“Ha! Foolish Túath wench! You only tire yourself using these tricks on me!” His eyes flickered to Daire. “I know you. You are that half-breed Daire, are you not? The son of a Túath woman and Fomorii man. I have heard about you,” Árdal continued, slowly walking towards them. “Which could only mean that this lovely little High Priestess you protect so viciously, must be of Tara then. Am I right?”
Shiovra tensed and she could feel Daire do so as well. The tone of the man’s voice, the words that he spoke, did not sit well with the woman.
“Heh…my lord would be very pleased if I was to bring you to him,” sneered Árdal.
“Shiovra,” Daire whispered in her ear.
She titled her head up slightly to look at him, but his eyes were trained coldly upon Árdal, face unreadable much like his father’s.
“Would you be all right if I sat you down on the ground?” Daire asked Shiovra gently.
From her left, Shiovra could see the curly-haired woman blanch and take a step forward.
“Daire! Don’t be a fool!” the woman exclaimed. “You cannot handle this alone!”
“If I do not, Neimidh woman, you’ll all be dead. Árdal will spare none of us to gain Shiovra,” snorted Daire, frowning. “Would you have me let my cousin fall into the hands of the like of him?!” There was a hint of unbridled anger in his voice as he helped Shiovra to the ground. “She has not failed in her promise to protect others, but she has lost too much blood as is from her injuries. Anymore and it just may be her life.”
The woman nodded. “Fine. Do what you must.”
Shiovra reached up and grabbed Daire’s hand firmly in her own. He looked down at her and she met his eyes. “Be careful…” she breathed.
Daire nodded and she released his hand. Setting his face coldly, he strode towards Árdal.
Without Daire for support, Shiovra felt weaker. The Neimidh woman rushed to her side and offered her support and her name: Meara.
“That man is a fool,” Meara murmured.
“You wish to cast your life away so easily, Daire of Tara?” mocked Árdal.
“I believe you may be mistaken for it is you whose life shall be forfeit!” Daire lunged at the man. “You were foolish, Árdal, to underestimate me!” Swinging his fist up, he struck Árdal in the face, then swiftly shifted into a protective stance. Scorn filled his eyes. “I will not allow you to best me!”
Shiovra was surprised at her cousin’s quickness. With his favor of the bow, she had not anticipated her would be so quick on his feet. As she watched in marvel, a sudden chill raced up her spine. “Daire! Look out!” she called out.
From the folds of his tunic, Árdal had drawn out a dagger. The blade was tarnished so horribly it appeared black in color. He paused a moment, almost admiring the blade with a look of madness in his eyes. “It is strange,” he murmured. “The most unusual man gave me this. He told me that with this, I would be undefeatable.”
The priestess shook her head in pity. “You are indeed a fool. That blade is worthless, Árdal,” Shiovra told him solemnly. “It was a man by the name of Ailill who gave you that, was it not? Such a weapon is a trickery forged by the Fomorii he has allied himself with.”
Daire studied the dagger, eyes narrowed on the blade. “Shiovra speaks true. That blade is useless.”
Árdal faltered, hesitating a moment. He glanced at the dagger in his hand, then grinned wildly. “We shall see about that!” he shouted, lunging at Daire.
Daire moved swiftly, twisting his cloak up over his arm and raising it to shield the blow. The dagger hit true, but the blade crumbled and fell to the ground. Before Árdal could react, Daire brought his foot up and struck his roughly in the chest.
The man fell back, stumbling, and landed roughly on the ground.
“Ailill is using you. All you are to him is pawn. He seeks revenge against the Túath, much like your own clan does,” Daire said. “They send men like you out, promising them land, cattle, and women. But all you are is someone to do their toiling for them.”
Árdal’s face filled with rage and, with a cry that seemed to be ripped from deep within him, rose unsteadily to his feet. “This is not the end, Túath wench and half-breed! We will meet again and you shall regret this very day!” With that said, Árdal broke into a run, disappearing into the darkness.
