by Jayne Castel
Talor huffed out a breath at this news. “Well then … at least we know what we’re facing.”
Varar’s face tightened at that. “We can take two-hundred of them … with everyone’s help.”
Talor frowned. “Aye, but won’t it leave Balintur undefended?”
Muin tensed. His cousin had a point.
Varar twisted round, meeting Talor’s eye. “More warriors from The Wolf and The Stag are joining us at Balintur,” he pointed out. “There will be enough to take back An Teanga and defend the north … there has to be.”
Rain was lashing across Balintur when Varar’s party returned. Dusk settled in a grey, wet blanket over the land.
Muin followed his companions over the exposed hills that led to the valley where the village nestled. The rain drove in from the north, stinging needles of ice that peppered the exposed skin of his face and arms.
None of the party spoke. They were all too weary and chilled to converse, focused instead on the warm cups of mead and hot meals that awaited them at their destination.
Head bowed, Muin strode on, cresting the last hill before Balintur. And with each footstep, tension grew in the pit of his belly.
Muin had been glad of this mission, had enjoyed being focused on something beyond himself. Over the last day, his thoughts had been on sneaking close to An Teanga, and on getting the information they needed on its defense before getting out of occupied territory.
But now it was done, he was forced to face what awaited him in Balintur.
Ailene.
He was also grateful for the foul weather, for it kept most folk indoors. Those who worked the fields had retreated within the village walls, and the guards at the south gate looked miserable, hunched under oilskin capes. Hopefully, Ailene would be at home too, sheltering from the rain like everyone else.
Muin was not in the mood to face the seer.
Grow a spine, man, he chided himself. You knew the risks when you poured your heart out to her.
Aye, he had—but it did not make rejection any easier. Disappointment was a knife to the guts, and the pain had not eased over the past two days as he had hoped.
But it did not matter how humiliated and hurt he was, Balintur was too small for him to avoid the bandruí forever. Folk would notice for one thing, for Ailene and Muin spent a lot of time together usually.
The only way he was going to get through this was to bury his feelings deep and put on a face. He would have to pretend he did not care, no matter what it cost him.
Once they passed through the gates, Varar led them straight to the meeting house in the heart of the village.
Muin’s heart sank. He had hoped for a brief reprieve, before they met with everyone.
Ailene would join the chieftains. She never missed a council.
Enough. Anger curled up within Muin—at himself. This won’t do. It was time to build a shield, one no one—especially Ailene—could penetrate.
It was time to construct a wall around his heart.
Ailene ducked into the meeting house and shook the rain off her hair and cloak. The interior of the house was warm and smelled of peat-smoke and wet plaid and leather.
Her gaze shifted over those gathered. The chieftains and their kin were already there, as were the four who had returned from the scouting party. The latter were huddled around the fire pit. There were few smiles inside the meeting house, as those present anxiously awaited the scouting party’s news.
Ailene shared their nervousness. Much depended on taking An Teanga back successfully.
Although she had told herself that she would act normally and focus on the council itself, Ailene’s gaze settled upon Muin. His long dark hair was wet and slicked back off his face; the rain had also soaked through the leather vest and breeches he wore. His grey eyes were introspective as he stared into the fire. He held his hands out, warming them over the glowing lumps of peat.
Relief filtered through Ailene at the sight of him, the sensation so strong that her legs suddenly felt weak. That dream had shadowed her all day. She had felt sick with worry until Eara ran to her hut to inform her that the scouting party had returned.
Gods, she had never been so pleased to be proved wrong. Maybe that vision had not been a premonition after all, just a bad dream.
“Ailene!” Fina called out and beckoned her over. She sat next to Varar, who had an arm slung protectively over her shoulders. Morag had joined them for this meeting, her baby son nestled against her breast in a sling. Morag’s strong face was strained as she awaited her brother’s news.
Muin did glance up then, although his face was expressionless when he looked at Ailene.
