rolling hills surrounding them were dotted with trees, but it would be a short enough walk.
“Remind me to thank Merlin,” Arto grumbled, reaching back to adjust his cloak.
“I suspect you’ll remember,” Luegáed replied with a smile. “Of he’ll remind you himself.”
“Did I look that panicked?”
“Your discomfort wasn’t obvious,” Luegáed assured him, sounding a little too amused for Arto’s taste. “I just know you well enough to notice it.”
“I sorry, I don’t mean to be offensive. I know that these are your people, your family, and friends.”
“I know that you don’t mean anything by it,” Luegáed told him firmly, looking over at him quickly with a small smile. “You’re tired. You created a gate before the sun rose this morning, killed two Riders and then they promptly took you off to the mound. I’m impressed that you are being so calm and collected. I’m exhausted and I don’t have any magic that I used.”
Arto felt himself flush slightly even as the knot in his stomach eased. He would hate to have his best friend think that he was ungrateful towards his homeland. The reassurance let him release the breath he’d been holding as yet another man moved towards them to congratulate them on the latest victory he found it a little easier to smile and nod.
“They mean well,” Arto said, mostly to himself. “I’m a point of curiosity, I know that.”
“You think that’s bad: just imagine what it will be like when you win the war and seal the Sídhe out of
our world forever,” Luegáed laughed, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “Life will be really interesting then.”
“When this is all over…. I want seven kids,” Arto said. Sighing, he stooped down and picked up a small forked stick. “Maybe I’ll get a small herd and a dog. I haven’t had a dog since I was a kid.” He frowned and shook his head. “I wonder what happened to that dog.”
“You haven’t asked your mother?” Luegáed asked, his voice suddenly thin.
“No, there never seemed to be a good time. Besides, he probably just died of old age. At least that’s what I’ll hope for. I don’t really remember him, but every so often something comes to mind and it makes me smile,” he remarked with a shrug, twirling the small stick between two fingers for a moment before tossing it away. “Gwenyvar wants kids.”
“I know.”
“But I’m never around right now. I don’t know if I’d be a decent father.”
“I think you’d be a very good father,” Luegáed assured him with a small sad smile. “You care about everyone Arto, you are patient-”
Arto snorted at the remark only to get a stern look from Luegáed that nearly made him fall over laughing. “You just reminded me of my sister,” he gasped, stopping in his tracks and throwing his head back laughing.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Sure you complain… a lot, but you don’t let it stop you,” Luegáed continued before gesturing behind them. “And you stand through ceremonies even when all you want to do is sleep.”
“Maybe, hopefully, Gwenyvar and I will have the chance to see how we’d be as parents. We haven’t talked about it for… years,” he said, trailing off with a frown. “Has it really been that long since we talked about kids?”
“She knows you have work to do,” Luegáed told him quickly. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to upset you by talking about something that just isn’t possible yet.”
“It’s possible… we could have kids, but I wouldn’t be around much. But my mother would be there and most of the time you’d be there. We could make it work.”
“Arto…” Luegáed said slowly, his voice shaking slightly. Arto looked at him, concerned by the sudden odd color on his face and the tone of his voice.
“What is it Luegáed? Are you alright?”
“Arto!” another voice suddenly called, drawing his attention to his right.
Eaban was striding towards them, a heavy fur cloak draped over his shoulders and a wide smile on his face. Arto straightened up and smiled. The older man still stood taller than Arto, but there wasn’t as great a difference as there had been a few years ago. He looked back at Luegáed, but his friend’s expression had returned to normal. Luegáed caught his look and gave him a small and rather forced smile. Arto frowned and was about to ask once again what was wrong, but Eaban reached them and laughed loudly.
“Ah the young heroes!” he boomed, his gaze locking on his son. Eaban’s eyes darkened for a moment as he took in Luegáed’s expression, but he merely set his hand on his son’s shoulder and turned to look at Arto. “How are you faring in our land Arto?”
“I’m doing very well,” Arto replied politely with a respectful nod. “Everyone has been most welcoming.”
“Diplomatic as ever; you get it from your mother,” Eaban informed him with a small smile. “Your father was never quite so… delicate with his words. Not like that cousin of yours.”
“Medraut is very good with his words,” Arto agreed, unsure of what else to say.
“How is your mother?”
“She is well, sir,” Arto replied, relaxing at the well-meaning question. “She worries of course, but she remains healthy and I am grateful for her presence in my life.”
