by C.S. Fanning
and Sean, how fortuitous the winds that brought you to these shores upon this day!” Finnis exclaimed, greeting the druids each in turn and introducing them to Riordan.
“So this is our hope and salvation?” Aok, the eldest of the three, asked giving Finnis a questioning glance. Riordan was used to skeptics, he too might have doubted in their shoes, but he could ill afford to lose the support of his own countrymen.
“Let us proceed to our lodging and you can divine the right of it yourselves” Finnis said, his confidence growing. “I know you to be capable of scrying the truth in this matter. Riordan find our young messenger and have him alert our host that Finnis, of the High Druid’s Council is calling for the conclave at midday, then return to prove our claims to our countrymen.”
Riordan smiled and bowed. Even in this Finnis was making use of his diplomacy skills. By proclaiming himself a member of the High Druid’s Council, he was asserting Riordan’s claim in no uncertain terms, but by placing Riordan in a subordinate role until after the decision, he had given Riordan the chance to prove that he was neither pompous nor above serving others.
The noon hour had not yet struck when he returned personally laden with a tray of bread and cheese. “Shall we dine first or would you prefer to wait until the meat is tenderized?” He asked in a jest that made everyone laugh heartily.
“You are correct Finnis, he is the gods own chosen” Aok remarked clapping Finnis on the back. “And he is of Eire, which means he will have our vote in the conclave, but who knows if these foreigners will listen even to their own bones” he said, noting the look of surprise on Riordan’s face. “Relax young man, you are High Druid in all but name now until you pass on the mantle, and may that be many long years. The druids of Eire will follow you wherever you lead.”
Riordan smiled, “well, three is better than none” he said, effortlessly switching to the role of leader.
“You may count on more than three. We have already more than a hundred among Donegal’s army and more join us every day. Many are sneaking up from the south where they have been hiding. We are a resourceful lot” Aok said, grinning at the shock on both Riordan and Finnis’s faces.
Aok had helped Finnis for a time before Riordan’s reappearance. They had been rescuing and mobilizing the few survivor’s that had escaped the fate of their fellows that had befallen when the soldiers came with their sorcerers to assist, but there had only been a score or less to Finnis’s knowledge and most of those had been teary eyed apprentices whose interrupted training made them useful as messengers and little else.
“Kian himself is training them in battle magic, and that crazy Gaul Renfrey turned up with four seasoned adepts out of nowhere. We asked him what had happened there but he wasn’t discussing anything, saying that he would speak of it only once and that too the new High Druid. I tried to get him and Kian both here to help but they refused, and both outrank me so I couldn’t exactly force the issue” Aok informed them.
Riordan didn’t know either of these names, but it was obvious that Finnis did and his beaming smile and nod of approval was enough to let Riordan know that these men were good allies to have. “Now we just need to convince the rest of them that I am who Finnis claims, and go save Eire and our way of life from this southern goddess and her minions” Riordan said far more confidently than he felt.
Finnis took out his oracle and cast the sticks upon the altar that he and Riordan had built. Riordan had been surprised to discover that he had more raw power at his disposal than the aging Finnis, but the old druids experience and subtlety more than made up for it. They had already spent many long hours practicing a wide variety of skills and Riordan proved a quick study.
As the sticks came to rest in a pattern that the untrained would view as completely random, Finnis indicated that all present should observe for themselves what the meaning might be. Riordan heard the surprised hiss of breath as Aok recognized something that surprised him. Riordan thought he had become adept at reading the fews but nothing that he saw would have produced such a reaction. Turning back to the fews, he assessed them anew and finally he saw it. Certainly what he saw was not a direct reading of the fews, and he had only recently began learning how the arrangement of the fews itself brought shades of meaning to the reading which were sometimes every bit as important as the direct interpretation. In this case the fews had fallen in a very specific shape, that of the cauldron of the Dagda, the ruling god of their people.
Aok looked at Finnis. “Has this happened before?” he asked incredulous.