Her belly tightened in response. She had hoped nothing would change between them, but the aloofness in his eyes told her otherwise.
Favoring Fina with a tight smile, Ailene approached the fire. “Glad to see you all back safely,” she greeted them.
“It’s good to be back … we almost froze to death on the journey home,” Talor grumbled. “That wind was like The Reaper’s breath.” Indeed, her cousin was pale with cold, his broad shoulders hunched as he inched closer to the fire.
“Here you go.” Tea approached, carrying a tray of steaming cups. Ailene caught the sweet scent of mead. “Something to warm you up.”
“Thanks, Ma.” Muin took a cup, a small smile gracing his lips as he met his mother’s eye.
The sight of the warmth on his face made the knot in Ailene’s belly grow tighter. Hurt flooded through her. He had a smile for his mother, but not for his oldest friend.
“Never mind whining on about the cold.” Muin’s brother, Aaron, had swaggered up and now stood next to his mother, arms folded across his chest. His handsome face was tense with irritation. “Surely you’ve got more to share with us than that?”
Talor favored his cousin with a sour look. “Aye … with the chieftains, not with you.”
Aaron snorted, before he flipped Talor an obscene gesture. Although Talor and Muin had always gotten on, Muin’s younger brother had started to butt heads with his older cousin of late. Ailene supposed it was because the two of them were similarly bull-headed and outspoken.
“Aaron,” Tea reprimanded her son, her tone sharp. “Mind your manners.”
“We’re ready.” Galan’s voice cut through the rumble of conversation. The Eagle chieftain had taken a seat and was watching Varar intently, his grey eyes shadowed with worry. “Aaron isn’t the only one interested to hear how your mission went.”
Chapter Ten
Raising Concerns
GALAN FROWNED, THE expression turning his face severe. “I didn’t think they would have left such a large force at An Teanga.”
Across the fire, Varar continued to hold The Eagle chieftain’s eye. “We can take them.” He broke off then, his attention shifting to where the leader of The Wolf, Wid, sat silently listening. “When will your warriors get here?”
“Within the next day or two,” Wid replied. His bearded face was stern.
“As will more of The Stag,” Tadhg spoke up. “I’ve called up warriors from every corner of my territory for this … we have barely enough to defend Dun Grianan now.”
“Your stronghold is safe,” Galan assured him.
Tadhg’s brow furrowed. “You can’t know that for sure, Galan.”
An awkward silence fell in the meeting house.
Muin shifted on his stool, his fingers flexing around the cup of mead. The drink had warmed his belly and taken the chill out of his limbs, yet the tension inside the meeting house put him on edge. He had sensed it from the moment he stepped inside. The three chieftains who had remained behind at Balintur were all quieter than usual, their gazes shuttered as they listened to Varar’s report.
For decades the four tribes of this isle—The Eagle, The Wolf, The Stag, and The Boar—had endured long periods of conflict. It was a rare thing indeed, to see all the chieftains seated around a fire together, uniting against a common enemy.
However,
the air was now charged, warning Muin that the peace between them was still a fragile thing. The tension made him forget his own personal disappointments, his discomfort regarding Ailene.
These men had to remain united, but at the same time they had to make the right decision. The future of all the peoples depended upon it.
“Once the rest of The Wolf and Stag warriors arrive, we will be able to move on An Teanga,” Varar said finally. “We will ensure a force is left here in Balintur … we’ll not leave this village undefended.”
“Is taking back An Teanga really the best course of action?” Tadhg’s blue eyes shadowed. “Dun Ringill is where The Serpent leader dwells. Isn’t that a wiser target?”
“You heard the bandruí at our last meeting,” Galan replied, scowling. “Fortune shines upon The Boar at present … but not The Eagle. We would be fools to go against such advice.”
All gazes swiveled to where Ailene sat at the edge of the group.
