Oath of the Brotherhood

by Carla Laureano

  “You may be correct.”

  Conor jerked his head up. “You saw it, too?”

  “I’m afraid so. I don’t know why you were shown that. It seems cruel. But she’s in Comdiu’s hands now.”

  Conor stared in horror. The feeling left his body, and the room spun around him. “She’s dead?”

  “I’m sorry, son. You must let her go. You knew you had to renounce your ties to the kingdoms, and this is perhaps the hardest link to sever. It is not easy to see Comdiu’s plan in the midst of our own tragedies.”

  Conor barely heard Liam’s words. Aine was dead. He turned and walked numbly through the door without waiting to be dismissed. The tight band around his chest squeezed the air from his lungs as surely as the water had smothered the last spark of life in Aine’s body. Brothers watched him with concern as he made his way back through the fortress, but he scarcely noticed. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered now.

  How he managed to climb down the staircase on his numb legs, he would never know. His foot slipped once or twice, and only instinct kept him upright.

  “I should have been there. I shouldn’t have left.”

  He had only wanted to protect her, and instead she had died alone and afraid.

  “Conor?”

  Conor looked up at Eoghan and realized he was standing knee-deep in the lake. “She’s dead.”

  His friend led him out of the water and back to the empty barracks. Conor barely noticed his own movements or Eoghan’s reassuring words.

  “I should have told her. She didn’t know I loved her.”

  “She knew,” Eoghan said. “She must have.”

  “I played her the song, but I didn’t tell her.”

  Eoghan knelt to pull off Conor’s boots and helped him lie back on the lumpy pallet. “Rest now. It will get easier.”

  “It will never be easier.” Conor closed his eyes, too engulfed in grief to even weep.

  When he awoke later in his own bed, he thought he must have dreamed the whole scenario, from his vision of Aine’s death to Liam’s sorrowful pronouncement. The puddle of water on the floor beneath his wet boots told him otherwise.

  He caught his breath at the renewed rush of pain. Kind, gentle Aine. He had known her only a few short months: too short, some would say, to fall in love. After all, he was merely seventeen.

  Still, he knew it to be true. Her death brought the same wrenching sense of loss he had felt when he learned of Lord Labhrás’s execution, only worse. Lord Labhrás died a martyr for his beliefs. Someday his death would be avenged. But Aine? Her passing was a senseless waste, a brilliant flame extinguished too soon.

  A shaft of light arced across the dim room, outlining a man’s figure as he walked down the stairs. Eoghan.

  “What are you doing here?” Conor mumbled.

  “I brought you supper. I thought you might be hungry.”

  Conor turned away from the bowl of stew in Eoghan’s hand. “I’m not.”

  Eoghan sat down on the bed adjacent to Conor’s and set the bowl aside. “Do you want to talk?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. She’s gone.” Conor lay back down on the mattress. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and remained that way, even when his laughing céad mates returned to the barracks. Eoghan must have issued a warning, because they left him to his misery.

  The next morning, Slaine quietly but firmly directed Conor to get dressed and go to breakfast. He obeyed. He had no choice, really, nor the will to resist. What was the point? He could be just as miserable doing his duty to the Fíréin as he could lying in his bed.

  He skipped morning devotions, unable to bear another sermon on finding Comdiu’s will, and reported to the fields instead. Brother Reamonn had not yet arrived, so he chose a hoe from the cart and began cultivating where he left off the day before. The impact of the blade shuddered through his body, jarring his teeth and driving the breath from his lungs. He attacked the soil over and over, until something broke free inside and he collapsed weeping in the dirt.

  “Why?” he sobbed aloud to Comdiu. “Why did You let them die? First Labhrás and then Aine. They were Yours. They loved You. They loved me. And You took them from me!”

  A hand touched his shoulder, the first indication he was no longer alone in the field, but he shook it off. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, gulped back his sobs, and rose to his feet. He lifted the hoe and returned to his task, ignoring the concerned expressions of the brothers working nearby. With every stroke, he forced his grief back down a little more.

