Dressing quickly in damp clothes, Bee went straight to the stables at the base of the rock for a horse. The Maiden who gave her a mount and provisions had such a sympathetic look that it was immediately apparent everyone already knew of Whitehead’s exile order. She supposed it shouldn’t have been a surprise because when it happened the bathroom was full of servers and other Maidens washing or relaxing. In Bee’s experience, news of such import generally spread quickly through such tightly bound communities. The other thing she knew from experience was that the stable hand might give her sympathetic looks now, but within a day, she wouldn’t hesitate to use her lance or flaming whip to carry out Whitehead’s threat.
Damn the obstinate tóin to Dhuosnos.
Bee didn’t doubt in normal circumstances, she could handle one or two Maidens, but now, she was so tired she would find it challenging to subdue a newborn.
Leading the horse out of the stables into an already dark night, Bee felt so alone that it brought a tear to her eye. She could have put it down to the deluge, but the rain had stopped. Swiping the back of a hand across her eyes, she hoped the six or so torch-bearing Maidens who’d suddenly appeared beside the stables hadn’t noticed. In another show of sympathy, the warriors close by all turned their backs, pretending not to see her sorrow. Bee felt a momentary gratitude before realising it was probably misplaced. These women would kill her without a moment’s hesitation. If anything, that realisation made her feel even more alone.
“Once again, Mother, ye were right,” she said, swinging up into the saddle.
Her mother had told Bee that to survive the crisis, she would need emotional support. At the time, she’d scoffed. No more. Now she wanted company, and not just any company. Submerged up to her neck in the steamy water, she’d suddenly felt a pang of loss. And for Ruirech of all people. How could she be missing the rebel? He was human and only a child, even in human eyes. Well, almost. They hadn’t discussed it, but she thought he couldn’t have seen more than twenty summers, which made him much, much younger than her.
Age is only a number, she thought, and then barked a laugh.
Digging her heels into the horse’s flank, Bee was surprised to see the torchlight throwing long shadows before her and her mount. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the half dozen Maidens were loping after her at a steady pace. It was not a surprise that Whitehead had sent them to make sure Bee left the realm within the allotted time. She would have done the same.
When she arrived at the end of the path from the fortress, Bee didn’t hesitate in turning west towards the Dun Ailinne road. She intended to ride like Whitehead’s threat had meaning and be on the north road by the next day. The road was broad and even and would be no danger to the horse riding in the dark. A full silvery moon had now broken through the clouds, and for once, Bee was happy that Rhiannon was watching.
“He’ll ride south from Ceathru,” she told her horse. “He’ll stop in Caisel, because it’s the only real stopover between the port and the citadel.”
She just hoped he would feel drawn to the hostel against the western wall from where they’d evaded Credne’s attention. She thought he would, because it had been clean and welcoming.
***
The shadows were already stretched when Bee threw open the hostel door to be flooded by light and noisy revellers. Something in the back of her mind told her today was the shortest in any twelve-moon cycle, and with the light leaving so soon, she could believe it. It was the third day after she left Sliabh Cuilinn and she was glad to enter the hostel hard against Caisel’s western wall.
The crowd in the common room meant there were few places to sit, so she went to the bar at the back of the spacious room. The same bar keeper who’d been there when they escaped Credne for the second time was washing plates and cups in a barrel of soapy water behind the bar.
“Stormy to night, I would say,” he said, feigning a lack of recognition. Bee was happy enough, because she was in no mood to invent stories about what had happened after they ran from the hostel.
“I need hot food, mead, and a bed for… well, I don’t know how long, so I don’t.”
“Hostel’s busy. I’ve only the most expensive room free.”
So, prior acquaintance counts for nothing. I’d wager with Dorn’s presence it would be different.
“No matter.”
“I’ve a private room in back, if you’ve a mind for somewhere to sit.”
