Chapter 16: Several Revelations

“How do ye know I’m a witch?”

His eyes continued to dance as he took hold of his chin and looked her up and down like a horse he was keen to buy. Bee had been around long enough to know how best to deal with this man’s type, and she spat between his feet as she said, “Be difficult to conduct a campaign without eyes, so it would.”

Instead of being abashed, Ruirech shook his head and laughed. “I was checking your aura, to be honest.”

“My aura?”

“Yup. I’ve got a bit of the sight and know people by their aura.”

“Oh, sorry. I mistook ye.” His grin at her words made Bee wonder if she was the butt of some joke. However, when he spoke again, he seemed sincere.

“No worries. Come. We will get whatever is useful from these bodies, and leave the rest to the crows.” Bee nodded and dismounted.

As they walked through the handful of dead that the living were looting, Bee was surprised to note that the bodies looked like humans. With her glances during the chase, Bee had thought them huge but could see they wore massive, decorative armor, which gave them bulk. As the rebels stripped it from them, they were remarkably, well, ordinary. Their heads were larger and their bodies were more heavily muscled. Their arms were longer and their legs shorter, which gave them a monstrous aspect, she supposed. But apart from those minor differences, they looked like any other male warrior she’d ever met.

“They look almost human,” she said, running a finger along her scar.

“Aye. And so they are, more or less, anyway,” Ruirech said. “They’re not the monsters of legend.”

“But the army at Breshlech looked monstrous,” Bee mused.

Before the rebel leader could respond, Fis rode into sight, his bloody sword nonchalantly over his shoulder, a grin splitting his face. “I do so love a good running battle,” he said as he swung down from his mount and sheathed his sword.

“Who are ye, Fis?” Bee demanded.

“Now is not the time,” Ruirech said. “That troop was a scout group for a larger force, and they will be arriving soon. We should get out of here while we can.”

“Aye, let’s go,” Bee agreed.

“You will not object to blindfolds, I hope?” Ruirech asked before they set off. Fis shook his head, and Bee shrugged, suspecting that any blindfold this warrior used would be much more effective than those of the Fomorii who snatched her on the plains.

Before long, they were being led through the forest. With the many twists and turns, Bee soon lost track of direction and gave up trying. She thought Fis was immediately behind her, but could not be sure and so kept her peace.

After some indeterminate length of time, Ruirech said from beside her, “About the shape of the Fomorii dead in Breshlech. They come into the forest sometimes, and we have destroyed them. They are remarkably easy to destroy, as long as you have the right weapons. Arrows and swords are useless, but hammers are very effective—”

“I know,” Bee interrupted. “They just fall apart, as ye’d expect from a bag of bones.”

“Anyway, stripping them, there’s all sorts of adjustments to their armor. I guess they’re a lot slimmer now, and so the armor’s not a good fit. The adjustments are clumsy, and they give the skeletons a lumpy aspect. I think—just personal musings, like—that the invaders called them monsters to ease their consciences.”

Bee remembered Dornalai’s faraway look when he told her about the siege of Breshlech. She’d certainly seen guilt in his expression as well as other regrets, possibly. Describing them as monsters to ease his conscience might have shown through his battered features.

“Are ye not at war because King Balor gave yer lands to the Fomorii?”

“That’s part of it. I am also descended from Eterscel, so I have a right to the throne. However, Balor giving our land to his soldiers is not the fault of those soldiers, at least not directly.”

“What does that mean?”

“Their evictions of the rightful owners tended towards the violent. Many farmers lost everything, including their loved ones, and there is a need for revenge. They came to me, here in the forest, in their thousands.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Ye were already an outlaw?”

“As was my father before me. We’ve been in the forest since Balor’s ancestor and his Fomorii horde took Dun Ailinne.”

“Aye, the ring fighter mentioned it.” If Bee had thought mention of Dornalai would elicit a response, she was disappointed. Rather than say anything, Ruirech started to whistle, and she was as surprised at his skill as she’d been when the ring fighter first started whistling. Ruirech’s tune was a haunting melody that spoke of many summers’ suffering, and it touched Bee more deeply than she thought possible.