Daire looked down at the shattered dagger, shaking his head. Walking over to it, he picked up what remained. “What a fool.” Daire chucked the hilt into the trees, cursing.
Shiovra began to climb to her feet.
“Lady Priestess!” protested Meara, trying to keep the priestess from standing. “Please don’t move, we must have your wounds tended to.”
“That is not necessary at the moment…” Shiovra told the woman. “We need to get moving first, to find somewhere safe to make camp till daybreak.” Pain raced through her body as she finally stood straight. She flinched and took a few, staggering steps towards Daire, but her legs were too weak and she found herself faltering.
Daire hastened to her side as she lost all strength and sank towards the ground. “Hold on, cousin, I have you,” he said, voice distant in her ears.
Shiovra felt his strong arms wrap around her. “Thank you…Daire…”she breathed. Soft darkness enveloped her, and she welcomed it.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Sunlight shifted through the trees, casting a pillar of bright warmth upon Shiovra as she slumbered upon the soft turf. Rest came fitfully to the priestess, filled with nightmares of war and bloodshed. Of fires with smoke that filled her lungs and heat she could feel hot against her skin. Of the clash of swords ringing in her ears and screams filling the air. And of a hunt…for her.
Shiovra woke with a start, blinking in the sunlight. Trees loomed above her, their branches swaying in the gentle breeze. She lay on the cool ground looking up at them for a moment. Her mind lingering between dreaming and waking. Yet the wound on her side throbbed, reminding her of where she was and what events had taken place.
An attempt to sit only garnered a sharp jab of pain from her wound in protest, causing the priestess to fall back. Exhaling in frustration, she looked around.
From where she lay, she could see Daire leaning against a tree close to her left, his eyes closed. The men, who had come to their aid, were nowhere to be seen. Listening, for voices that could possibly betray their lingering presence, she could hear the faint gurgling of water nearby and hoped it was the Boyne River.
“Daire…?” she began, but stopped, her throat dry.
His eyes snapped open and he leaned towards her, reaching a hand out to smooth back her hair from her forehead. “Shhh…Shiovra,” he replied. “You should not try to get up yet, but I imagine that you have found that out yourself.”
Shiovra turned her attention back to the gently sway of the tree branches. The sunlight flickering through the dance of the leaves was in stark contrast to the dreams of battle she had before waking. “Such a dark foretelling…”
“What do you mean?” questioned Daire beside her.
A sad smile crossed Shiovra’s lips. “Nothing,” she replied, glancing at him. “Do not worry.”
Daire’s eyes narrowed on her, but he did not press her further. “You could do for a good rest, cousin.”
She could not deny the truth to his words. “Aye. That I could,” she whispered, then started coughing.
“Here,” said Daire, helping her to sit before reaching for a clay bowl of milky water that sat beside him, handing it to her. “This will help bring back your strength.”
She smelled the infusion and then drank it, welcoming it’s warm, though bitter taste. Shiovra was far too familiar with the herbal drink.
Daire was silent, merely watched her.
“Where have your companions gone?” Shiovra asked, breaking the silence.
“They made sure your wounds were tended to, and then continued on their way to take care of the rest,” he replied. “As we should continue on ours. Árdal was only the first.
There will be others hunting you, now that you have been seen.” Daire looked down at his hands. “Forgive me. I had not intended for you to be hurt. I promised myself that when I took you away from Rúnda, that I would protect you myself.” He sighed and looked back up at her. “The storm has passed, and midday approaches swiftly. We shall continue until nightfall, then make camp.”
Shiovra nodded. The time to turn back was gone. She made her choice to defy her mentor and leave Rúnda. All that remained was to face the brother she had turned her back on and be the priestess that Tara was in need of.
Daire offered her a warm grin and rose to his feet. “I am going to get us some water. Stay here. I’ll be back.”
Shiovra nodded and watched him disappear into the trees. Slowly, she forced her body to stand, wincing slightly at the stabbing pain in her side. She looked down to find that bandages had been wrapped over her clothing and she knew her wound would need to be more carefully tended to. Hearing a soft rustle behind her, she turned to see Daire returning.