“Never once in all my years, until his Nameday. Thrice have I asked, and thrice has this exact pattern fallen” Finnis said, obviously amazed himself by the pattern.
“I do not yet know enough to discern the meaning of this” Riordan admitted. “I recognize the symbol, and see the Dagda’s hand in this but isn’t his hand in all the works of the druids?”
“It means, my dear Riordan, that on the day that your proclaim yourself High Druid, the Dagda himself will intercede on your behalf” said Aok with a tone of reverence.
Just then the young apprentice that who was assigned to them burst into the room. “The groves have already been called to conclave and I believe they intend to put aside the matter of selecting the High Druid until suitable candidates can be found” he said between gasping breaths.
Finnis and the others realized in that moment that someone was attempting to block their efforts, and Finnis had an idea of who that someone might be. They had only minutes at best before Sianna, High Druid of Caledonia would close the grove and the conclave which could not be called more than once in a given year would end, taking with it their last chance of uniting the druids behind their cause.
Finnis realized only now that there was more now in the selection of their rooms than passive insult. Sianna had been plotting all along to manipulate the conclave to shut Riordan, and by default Eire, out. Racing across the small town and up the hill overlooking it on which the standing stones marked the grove meeting place, Finnis feared they were already too late.
There were certain ceremonies and a prescribed period for new business that was required but he was sure that Sianna had seen to the arrangement and timing so as to thwart their plans. He wondered how the southerners had gotten to Sianna. What could they have offered her that would make her sell out her own? Perhaps she was being coerced in some way? He didn’t know, but there was no doubt of the southerner’s hand in this debacle.
Finnis was surprised when they crested the hill, only to find the conclave still in session. They could hear a female voice, obviously Sianna’s own raised in anger, but could not see who or what she was shouting at until they burst through the circle of druids ringing the standing stones.
Riordan knew him immediately, or thought that he did. He’d not laid eyes upon him since that night at the river when the old one-eyed god had led the hounds astray. Aeden had seen him from a much closer distance on that same day and his description surely fit. Riordan thought he could see something of Aeden’s features on the haggard old face.
When Riordan and Finnis burst into the circle, flanked by Aok and his fellows, the tension, already thick enough to cut with a knife, reached all new levels. Sianna’s ranting stopped midsentence when she saw Finnis approaching the altar. The old man stood behind the position reserved for the chief druid of a grove in the north. Tradition dictated that no man stood there; it was the space reserved for the gods.
Had it been anyone else, Sianna’s wrath would certainly have been justified, but Riordan was pretty certain that the old man stood right where he belonged. Sianna seemed to be preparing to say something more when Riordan boldly stepped in front of Finnis and approached the old man, bowing deferentially. “My lord” he greeted, “we are honored by your presence.” His words and actions, those of a man in charge caused an uncharacteristic murmur to sweep around the grove. “The druids are at your service as always�
�� Riordan finished.
“Well said” the old man replied in a voice so deep and filled with power that none present doubted what Riordan had implied. Finnis and the other druids or Eire bowed as they formed a semicircle behind Riordan. Finnis had positioned himself so that he could keep watch on Sianna, so he was in a good position to see her blanch when she realized who her tirade had been directed at. Her own bow was stiff and formal, and Finnis could not read her intentions or motivations. The druids of the four kingdoms began to bow in a wave that passed around the grove.
“Hear me!” the Dagda Mor, King of the Gods said. “Your way is darkened and we gods can do little to shine a light upon your path. You are beset by the intrigues and plots of a goddess from the lands far to the south of our own, as well as from within your own ranks” he said looking pointedly at Sianna. “I commend this young man to you as my appointed representative to be the leader of your order. Any who doubt my judgment in this should step forward.”
Everyone looked on in wonder. The gods rarely spoke to men as blatantly or candidly. Sianna had collapsed, her body wracked with sobs. Riordan could not understand why she would react so, but he could hear her moaning quietly;