Ailene stared back at the chieftains. She sat proudly upon her stool although Muin knew her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the strain upon her face.
“Are you still convinced of what the bones foresaw?” Tadhg asked.
Ailene nodded. “Aye,” she replied. There was no doubt on her face or in her tone. “I cast them again yesterday, and nothing has changed.”
A few feet away, Wid let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure we should blindly trust the word of such a young bandruí,” he rumbled. The Wolf chieftain’s gaze fixed upon Ailene. “No offense, lass … but even old and wise seers have been known to divine things wrongly.”
Muin watched Ailene’s spine go rigid. Her sea-blue eyes darkened, and her jaw tightened.
“I trust Ailene,” Galan cut in. “She has not steered us wrong yet. If she thinks we should wait before taking back Dun Ringill, I will heed her.”
A nerve flickered under one of Ailene’s eyes at this proclamation, and she shot Galan a look of gratitude.
Muin shifted uncomfortably on his stool. Unlike Wid, he trusted in Ailene’s predictions. However, he also shared Tadhg’s concerns about taking back An Teanga rather than Dun Ringill. Muin’s gut intuition told him they should focus on The Eagle stronghold.
“We will need a large force to take back An Teanga,” Muin spoke up then. “Even with more warriors in place here in Balintur, we’re spreading ourselves too thin.”
Unease rippled around the fireside. Fina scowled at him, irritation kindling in her grey eyes, while Varar frowned. Talor, however, nodded.
Galan had gone still. “And what would you have us do, son?” he asked. Next to The Eagle chief, Aaron was staring at his older brother, a quizzical expression upon his face.
Muin inhaled deeply. Of course Aaron was surprised. Muin rarely publically disagreed with his father. He was not sure why he felt the need to do so now, only that he was tired of holding his tongue for fear of disappointing his father. Ailene’s rejection had changed him, freeing him of his usual reserve. In future, he intended to speak his mind in these councils.
Ailene was watching him now, her brow furrowed. Ignoring her, Muin held his father’s gaze. “I think we should gather our full force and hit Dun Ringill hard,” he said quietly. “Before Mid-Winter Fire.”
“That’s too risky,” Galan replied, negating the suggestion with a curt shake of his head. “There are hundreds of The Serpent residing in the fort now … they could hold out for a long time.”
“And meanwhile, we’d freeze once the snows came,” Varar added. “Even with two-hundred warriors defending An Teanga, it will be easier to take back than Dun Ringill. The Eagle fort needs to wait till spring.”
“And what will happen when Cathal mac Calum hears of the attack?” Talor asked. “Will he just sit there and let us drive his people out of Boar territory?”
Varar’s mouth twisted. “If we move fast, by the time he learns of it, nothing he does will matter … we will have taken back An Teanga.”
Talor frowned. “Meanwhile, Balintur will still be exposed.”
“We have rebuilt and strengthened this village’s defenses,” Galan pointed out, a warning edge to his tone now. “And with the arrival of the extra warriors there will be plenty of us to defend it.” Muin sensed his father’s rising irritation. He did not like that his son and nephew were being so forceful in their opinions, especially with the other three chieftains present. Muin felt his own temper simmer in response; a strange sensation, for he hardly ever quarreled with his father.
Muin sometimes felt as if his father did not want to hear his opinion. Galan wanted to be followed, not questioned. He seemed to forget that his first-born son had reached manhood many years earlier and already fought in a number of battles.
Another silence settled around the fireside, this one even more charged than previously.
“I think,” Ailene spoke up, shattering the growing sense of disquiet, “that it would be best you all think on this before making a decision. Much depends upon your choice.”
Galan shook his head, his jaw setting in a stubborn expression that Muin knew well. His father was even-tempered and fair-minded, yet he had an obstinate streak when angered.
“Time is running out for us all,” he replied. “We can’t sit around arguing … a decision has to be made.”