“Shall we continue on to Tara?” he asked.
Shiovra nodded. “Aye.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Shiovra sat in a tree, looking off in the distance towards the Tara. The sight brought back a flood of memories and remained an impressive even after her ten year absence. It could easily been seen why every High Chieftain of Éire chose the village for his home.
The village of Tara stretched far and consisted of the high fort and two smaller ringforts. The high fort stood at the summit of a hill and was enclosed by a circular earth bank surrounded by a sturdy wooden wall. Within, small cottages with clay daub walls and thick thatch roofs lay scattered around the main cottage where the chieftain and his kin resided. The main cottage itself was circled by a fence made of woven hazel sitting atop a raised banks; another fence, linked to the first, stood around the Stone of Destiny. North of the main cottage, nestled along the outer wall, was a small passage tomb known as Mound of Hostages. Further north, just outside the bounds of the high fort was the long, narrow building known as the Banqueting House. West of the hall, past the small ring-forts, were the Sloping Trenches.
Shiovra felt both the warmth of fond memories as well as apprehension when looking upon her childhood home. Ten years was a long time to have been away. Ten years to have not seen her brother. She knew he would be angry with her and she loathed the thought of having to face him.
“Shiovra!” The voice invaded her thoughts, pulling her from internal battle. “Shiovra!”
She looked down at Daire.
Her cousin stood beneath the tree, shielding his eyes from the sun as he peered up at her. “Come down, we…”
“No, I wish to tarry a bit longer” she replied, her apprehension getting the better of her. The way she figured it, the longer she sat in the tree, the longer she was able to put off her reunion with Mahon.
“Cousin.”
Daire’s voice was much closer now, his breath warming her ear.
A startled cry escaped Shiovra’s lips and she nearly went tumbling from the branch she had chosen to perch upon. She reached for the closest thing at hand to steady herself, which happened to be, most unfortunately, Daire’s tunic.
Daire, clearly not expecting the response he had just received, reflexively clung to the trunk of the tree.
They sat unmoving for several moments, each trying to calm the beating of their heart.
Shiovra took deep breaths, forcing herself to calm. “Don’t startle me like that, Daire!” she scolded, when she deemed she was composed enough to release him.
“I was the one startled!” he shot back, straightening his tunic. He exhaled and shook his head. “Did you not hear me when I said I was coming up?”
She looked away. “No…”
Daire was quiet a moment, then asked, “What troubles you?”
“Mahon…” she whispered before meeting his eyes. “I fear he will not be happy to see me.”
Daire offered her a gentle smile. “Perhaps at first,” he began. “He has had ten years to be angry that you chose to leave and train to be High Priestess. But, just as the seasons come to pass, so shall his anger.” In a childish gesture, he reached his hand over to poke her lightly on the nose. “You may be the High Priestess of Tara, charged with the duty of protecting this village and her people, but you will always be his sister.”
She couldn’t help but smile in turn.
Daire chuckled lightly and turned his attention to Tara. “Home.”
Shiovra nodded and sighed. “Even after all this time, it feels as if I have never left. To me, not matter where I am, Tara will always be my home,” she said.
“It will not be quite the same, cousin,” replied Daire. “You are no long just sister to Mahon and kin to Ainmire. You are the Túath High Priestess of Tara, and so shall you be known for the rest of your life.” He reached a hand out and gently touched her arm, fingers lingering on the twisting and curling pattern marking her skin.
Shiovra looked down at his hand, following the path her fingers took as they grazed the pattern of her markings.
“Marked…to be forever known not only by all the Túath clan, but by the Neimidh, Fir Bolg, Fomorii and…even the Milidh, for the rest of your life…” Daire moved his hand to her chin, tilting her face up to look him in the eyes. “Was this the right choice?”