  It’s not easy to see Comdiu’s plan in the midst of our own tragedies, Master Liam had said. Comdiu’s grand plan. Conor choked back a bitter laugh. He had never thought of their God as cruel, but why else would He show him Aine’s death when he could do nothing about it? How could Liam possibly think he could ignore this tragedy and move on with his life as if nothing had happened?

  Conor threw down the hoe and walked from the field, shoulders slumped. He no longer cared what his brothers would say, or for that matter, what Master Liam would say. What could they do to him that would be more painful than this?

  Twilight fell before Eoghan found him on the bank of the lake, his chin propped on his bent knees. The older boy sat down a few spans away.

  “I haven’t thanked you,” Conor said.

  “I wish anything I did would make a difference.”

  Conor stared out at the water. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “I’ve been here my whole life. I’ve never even met a woman, at least that I can remember.”

  “All my life, I felt that I wasn’t good enough. No matter how hard I worked, I could never live up to anyone’s expectations. And then I met Aine.” Conor blinked away tears. “She made me feel as if who I was mattered more than what I could do. I think she actually loved me.”

  “Why did you leave then?” Eoghan asked.

  “Because I suspected Lord Fergus, my uncle, wanted me dead, and I was afraid she’d be in danger if I stayed. Besides, I thought Riordan had answers for me.”

  “What kind of answers?”

  “Not the ones I got.” Conor picked up a stone and flung it into the lake. “Galbraith was not my father. Riordan is.”

  Eoghan stared, stunned. “I don’t understand.”

  “It hardly matters now. There’s nothing left for me in the kingdoms. Everyone I loved is dead.”

  Eoghan nodded. Conor was grateful for his restraint. Right now, he didn’t want reassurances or platitudes.

  “I know a little something about having limited choices,” Eoghan said. “You know I was abandoned. I was two, three years old. This is the only home I’ve ever known.”

  “Would you leave Ard Dhaimhin if you had a choice?”

  Eoghan’s expression closed, and he pushed himself off the ground. “I don’t have a choice. So I guess we’re in the same boat.” He extended his hand to Conor and hoisted him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Conor followed Eoghan away from the lake. He wasn’t hungry, but he owed him at least that much for befriending him when he offered so little in return.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Brilliant light enveloped Aine, suffusing her body with well-being and warming her straight to her soul. She peered into the light, trying to reconcile this warm, bright place with the cold touch of water, but the lake was gone. Somehow, she knew she was only consciousness here, but the light filled her with such an inexpressible sense of joy and peace she wanted to weep.

  There was another in this place, and she knew Him instantly. She yearned to throw herself at His feet, but she couldn’t make out a body, only a presence so strong and joyous it overwhelmed nearly every conscious thought.

  One bubbled to the surface. “Am I dead?”

  The light receded somewhat, and she made out a man’s shape. “In a manner of speaking,” came the voice in her head, rich and melodious.

  “Lord Balus! Please, I want to see Your face!�
�

  She had the impression of a smile, though she could see no features through the light. He answered, “Your mortal mind could not behold My true brilliance.”

  “But I thought I was dead.”

  “It is not your time. I still have a task for you.”

  “I will do anything You ask of me,” she said immediately. “But how can I do anything for You?”

  “Because I choose to bless you, my daughter,” He said gently. “There is a time of great sorrow coming to Seare. If left unchecked, it will spread across the world, destroying all in its path. But there are yet so many who do not know Me, who have never heard My name. It is for love of these multitudes the storm of darkness must be stopped.”

  Her heart overflowed with the desire to serve her Lord and Master, even if it meant her own life in sacrifice. “What can I do?”

  “Have faith in Me. Seek My wisdom, accept My guidance. It is not for you to know what is to come. Only know I am with you, and there is no task for which My strength is not sufficient.”

  “I will do anything You ask,” she said again.