“I agree,” Fina said, her expression the grimmest Muin had seen it in a long while. “Enough talk.”
Wid huffed, sitting back and massaging a muscle in his shoulder. “Come on then … the chieftains should all cast a vote. Those in favor of taking back An Teanga first, stand up.”
Varar rose to his feet first, and then Galan. All gazes in the meeting house then shifted to Wid and Tadhg.
The Stag chieftain crossed brawny arms across a muscular chest but remained seated, making it clear that he did not agree with Galan’s plan. Tadhg’s response both pleased and surprised Muin. Others shared his concerns, it seemed.
The deciding vote lay with Wid.
Realizing this, The Wolf chieftain muttered a curse under his breath. He then shared a long look with his wife Alana. Glowering, he slowly heaved himself off his stool.
Muin let out the breath he was holding, disappointment filtering through him. He had hoped that Wid would stand against Galan and Varar on this. He could see that the man was torn, but in the end he had given in to pressure that had nothing to do with the decision at hand. Galan and Tea’s handfasting many years earlier had brought an end to decades of feuding between The Wolf and The Eagle. Wid was wary of dredging up old animosities again.
“It’s decided then,” Galan said, his gaze sweeping over the faces of those gathered around the fire pit. Muin tensed when his father’s attention settled upon him. He was daring him to open his mouth again, to stir up trouble. “We will move against An Teanga … and soon.”
Muin strode from the meeting house and had barely gone three paces when Fina caught up with him.
“What was that about?” she rounded on him, blocking his path.
The rain still slashed across the village, tugging at their clothing and hair. However, Fina barely seemed to notice. In the light of the guttering pitch torches surrounding the meeting house, her beautiful face was livid. Viewing his cousin’s rigid stance, the way her hands balled into fists by her sides, Muin realized he had angered more than his father this evening.
“I was just raising my concerns,” he replied evenly. “Shouldn’t I have done?”
“You said nothing to any of us on the journey back from An Teanga.”
“That’s because I wanted to think upon it first.” Muin frowned then. “Surely you can see why I’m worried?”
Fina’s full mouth thinned. “No.”
Muin inclined his head. “You’re blinkered these days, Fina.”
“Excuse me?”
“Now you’re wed to Varar, your priorities have changed.”
His cousin’s nostrils flared. “How dare you … I’m still an Eagle. I care about my people’s welf
are just as much as you do.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Muin countered. “But you also want to see your husband take back his fort … no matter what the cost.”
Fina took an aggressive step toward him, and for a moment Muin thought she might lash out. In all their years growing up together, the pair of them had never argued like this. Muin was always the level-headed one, the person who broke up fights but never started them.
But this evening he felt the urge to tangle horns with anyone who crossed him, and that included his feisty cousin.
“I don’t know what’s amiss with you at the moment,” Fina growled. “But I don’t like it.”
“There’s nothing wrong,” Muin struck back, his own anger simmering now. “I’m just tired of staying silent when I wish to voice my opinions. You’ve never had difficulty speaking your mind … why shouldn’t the rest of us say what we think?”
Muin left his fuming cousin and wandered the web of narrow dirt lanes, making his way back to the dwelling that he and Talor shared.
Night had fallen in a grey, wet shroud. The rain was driving in horizontally now, and despite the fur mantle around his shoulders, Muin shivered. The fire and a cup of warm mead had thawed his limbs a little, although the conversation inside the meeting house had darkened Muin’s mood.
He did not like arguing with those he loved.
He did not like making a scene or displeasing his father.
But he shared Talor and Tadhg’s views, and he would not hold his tongue, even if it meant making himself unpopular.
“Muin!”
A familiar female voice hailed him—not Fina this time but someone he wanted to see even less.
Ailene.
Cursing under his breath, Muin halted and turned to face the cloaked figure that hurried toward him.
Realizing that he had stopped, the seer halted, her feet slipping in the mud.
A moment later she careened into Muin.