Shiovra could see a touch of regret in her cousin’s eyes. She was unsure whether he felt so over her choice of becoming the High Priestess, or the mere fact that soon she would be known and hunted by many. To feel regret was not an option in her eyes. Though she was but a child when she made the choice to train for High Priestess, she would never take back that decision. And when prompted if she had made the right choice, the answer was quite simply, “Yes.”
A sad smile crossed Daire’s lips. “Come, let us continue on to Tara.” He pulled away from her. “Mahon will be happy to see you.”
Shiovra watched as he began to climb down the tree. She knew that Mahon had not been the only one she hurt that day ten years ago when she left with Réalta. It was written clearly across Daire’s face and weighed heavily in his voice. And though she could not change the past, she could try and ensure a less painful future for those around her.
Climbing down the tree, she followed Daire quietly down a well worn path towards the village.
The walls of the fort rose high above their heads, and the wooden gateways stood wide open, welcoming them. They gained attention quickly as they made their way through the village, many of the villagers pausing in their work to watch as Shiovra and Daire passed by.
Shiovra met each curious gaze with a soft smile and nod. It was an odd feeling for the priestess. There were many faces she did not recognize anymore. Many faces who would soon be relying on her to serve as their High Priestess.
One of which was a small child, a girl of perhaps five years of age, who left her mother’s side and ran, giggling, towards Shiovra. Stopping before the priestess, she grinned and held a single flower up to her. “For you!” the girl exclaimed excitedly.
Smiling, Shiovra accepted the flower and gave the girl a gentle pat on the head. “I thank you.”
Delighted, the girl squealed and ran back to her mother.
A small laugh passed her lips as she watched the girl’s enthusiasm. Shiovra could only hope that she would not let the child, or the rest of her people down.
Daire’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “Come.” Taking hold of her arm gently, he led her into the Banqueting House, a place where feasts and celebrations were held, and where a weary traveler could rest and eat.
Shiovra allowed him to guide her to an open table. Sitting down across from him, she looked around the hall, pleased to find that nothing had changed.
Men and women crowded the long, low tables, laughing, talking, and drinking heartily. The hall, brightly lit from three large hearth fires, was filled with people. The thick posts holding up the peeked thatch roof were carved carefully wit
h interlocking patterns. Food cooked above the fire, filling the hall with a delicious and tempting aroma.
“I thought that we could tarry here a bit before continuing on to the High fort,” Daire told her with a grin. “Give you more time to think about what you want to say to Mahon.” He gestured to a woman and requested two fresh cups of water. The older woman nodded and hurried off.
Shiovra nodded, her eyes trailing over the many faces.
A lone, cloaked figure sitting off in a shadowed corner caught Shiovra’s eyes. A man, whose face was hidden from the light of the hearth, sat on a bench with his elbows resting on his knees. He bore an honor marking of blue woad on his left wrist, but from their distance, the priestess could not make it out.
Shiovra eyes narrowed as she was almost sure the man was watching her as well. Something about his unseen gaze left her feeling uneasy. “Daire…” she began quietly, unwilling to turn her gaze away. “Who is that?”
“Hmm?” He looked over, his face becoming hard. “Odhrán,” replied Daire in a cold voice. “He is one of the Milidh clan. He arrived three moons ago…” His voice trailed off as the older woman returned to set two clay cups of water down on the table. Nodding to her, Daire took a cup for himself and passed the other towards Shiovra.
She took it without looking and brought the clay cup to her lips, her eyes remaining trained on the cloaked man. “Why is he here?” she asked in a firm voice.
Daire took a deep drink from his cup before setting his down hard on the table. “I don’t know,” he replied.
Shiovra noticed the slight hesitation in his voice and frowned. “Daire…”
He exhaled. “He keeps mostly to himself. Since he arrived, he has been in council repeatedly with Mahon and Ainmire,” Daire admitted. “I would stay clear of him, if I were you. He is dangerous.”
Anger swelled within the priestess. “And Ainmire simply allows him to walk through the village freely?” demanded Shiovra in a heated whisper. “Ten years ago his people attacked this village and my mother was killed! Many others lost their lives and were injured that night!”
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 6