  “For your faith, you will be rewarded,” He said softly. “Cling to that when the price seems too much to bear. Now go.”

  “Please! Not yet! I want to stay here with You. Please don’t send me back!”

  “I will be with you,” came the voice, deep and resonant, as the light faded.

  Aine cried out as she was wrenched from His presence, overwhelmed by the utter loneliness of the sudden distance between them. Then pain seared her lungs, and excited voices babbled around her.

  Hands pressed on her chest, and a man’s familiar voice pleaded, “Come back to me, Aine.”

  She gasped for air. Water exploded from her lungs in a rush. More hands rolled her onto her side, patted her back, held her as she gagged and choked and struggled for breath.

  “She’s alive,” the voice said again. Ruarc. “Comdiu be praised, she’s alive!”

  As Aine’s consciousness returned, cold set her teeth chattering and her limbs shaking. Familiar faces wore concerned expressions, but she couldn’t put names to them. Someone put a blanket around her, and someone else helped her to her feet.

  She was alive.

  She recalled the light, but the memory was already fading.

  Her feet moved on their own toward the keep while she hung her head and wept.

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Aine sat in a chair in the hall, now clothed in a dry shift and covered by furs and blankets. She warmed her shaking hands around a cup of tea, while Ruarc hovered behind her protectively, one hand on her shoulder. Her mind felt clearer now, but her heart still ached.

  “I heard Ruarc call me, but when I got there, he was dead.”

  Ruarc patted her shoulder awkwardly. “I’m right here, my lady. I wouldn’t leave you.”

  “Perhaps you were dreaming,” someone suggested. “Walking in your sleep.”

  “No,” she whispered. “It was no dream.”

  Eimer pushed to the front. “Enough of this now. She needs rest, not more questions.”

  “If she was pushed, we need to know who did it,” Captain Ó Hearn protested. “There may be a murderer among us.”

  “No one under your authority, Captain,” Aine mumbled. “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.”

  “That’s enough,” Eimer said. “Come, girl, we’ll get you to bed.”

  Aine let herself be led back to her chamber and lay still in her bed while the housekeeper piled blankets atop her. Her eyelids drooped. “I saw Him,” she whispered, her mind returning to that pure, joyful light. “He was beautiful . . .”

  “I know,” Eimer said soothingly. “Get some rest. We can talk about it when you wake up.”

  Reassured by the recollection of the light, Aine closed her eyes and let herself be taken by a deep, dreamless slumber.

  When Aine awoke, she wasn’t sure where she was—Forrais, Lisdara, or Dún Eavan. Then she saw the candlelit earthen walls and remembered the lake’s deathly touch. Eimer rose from her chair in the corner and knelt beside the bed to place her hand on Aine’s forehead.

  “How long have I been asleep?” Speaking set off a pounding in Aine’s head that momentarily blinded her.

  “A day and a night. It’s morning.”

  “Where’s Ruarc? I want to see him.”

  “He’s probably still pacing outside your door. He’s been terribly worried. We all have.” Eimer lowered her voice. “Meallachán said something about the bean-sidhe.”

  Aine recalled the specter and shuddered. It sounded like the foolish ramblings of a frightened girl. Yet she knew she had heard Ruarc’s voice, knew she had seen his lifeless body before she fell into the lake. Was it her own death the bean-sidhe had been proclaiming?

  When Eimer saw Aine wasn’t going to speak more on the subject, she climbed to her feet. “Stay here. I’ll send in Ruarc while I get you some broth.”

  The guard entered a few moments later, his face creased with worry, followed by Meallachán a few steps behind. She was still searching for words when Ruarc crushed her into a tight embrace.

  “Thank Comdiu,” he whispered. “I thought the worst.”

  Aine disentangled herself, touched by his emotional greeting. She had known he was fond of her, but he had never displayed his feelings so plainly. Behind him, Meallachán wore a searching expression.

