“And its laws.” Gar nodded. “It shouldn’t be hard, after all. The elves and fairies of Ireland were disguised memories of the Celtic gods.”
“But how are we to do that?” Alea frowned. “We can’t go to all the Druids in the land and ask them to modify their religion to suit us!”
“No, we can’t.” Gar bit his lip in frustration. “Do you suppose the Wee Folk could also act as a communications net for us, spreading the idea?”
“They probably would, but there’s no need,” Alea said. “I’ve found that news travels between these clans with amazing speed. No enmity in the world will keep them from listening to juicy gossip.”
Gar stared. “So if one Druid can lay down the law to one clan and see it enforced, all the clans will hear of it?”
“And their Druids with them. Yes.” Alea nodded. “But how long will it take you to argue one Druid into accepting elves in his pantheon?”
“As long as it takes me to make a Druid suit.” Gar grinned. Alea stared. “You’re not going to impersonate a priest!”
“Why not?” Gar asked. “I’ve posed as a madman, a peddler, a soldier, and Heaven knows what else as I’ve gone from planet to planet. Why not a cleric?”
“There’s a little matter of knowledge!”
“Yes.” Gar nodded. “There, you’ll have to teach me what the locals believe.”
“But I only know a little. Although…” Alea’s gaze strayed to Moira.
“You think you might know where you can find out?” Gar prompted.
Moira, though, didn’t notice their gazes; she was far too thoroughly caught up in her own conversation.
She and Kerlew had stood in uncomfortable silence when Gar and Alea went apart—once they finally stopped staring at one another. Then they began to shift from foot to foot, studying the grass, the leaves, the trunks of the trees, and snatching furtive glances at one another. Finally, the third time she caught Kerlew looking at her, Moira laughed. “How silly we are! Can neither of us think of anything to say to the other?”
Her laugh sounded to Kerlew like the chiming of silver bells. He grinned shamefacedly and said, “I’m only a rough outlaw, a man cast out from his clan. What could I say to a fine lady?”
“Fine lady?” Moira smiled. “The only reason my clan didn’t cast me out was because my parents did it for them, before I was born. Even the Druids wouldn’t take me because I was too zealous about preaching for peace.”
Kerlew lost his smile, but his eyes glowed. “That took a great deal of courage.”
Moira smiled. “None dared touch me; I’m a seer, and they thought I was mad.”
“Aye, for pleading the cause of peace,” Kerlew said with disgust. “If that’s madness, I hope it’s catching.”
“They seemed to feel it might be so.” Moira’s smile broadened; she felt a glow within. “Tell me, why were you outlawed?” It seemed a rude question, but Kerlew told her quite frankly, “They thought me strange, probably rightly, and made fun of me for it. I tried to behave as they did, but the harder I tried, the more they mocked me—so I finally gave it up for a bad job and started telling them what I really thought of the feud.”
“What is that?” Moira asked, her voice low.
“Why, that it’s stupid and corrupted as a week-old carcass,” Kerlew said, with feeling, “that it’s cruel and vicious as an adder with its tail in a vise.”
Moira blinked, startled by his intensity. “How did they take it?” Kerlew shrugged. “As you would expect. They cast me out, and frightened though I was of the forest with its wolves and outlaws, I took it as a relief to be away from their torments.” He smiled with sudden brilliance. “But an outlaw band took me in, and though they gave me their share of japes, they were never as bad as my clan. More to the point, they listened when I spoke against the feuds—and agreed with me!”
“Agreed with you?” Moira asked, startled. “Perhaps I’ve been speaking to the wrong people!”
“Why?” Kerlew asked practically. “It’s the clans that start feuds, not the outlaw bands—unless they become big enough and old enough to start calling themselves a clan in their own right.” He scowled, remembering Regan and her band.
“Become a clan, and start a feud of their own?”
“Not the feud yet, not the band I met with Gar, but they’ve only just begun to think of themselves as a clan. They’ll find enemies soon enough, I know.”
“I’ve heard of such.” Moira smiled, reaching out for his hand. “So we’re both outcast by our own choice, more or less, and both ready to plead the cause of peace.”
Kerlew looked up in surprise. “Why yes, I suppose we are.” Tentatively, he reached out and touched her fingers. There he froze, staring into her eyes, and might have taken firmer hold of her hand if Gar and Alea hadn’t come back, glowing with enthusiasm and brimming with ideas.
The sentries of the Leary clan both raised their heads at the same moment. Samuel frowned. “Do you hear singing, Eliza?”
“Singing it is, and very pleasing too,” Eliza answered. “Someone on the road knows harmony.”
“Yeah, but who’s creeping along with ‘em in the brush?” Sam raised his rifle and shot into the air, high over the trees. “That oughta bring help if we need it.”
“Didn’t faze them any.” Eliza looked down the road where the singing was growing louder.
“Wouldn’t, if they know we’re here and mean for their singing to draw our fire.” Sam set his rifle stock on the ground, pulled the ramrod, and started reloading.
“Birds are still singing,” Eliza noted. “They’d shut up if there were Clancies sneaking up in the brush.”
“True enough.” Sam raised his rifle again, frowning. “Might be just the three of them after all—no, four! There’s a deeper voice under the three.”
“Four there are.” Eliza nodded. “And here they come!” They came in sight, four walking side by side, filling the width of the road, the taller man and woman wearing the gray jackets of Druids, the younger man the blue of a bard, and the younger woman the green of a seer.
“Clerics!” Sam wrinkled his nose. “Might’ve known who’d be making such a racket.”
The four came to a stop ten feet from the sentries, all smiling and cheery. “Hail, clansfolk!” the tall woman said. “We bear a message for you.”
“A message?” Eliza asked warily. “For who?”
“For your whole clan!”
“Who from?” Sam asked, voice dripping skepticism. “From the gods.”
The sentries stared a moment. Then Sam turned away, fighting down laughter. Eliza managed to keep hers throttled down to a smile. “You still believe … No, of course you still believe in the gods—you’re Druids.”
Sam nodded, turning back with his laughter under control. “This is a bit big for us, Eliza. How about you take ‘em back to the homestead?”
“And leave you here alone?” Eliza asked. “Not a bit! We’ll wait for help.”
“Help here,” said a gruff voice. “What moves?”
Half a dozen clansfolk came down the path, rifles at the ready.
“Guests for the whole clan,” Eliza told them. “Best take ‘em to Grandma—they’ve got a message from the gods.”
A couple of the younger people turned away to hide laughter. The older ones managed, to confine their amusement to pinched smiles.
“Message from the gods, is it?” asked a woman whose coppery hair was streaked with white. “What do the gods want to tell us about, strangers?”
“Their displeasure,” the tall man said, “and the punishment your clan has earned.”
The throttled laughter died, the smiles ceased. The clanfolk stared at the strangers, and their stares weren’t entirely friendly.
“The gods angry with us?” Grandma asked from her great chair by the fireplace. “What did you bring them in for, Eben? I’ve no need to hear nonsense like that!”