Pleased that she wouldn’t need to fight for elbow room, Bee nodded and followed the barkeep into a room beside the main common room. When he closed the door and she was alone, she sighed. She could only just hear the din of the revellers and welcomed the peace.
“If you’ve a scéal to tell, I’ll reduce the room for a good one. Has to be new mind. None of the tired stuff.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” she said, sure that even the following day she would be in no mood to entertain the folk of Caisel.
Over food, Bee considered how long to wait for the rebel. She didn’t expect Ruirech to arrive for quite some time. If everything went smoothly, the trek from Tayvir would take at least seven days by horse. Bee expected it to be more like ten days, and only then if he’d managed to find a mount and whether Eogan was in Camas when the rebel arrived. Tired from her hard ride, Bee found herself in her comfortable cot soon after arriving. Thinking that the room was the most expensive for a reason, she found herself unable to keep her eyes open and was soon drifting in slumber.
She remembered very little about her night when she awoke the next morning. There’d been fitful dreams of dread. Something hovered close to the edge of her subconscious mind that no matter how hard Bee tried, she could not see. She thought it might be an arcane symbol but whatever it was, it failed to materialise. Despite the bad dreams, she felt refreshed and ate a hearty meal to break her fast. With nothing else to occupy her, she tried again to connect with her brother. The attempt yielded almost the same results as before. This time, in addition to the fear and the smell, there was a shadowy shape like a star carved into stone. It seemed to float in the air, close to Bren’s nose, as though something was taunting him with it.
So, that’s the symbol, but what does it mean?
Bee dug deep into her memory but could not remember ever having encountered a similar sign. In the end, she gave up trying and concentrated on relaxing, gathering her strength for what she did not doubt would be trials of extreme hardship.
***
The following evening, just after Bee settled down to a meal sitting opposite the fire so she could watch the flames dancing, she was engulfed be a sense of boredom. The idea that she would need to wait several days before the rebel could possibly arrive, and then he might just ride straight by, without a moment’s thought, suddenly made her wonder what she was doing in the settlement. How could she possibly have thought it to be a good notion?
“You got a scéal, Mistress?” a disconnected voice called from the shadows. “You being Fae and all, you must have some mighty tales to tell.”
Bee looked around at the revellers in the hostel. All were human, so the question must have been directed at her. She smiled at them, the farmhands and stable hands, butchers and farriers, normal folk, come to the hostel after working hard all day.
And why not? she asked. Telling these ordinary folk a story would distract her as much as it would distract them.
“Have ye heard tell of when Dagda’s High Priestess heard the Bull roar?” she called into the gloom.
“Nay, mistress, sounds mighty.”
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“But ye know what she does, no?”
“Aye, mistress.”
“Well, then, at the end of the last Scourge…”
…the High Priestess stood atop the rise and watched the defeated demons, their axes and maces useless, their heads down. Even their talons were useless now. The tide of beings, wholly distinct from the beauty of the Ban Sidhe warriors herding them like cattle, shuffled up the road, bodies scarred, weapons and claws dragging in the dust.
Most of the monsters went peacefully to their prison, their home, but not all. Some had to be subdued by Maidens with whips and cruelty; Maidens with daggers and no compunction about using them. Despite the war being over, driving the demons up the road was a bloody affair. In fairness, the High Priestess was used to it. This wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed the end of a demon war. Far from it.
Standing in the heart of the semicircle of witches, eyes fixed on the aptly named Bull’s Head—a black rock with two limestone stacks, one on each side—the Priestess could see the Four sitting on dead black mounts on either side of the black maw, lacking only a pink tongue. Dhuosnos’s inner circle, those that rode out at the vanguard of his army: Marbh, the demon of death, her cold red eyes staring at the High Priestess and her coven. Concaire, the demon of conquest, bored, his eyes darting all over the plains. Plasgorta, the demon of pestilence, cursed by an ugliness matching that of the demons shuffling past, and Archu, the demon of war, implacable with his straight-backed stance.
