The cool mask on Tritus’s face slipped, his eyes flaring with anger. His voice was firm, unbreakable, as he faced his nemesis and what he’d been skirting around since first meeting this man a few months back. “That is not your call to make! You do not speak for the gods, and you do not speak for my people.”
Talorgan felt the rage build inside his chest. “That is where you are wrong,” he growled. “I earned that privilege when I took upon the Druid’s robes. We are the voice of our gods, and you need to show respect where it is deserved.”
Drust had stood by and watched the exchange for too long. His voice was unquestionably firm. “That’s enough, Talorgan! Tritus is right—we cannot impose our beliefs on him or his people. Devotion should be given freely, not enforced. And this will take time. Is it not enough that he has conceded that there are other gods today? That he believes in Cailleach?”
Talorgan shifted his gaze to his brother, noting the slash between Drust’s brows, eyes crinkled with anger. He could feel the chagrin, knew his brother was angry with him. His chest squeezed with an emotion he understood was fear. Drust’s friendship with Tritus was growing outside of his control, and Talorgan knew his continued animosity would only push his brother further on that path. For the first time in his existence, Talorgan acknowledged that he could lose his brother. And he would never allow that to happen for Drust was his, and his alone.
His brother was his only salvation in this world, the only person who understood him, who always had his back. Drust was a patient man and had weathered many of his wild ways, but there came a point where he would accept it no more. And Talorgan knew that moment had come. It was this acknowledgment that cooled his ire, allowing the cold voice of reason to take hold once again. “For today, it is enough,” he grudgingly conceded into the tense silence. “But for tomorrow and every day after, I will expect more. If this allegiance is to be successful, his people must follow our path, or we will again revert to bloodshed.”
It was a truce of sorts, but also a warning, and Drust knew it. But Talorgan knew his brother, and he was aware that Drust craved an end to this fight more than he wished to continue it. Therefore, Talorgan knew his brother would accept the comment.
Drust’s next words confirmed that. “I’m sure Tritus and his people will have no choice but to accept our gods should they appear like Cailleach did today.”
Although Tritus grinned in return, it was forced, and Talorgan knew he did so because he, too, wished to please Drust. Their friendship and growing closeness were a cold burn in Talorgan’s gut.
As if determined to leave the argument behind, Drust asked, “How did your morning fare, brother? Have you collected the herbs you needed?”
Talorgan gave a slow nod, touching a hand to the knapsack tied to his waist, careful not to bruise the stunted mushrooms he’d scavenged half-way up the mountain. “Cailleach was most generous.”
“Then it’s time we begin our journey home. We have supped at her table enough this day, and her generosity will stretch only so far.” Drust looked up, tracking the path of the early afternoon sun. “We best leave now in order to get off her mountain and cross the river before nightfall.”
Tritus wordlessly hoisted his dead doe onto his back, waiting expectantly for Drust to lead the way, but the sight of that proud beast slung across his shoulders was a vision Talorgan could not stomach. He couldn’t return to their village without his own trophy.
He reached out and grabbed hold of his brother’s shoulder, fingers pinching into his collarbone. “Wait, brother—I would hunt too! If Cailleach has given us this gift, should I not also partake of it? After all, I am her acolyte; it is expected.”
His brother hesitated.
Talorgan knew Drust was eager to return home. They’d left Fìna on her own for the first time since their parents had passed, and he knew Drust was worried about her. Not because she was young and naive but because he’d noticed the men were beginning to take an interest in her. Drust opened his mouth, but pre-empting his response, Talorgan added convincingly, “We still have time. The river crossing is one hour’s walk from here, and we have at least three hours left before nightfall. If you allow me an hour, we will still be off this mountain before dark.”
Drust considered him but didn’t say no. He then turned to Tritus, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged in indifference to whatever decision Drust made.
Talorgan didn’t concede the generosity, aware that it was another ploy to take Drust away from him.
“All right, brother,” Drust finally responded. “But you have one hour only. Let’s see if you can even the score.”
Talorgan smiled. “You won’t regret it.”
He just caught his brother’s murmured response. “I hope not.”
Drust looked around the copse of trees. “Tritus, let’s leave our kill here. They’ll be safe from scavengers for an hour if we raise them above ground.”
Tritus nodded and helped him to fling a rope around two stout branches of a tall oak. They lassoed one end around the trunk and the other end around the hind legs of each deer. Once secure, they hoisted the animals high up into the tree, tying the rope in a slip knot around its base.
Talorgan watched the blood around the arrowheads run down the deer’s haunches and splatter onto the moist earth below. He could smell the iron from their blood. The scent excited him; it was a promise of what was to come.
He watched as his brother gathered twigs to mark the base of the tree. When finished, he looked up at the sky, taking careful note of the position of the sun, the tree line, and the distant peaks of the mountain range. Satisfied they had marked their location, Drust announced, “Let’s hunt.”
His brother was crouched a few meters away behind a bush, eyes alert as he scanned the foliage. The grove of trees held nothing but more badgers, foxes, and rabbits. Certainly, no deer.
Talorgan was impatient. He had not made any attempts to kill the smaller creatures. The effort would be wasted, and he would be a laughingstock if he returned home with such a bounty, especially in comparison to what Tritus and his brother carried.
Drust let out a light whistle, and Talorgan jerked his head and glanced back. His brother held up one hand, fingers spread, miming that there were only five minutes more. Damn! Time was sifting through his fingers.
Talorgan opened his mouth to reply, and that was when he caught movement thirty feet north of their current location. It was a doe. The light brown, dappled coat was sleek, and her muscles rippled across her haunches as she bent down to forage amongst the undergrowth. For a moment, Talorgan couldn’t breathe, disbelieving at the appearance of the animal.
He cut his eyes back to his brother, and when he caught Drust’s eye, Talorgan smiled at him, lips stretching to their widest edge. It was game on.
Drust lifted a brow, as disbelieving as Talorgan was.
Ignoring Tritus—who was thankfully ten feet away and out of his sight—Talorgan carefully notched his arrow. He held his breath as he focused his gaze down the length of the wooden shaft, homing in on his target. The doe was beautiful; prominent and proud. She had reached maturity and was a fine catch if he could pull it off. Bringing this prize home would concrete his position as one of the most favored acolytes. He would also garner the respect of the Wise Ones and others in the village. Talorgan didn’t care for most people, but he did care what The Wise Ones thought of him.
His chest pounded as he anticipated the arrow’s release. Seconds later, it flew through the air in a deadly whoosh of sound. As if sensing the danger, the doe lifted her head and paused. She looked about to spring away but, at that moment, the arrow pierced her left eye. A shudder rippled through the beast before she toppled sideways, crashing to the ground.