  Ruarc pulled the chair to her bedside. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Aine looked at the bard, who nodded. Hesitantly, she related what she remembered up to the drowning.

  “This is troubling,” Meallachán said.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh, I believe you. Some Balians may believe the sidhe are merely folk superstitions, but even the Scriptures speak of powers of darkness that seek to devour the light. What’s disturbing is that they should choose you.”

  Aine shivered beneath the blankets. She had half-hoped the bard would dismiss her tale as a hallucination.

  “But that’s not all, is it?” Meallachán prompted. “You died. What did you see?”

  “Lord Balus spoke to me,” Aine said, recognizing as she did how fantastic it sounded. In the presence of the supernatural light, what she had seen and heard seemed completely plausible. But now . . . why would Lord Balus, Master of all creation, speak directly to her? Why would He choose an insignificant Aronan girl to play a part in the future of Seare?

  Aine looked at Ruarc. “Do you believe me?”

  Ruarc hesitated. “I’m a simple man, Aine. What I have seen, I would not have thought possible. But the fact you are here, alive, seems proof enough without the other.”

  “The other?”

  “I woke to someone—or something—standing in my room. He told me you were in need of help and exactly what I should do. I roused the guards, and there we found you, floating facedown on the surface of the lake.”

  “Surely you can’t mean you were visited by a Companion!”

  Ruarc said nothing, but his expression told her she had guessed right.

  “A Companion,” Aine whispered.

  “There’s something I think you should see,” the bard said.

  Aine pushed herself up and wrapped her dry cloak around herself. Ruarc helped her to her feet and ushered her to the keep’s entrance.

  “Do you recall all those nights praying for protection?” Meallachán asked. “Look.”

  Aine stepped out into the blinding morning light. Every last person on Dún Eavan had gathered at water’s edge, staring wordlessly across the loch. She followed their gazes. Beyond the island, a roiling mass of gray mist hovered over the water and spread back toward the shore. Before it, glowing columns of golden light held it at bay. Aine could just make out vaguely human shapes holding swords of white flame at their centers.

  “I don’t believe it.” A wave of dizziness hit her, and her knees gave way. Ruarc caught her just before she struck the ground. In that instant, bo
th the mist and the Companions vanished from sight, leaving only clear air and the glimmering surface of the water.

  “They’re gone!” someone cried in dismay. As if a spell had been broken, the others began to murmur in confusion.

  “They’re not gone,” Aine said. “Just unseen. Comdiu granted us the vision to perceive what few ever have.”

  The crowd gaped at her, at last registering her presence. As Ruarc helped her to her feet, Niamh pushed to the front and threw her arms around Aine. “You’re awake! Did you see them?”

  “I saw them.” Aine’s knees buckled again, and she sent Ruarc a pleading look. Wordlessly, he picked her up like a child and carried her back to her bedchamber, away from the awe-stricken looks and frantic questions rumbling on Dún Eavan’s shore.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Brother Slaine brought his concerns to Riordan on the way back from morning drills. That the stern man would seek him out at all was odd enough, but for once, Slaine actually seemed concerned.

  “There’s something wrong with your nephew.”

  Riordan frowned. Slaine was not given to exaggeration. “How so?”

  “Brother Reamonn said he broke down weeping in the fields and since then he’s been attacking his work like a man possessed. Eoghan told me he’s grieving. Over a woman.”

  Riordan’s eyebrows flew up. “A woman?”

  “That’s all he’d say. He told me to ask Master Liam.”

  “I see.” Uneasiness crept into Riordan’s gut. “Thank you, Brother Slaine. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Riordan had been headed to the barracks, but now he switched directions and started for Carraigmór instead. A woman. Given the recent news from the kingdoms, he could guess what this was about. He proceeded directly to Liam’s study and let himself in without knocking.

  “What did you tell my son?” he demanded.

  Liam turned from the bookshelves, a heavy folio in hand. “Good morning, Riordan.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “About what?” Liam took his seat.