A ripple originating from my hands chased across the surface. Then another, then another, until the mountain tarn was a continuous roiling swell that lapped against the stony edge.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the burn inside me subsided until there was nothing more than a husk of emotion smoldering in my chest. It wasn’t until I felt an aching coldness throb in my hands that I finally withdrew them from the water.
It was a bittersweet moment because even though the fire inside me had died, I knew this wouldn’t be the end of it. I knew with certainty that I’d be in this position again very soon. Because that darkness hadn’t left—it still hovered over me, a reminder that prophecy was waiting and biding its time before once again taking control of my actions.
And I would again have to deal with the consequences of those actions forced upon me by the hands of fate. The thought sent a chill down my spine. Brydie’s first training session had almost killed me. Would I survive what was to come?
I was beginning to understand that this prophecy would not only test Brydie’s physical and mental strength, but my own as well.
9
Tritus
3rd Century BC, Ancient Scotland
Tritus woke Drust with a hand across his mouth. Drust’s eyelids sprung open, hands swiping immediately for the dagger that had already been taken. Tritus raised his finger to his lips and jerked his head at Talorgan, who lay asleep on the other side of the campfire.
Drust squinted at his brother, then back to Tritus, eyebrow raised in question. But Tritus didn’t respond with words. Instead, he reached over and grabbed a stacked log by the fire, lit the end of it in the campfire, and strode off into the solitude of the woods, only turning back once to check that Drust was following.
About a hundred yards in, Tritus halted and turned to his friend. His voice was low as he murmured, “I’m not coming back to the village with you.”
Drust’s mouth dropped open. “Why? Tal will come around.”
“This is not about your brother.”
“What is it then?”
“I’m staying because of Cailleach.”
“The Winter Goddess?” asked Drust incredulously. “Why?”
Tritus had been asking himself that same question for the past few hours, mulling over what valid reason he could give Drust without telling him the truth. In the end, he’d come up with as close to the truth as he dared share. “Because I threaten her power. She wants to know why she can’t control me. If there are others like me, she wants to understand how to manage that.”
“You may be right,” Drust said slowly. “But things are often not what they seem.”
Tritus knew that, but he didn’t go to her unwillingly.
“I see that your mind is made up.”
“Yes,” confirmed Tritus. He wasn’t backing away now.
“How long will you stay?”
Tritus shrugged. “We didn’t discuss a timeframe.”
Drust’s brows drew together. “Time does not hold the same concept for them as it does us,” he warned.
Tritus only shrugged non-committally.
Drust considered him. “It appears you’re willing. My only advice is to tread carefully. You must never forget she is a goddess.”
“Believe me; I’m well aware.”
“I believe you do,” he returned quietly.
Tritus voiced the one issue that was on his mind. “I would ask that you don’t tell Talorgan why I am staying. Given what happened today, and his reaction to me, I would prefer that he did not know.” Tritus paused, then phrased carefully, “I know I am putting you in a position Drust, I know how close you are to your brother, and you have every right to disagree. Therefore, I will not hold you to this request, but leave the choice with you.”
Drust didn’t hesitate. “You saved his life today. Keeping this between you and me is small repayment for that gift.”
A sliver of the tension he’d held since Talorgan’s sentence lifted within Tritus’s chest. “Thank you.”
Drust cocked his head to the side, staring at him in the torchlight. “However, I do ask one thing.”
Tritus froze. “Yes?”
“That I may visit,” Drust said, mouth tipped into a smile. “I would know what fate has in store for you.”
Tritus grinned, tension evaporating. He reached out to claim Drust’s arm in a strong grasp and said sincerely, “I hope you keep that promise, my friend.”
Tritus was thankful for his friend’s desire to stay in touch, but also because Drust could offer news of his family when they finally arrived in this new land. For in accepting a life with Cailleach, his only regret was leaving them behind. Tritus paused at the thought. Not his real family any longer, but those he would still hold as such. For they had nurtured him since he was a babe, and his emotions for them had not lessened.
They spent the next few minutes planning what story they would share with Talorgan as Tritus needed a valid excuse not to return to the village. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to formulate a convincing lie. There wasn’t much to say after that, and because dawn beckoned a few hours away, they returned to their bedrolls by the campfire just as quietly as they’d left.
But sleep didn’t come easily to Tritus, his mind roiling at the precipice he stood upon—this next route his life would follow when the new day dawned. And it wasn’t fear that kept him awake, for he was certain this was the path he was always meant to take.
Tritus met the dawn with excitement in his veins. A life with Cailleach awaited.
On awaking, they gathered around the dying embers of the campfire and broke their fast with edible forest roots that Drust had foraged the night before. They had not been willing to test Cailleach’s word and partake of her natural larder—they all knew death would be the punishment.
Over breakfast, Tritus began to weave the story he and Drust had agreed upon last night—that he now desired to travel to other clans and explore this new land.
Talorgan didn’t participate in the discussion, his face stony and cold, but Tritus hadn’t expected him to. Talorgan’s involvement in the conversation wasn’t warranted, but the lies they wove needed to be heard and accepted.
After breaking their fast, they carefully lowered the does they’d shot the day before, to the ground. Then they were finally off down the mountain, each of them carrying the dead weight of his kill on his back.
It was heavy, tiring work, but the carcass on Tritus’s back offered a shield of warmth against the pressing chill. He could feel winter about to descend, hovering on the point of ignition.
Cailleach had threatened him yesterday that he had one day to return to her, one day to ensure that Drust and Talorgan were off the mountain. One day to return to her side before she called in the first snow flurries to strike the land, announcing to one and all that she now reigned supreme, that winter had come.
It took them half the morning to descend her mountain. And when they cleared the canopy of the trees and spied the road that forked a hundred meters ahead—one path leading east back toward their village, and the other leading north toward another Druidic clan—Tritus knew it was time.
He halted, and Drust, knowing what was coming, also came to a stop.
“Tal, stop,” Drust called to his brother.
Because it was his twin, Talorgan answered and turned to face them in a whirl of his brown apprentice robes. His mismatched eyes lanced Tritus, who felt the depth of his rage. Tritus had been despised before he’d given Talorgan his sentence, but this was different—now he was hated, to the extent that his death was a promise in the Druid’s eyes.