The High Priestess and her coven were there to keep Darkness’s vassals subdued with Earth Power, their draíocht. The coven gathered it, and the High Priestess acted as its conduit, channelling the power to make the magical shield.
“So, Bechuille, another successful campaign,” Whitehead, the Captain of the Maidens said from behind. She was astride her sixteen-hand stallion, the giant warrior with hair so white no one thought to call her anything other than Whitehead. Indeed, nobody even remembered the warrior’s name. Her massive double-headed axe rested on her shoulder. Her naked arms were crossed under her chest.
“Why doesn’t Dhuosnos change his methods?” the High Priestess wondered aloud.
“What do you mean?” Whitehead asked.
“Each time he breaks free, he leads his army on a doomed invasion and then meekly returns to his prison. Why?”
“What else is he to do? It has been like this forever. It’s a ritual.”
“Aye. That is the very point I’m trying to make. If the Lord of Darkness were to do something different, he might break the cycle.”
As she said it, the priestess watched the last demon, a hugely muscled three-horned giant with blood red skin, duck down and almost crawl into the tunnel. The Four dismounted, leading their dead beasts after the giant, vanishing into the darkness as though they’d never been there.
And then, something did break the ritual.
After the Four had gone, the Bull’s Head roared. It roared so loud that the plain’s grass bowed and the red clouds in the skies above became frantic. For a moment, the High Priestess thought she could see blood-red eyes staring from them, before deciding it had been a trick of the light and colours. However, she couldn’t suppress a shiver that ran from her butt up her spine, causing her neck hairs to tingle.
And when Whitehead asked, “What was that?” just above a whisper, the High Priestess said it was Dhuosnos letting everyone know that the time to end the demon wars had come.
***
“Are you saying that the Scourges are to be different, Mistress?” the same detached voice asked. “Are you saying the demons will be out more frequent, like?”
“Listen to yerself, Gan. There ain’t no demons. You’re not making predictions are you, Miss?” another patron asked.
“No. Ye asked for a story. I told ye a story. There’s no truth in it,” Bee said, smiling.
I left out the parts I thought would worry ye, she didn’t say. She also left out the parts that were worrying her, like her sympathy for the beasts, her hatred of the cruelty the Maidens showed with their whips. The vindictiveness in the Whitehead sitting behind her and gloating over the cruelty she witnessed.
“Are you sure, now?” the first one asked. “You sounded like you were there for parts of that tale.”
“No, just a story,” Bee said, rising from her bench. “Ye’ll have to excuse me. I’ve a long day to—” The hostel door crashing open, pulled out of someone’s grasp by the howling wind interrupted her.
As the space left by the door was filled with a brooding shadow, she felt her heart leap. It can’t be possible, she told herself. However, despite that logic, instinct told her that on this occasion, logic was in the wrong. Even though the light was limited, Bee knew it was Ruirech striding towards her, the fire behind making him nothing but a shadow. She supposed it was her witch’s intuition helping her. That, or her overriding desire to be reunited with the human, was clouding her judgment. Bee didn’t wait to see if her intuition was faulty. She ran around her table and threw herself into the rebel’s arms.
“I missed ye, Rebel,” she said, unable to suppress a single sob.
“I missed you, too,” he replied, patting her back. Bee felt a momentary stab of irritation at the patronising gesture until she realised that she’d brought it on herself with that solitary sob.
“I wasn’t expecting ye for days,” she said, holding him at arm’s length. “How are ye here so quick?”
“I crossed the plains of Mag nAi instead of riding by the road. I remembered you said it would be quicker. The rest was luck. When I got to Camas, Eogan was ready to sail, and when we got to Ceathru, he gave me his strongest stallion. Sixteen hands and runs like the wind. Whenever I made camp, he was snorting to go on. Reprimanding me for being weak.”
“Sit. Eat. Tell me yer news.”
“I don’t have much to tell. The ride was uneventful. What are you doing here?” Ruirech asked as he sat at the table.