“That’s good to hear: your father’s death was a terrible thing,” Eaban said, his frown deepening. “It still troubles me that a Síd got behind him. Uthyrn was an excellent warrior and in that crowd… it shouldn’t have happened.”
“Father,” Luegáed interrupted sharply. “I’m sure that Arto doesn’t want to discuss that right now.”
“It’s alright Luegáed,” Arto said quickly, glancing between the father and son.
“No,” Eaban conceded with a nod. “My boy is right; he usually is. He takes after his mother too. Though from the reports I hear from the traders, he has maybe more than my skill in battle.”
“I’m grateful that you sent him to us,” Arto said sincerely with a small smile, watching with pleasure as Luegáed flushed at the praise. “He has become a fine commander of the warriors and I trust him to look after things whenever I leave the village. Luegáed himself has slain many Sídhe.”
“That’s my boy,” Eaban agreed with a grin, squeezing Luegáed’s shoulder a moment before he released him and looked back to Arto. “Come,” Eaban said in a warm tone, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve more than earned some rest.”
“Thank you,” Arto told him, meaning the words more than he had all day as Luegáed’s father steered him towards the roundhouse they’d provided him with two days ago when they’d arrived.
“Of course Arto,” Eaban replied with a chuckle. “I’ll send my son along later, but I’d like some words with him myself.”
“I understand”, Arto said quickly, looking over at Eaban as they reached the doorway. “We don’t have to hurry back, no matter what Luegáed may tell you. And if he wants to stay here for a time I would understand.”
“Thank you Arto, but it is clear to me that my son is proud of his service in the war. I would not seek to keep him from it.”
Nodding, Arto took a step away from the pair. He lingered for a moment, watching the father turn to speak with his son. They started talking in low voices and Arto felt a small pang of wistfulness. He had barely known his own father Uthyrn: there had been such a short span of time between his return to the village of his birth and his father’s death. Shaking his head, Arto mentally chided himself of thinking of ‘what ifs’ and focused his attention back on the nearby village.
It was unfortified like most that he’d seen over the years. Several large roundhouses were mixed in with small roundhouses and yards with animals. Arto reached up and rubbed his neck as he headed straight for the roundhouse he’d been given for his stay. All he wanted now was some sleep, and then he’d get something to eat and find out what was next from Merlin. He just hoped it was a return trip home.
22
Halloween Anniversary
“So…” Alex asked slowly as she looked out the window at the dark sky. “Uh… how soon are the shadows going to show up?” She fingered the hilt of her iron dagger gently, admiring how snug it was on her belt as she toyed with the small metal clasp that held the dagger in the sheath.
“My knees are hurting,” Nicki muttered from the next window over, her bottom lip sticking out a bit further than usual. Alex barely kept herself from laughing; it wasn’t often that she saw Nicki pout. Her friend was holding her own iron dagger and eyeing a nearby piece of wood furniture.
“They’ll be here,” Morgana said in a stern voice, but it wavered slightly, betraying her own boredom. She was sitting in a small chair at the far side of the room near the kitchen doorway, her bronze disk still in hand. “My scrying indicated that they were close.”
“But not yet upon us,” Bran finished thoughtfully from across the room where he sat in the armchair. Alex looked back at him, noting his irritated expression as he eyed his cane. Morgana had suggested against him sitting by the windows with them. She understood both Morgana’s reasoning and Bran’s irritation, but at least he was in a position that would let him help just about any of them.
“They might be circling the house,” Arthur offered with a frown from his place by the doorway that led to the entry way. Alex looked over to see him eyeing the front door with a frown. “Looking for a weak point to attack us or waiting for more of them to arrive.”
“Aren’t you a ball of sunshine,” Aiden grumbled, shooting Arthur a dark look.
“Ev
eryone calm down; sniping at each other will do us no good,” Merlin told them all, sounding far too cheerful before he popped a piece of candy corn into his mouth. “We all figured we’d be attacked tonight and Morgana and I just aren’t sure if the jack-o-lanterns will hold the shadows back.”
Alex nodded at Merlin’s statement, her eyes sweeping the porch just outside of her window. The jack-o-lanterns were still in place. She turned and looked back into the living room where small jack-o-lanterns sat in each doorway leading out of the room. Between the walls and the jack-o-lanterns, if the shadows were affected by them, they’d be safe. But Alex felt a twitch of alarm for the state of Morgana’s house if the things came crashing through a different window and tried to claw their way through the walls. From what she’d seen, some of them probably could do just that.