“Food first,” Bee said, handing him her spoon and bowl of oats. “Then I’ll give ye me news.”
She watched him eat, saying nothing until he’d finished eating and then drank her mead in one long pull. As soon as he put the cup down and sat back with a satisfied grin, she told him what had happened at Sliabh Cuilinn. As usual, he didn’t offer any judgment but sat digesting what she told him. Eventually, he asked, “So, what now?”
“It’s too late to ride. Tomorrow, I’m going to Breshlech. I’ve to face me Ma, even though I’ve no idea where Bren is.”
“And in the meantime?”
“I’ve a room, so I have. We might think of some way to entertain ourselves for one night, don’t ye think?”
***
“Are you asleep?” he asked without lifting his head from her chest. They were naked and satiated, at least she hoped he was satisfied with what had been frenzied lovemaking.
“No, Rebel. Now yer here, I’ve too much on me mind to think about sleep.”
Thinking about that poor demon. Although she didn’t tell the patrons in the common room, recounting the story had brought it all back.
“Well, you know what I think about that.”
“Aye. Talk about it and get it off me chest.”
She felt the rebel nodding his head and wondered how it was possible for someone so young to be giving her emotional counselling. Typically, she would take offence at the man for thinking he had any right. This time, she couldn’t summon the energy necessary for the argument it would cause.
“I’ve been in two minds about me role as Dagda’s High Priestess. It no longer seems just, what I do at the end of each Scourge. What the Maidens do seems overly cruel.”
She couldn’t tell him about the way she’d felt when the Maidens destroyed the brutish green demon on the road before the Bull’s Head. How could she tell him that she felt every lash as if it was her skin being rent by fiery whips? She knew he wouldn’t understand. Who would understand?
“You sound like you pity the demons,” he said.
Bee couldn’t see his face, but if it was possible to feel a frown, then she thought it would feel like the jut of a cheek pressing into her chest. She didn’t say anything for several moments. She’d felt her affinity for the demons growing and had no explanation for it. It was certainly more than just sympathy at the way the Ban Sidhe treated them.
“Ye’ve no notion what it’s like to be Dagda’s High Priestess standing in front of a coven, watching the horror unfold. The Neit’s Maidens, with no mercy; everything seen through the shimmer of the magical shield. Ye’ve never heard the hiss and crack of their flaming whips ripping the air, nor heard the screams and moans of a defeated demon horde moving up a road. They’re so many different colours and shapes, they look like a patchwork tapestry over a roundhouse door rippling in a slight breeze. All moving with their heads down—”
“Are you not just showing your anger at Whitehead? Blaming the Maidens because she exiled you.”
“No, Rebel, I’m not.”
“So, why don’t you tell me, then?” Ruirech said.
“Do ye really want to know, or are ye humouring me?”
“I want to understand what you’re going through so I can help you.”
Stroking his hair, Bee considered telling Ruirech about the last time she’d been standing at the top of the rise, staring at the demon horde being driven into the Bull’s Head.
Which is why I’m here in the middle of nowhere with a human rebel, she realised. The Lord of Darkness had finally decided it was time to break the cycle. The Bull’s Head appearing to roar, despite being just a lump of stone, was the signal.
What would he think if I told him that Whitehead was scared by the roar, and that I told her Dhuosnos was obviously intent on changing the cycle?
But worse than that, how could she tell Ruirech that she felt sympathy for the Lord of Darkness and his demon horde? She couldn’t. Not without the risk of losing the only friend she had left. Her mother was on her side, but she didn’t think Rhiannon would fit into the category of friend.
“I appreciate yer support, Rebel, truly I do. I’d have no notion where to start such a story, so I wouldn’t.”
“Have it your way, Bee. But know this, I will not abandon you.”
“Thank ye, My Rebel. We’ll ride for Breshlech in the morning. Early. As I said, me Ma’s waiting for us there.”
And there’ll be Dhuosnos’s debt to pay when she knows I failed her.