Did Dornalai teach him to whistle?

“I must see to my men,” he said as his melody drew to a close. “We will talk again later.”

Bee spent the rest of the march thinking about what had happened since the Chief sent her through the portal. She knew she was missing something vital, some clue as to what was happening, and she could taste it on the tip of her tongue. No matter how hard she thought about it, she could not uncover the clue.

When Ruirech said, “Here we are,” and helped her off the horse, she felt relief at being able to rub some life back into her arse cheeks. No matter how many times she rode a horse, she could never get used to the discomfort it entailed. Someone told her once that her butt would harden and she would stop feeling it so much, but that was yet to happen, even after so many summers.

When Ruirech took her blindfold off, she gazed around the camp with something close to awe. It was more of a massive hill fort than a camp. There were ramparts and palisades, roundhouses and a central square, guard towers every hundred paces or so. Indeed, it was a city hidden deep in the Great Forest. A city that Bee had never even suspected was there.

“Do you like it?” Bee nodded, but said nothing. “That squat longhouse is the hostel. We usually sit around the firepit telling tales and singing songs. You go there while I get your horses settled. Oh, we found your packhorse, by the way.”

Nodding her thanks, Bee followed Fis into the warm and dark interior of the hostel. It was an area that she thought could tell many fascinating tales. The benches around the firepit were well-worn by hundreds of summers’ worth of arse cheeks. They found a space on a bench and sat, accepting cups of ale from a server and watching the rebel men and women enjoying an evening talking, drinking, and relaxing. It would be difficult to believe that these same people would be hanged if the King’s guards caught them. She could hear children at play and thought there must be another room.

“I apologise for hooding you,” Ruirech said as he sat on the bench opposite.

“We understand the need,” Fis said, grinning.

“So, tell me about this reading of auras,” Bee said. She couldn’t be sure in the dancing light, but Ruirech seemed to be blushing.

He kept silent for several moments before holding up his hands and saying, “I confess, I lied. I’ve no such ability.”

“Now there’s a revelation,” Bee said, with a laugh.

“I’m glad you see the funny side.”

“So, how did ye know I’m a witch?”

“Your brother told me to expect you?”

Bee felt her mouth drop in shock. She tried to force several questions out at the same time, and it just materialized as an explosion of air. Ruirech sat watching her, his head tilted, and his eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the fire.

“But how? I mean, when?”

“They were here last night and left this morning.”

“Ye’ve a portal here?”

“A portal? No, what gave you that idea?”

“We heard them leave through the portal at Sliabh Culinn.”

“Which brings me to my confession,” Fis said. Bee looked at him and shook her head. This night of revelations was making her head spin.

“Well,” she prompted.

“They did not leave by the portal. One of them… probably Dornalai… stepped in and out again, so the alarm would ring twice. It is a small flaw in the design, but I did it that way on purpose, so that we could keep our comings and goings somewhat hidden from the Whitehead.”

“Why?” Bee wondered.

“She is an outstanding commander, leads the Maidens exceptionally well, but her loyalty to An Dagda is unwavering. We cannot allow him to get wind of our mission.”

“What mission, and for whom? Oh, and as a small aside, who are ye?”

Steepling his fingers under his fuzzy chin, Fis said, “All in the proper order, I think. To tell this tale in a way that is clear, needs an understanding of who we are. I am Credne. Despite your certainty to the contrary, Dornalai is Gobniu. He did indeed make my sword. Luchta is somewhere in the Five Kingdoms, although we do not know where.”

The Higher Tuatha sat there, fingers steepled, expression of concentration on his youthful face, explaining to Bee what she’d doubted since Dornalai told her, but on this occasion, she was not doubting anything that Credne said. Danu’s Three, Higher Tuatha gods, were in the Five Kingdoms on a mission. It must be important.

“Sorry, can ye repeat that?” she said, as she caught Fis looking at her askance.

“I said we kept it from you because we couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t run straight to An Dagda as the Whitehead would—”

“So, why are ye telling me now?”

“You convinced the Whitehead to muster the Maidens without An Dagda’s permission. I think once you know our mission, you will help and not hinder it.”

“And what about the humans around us?” Bee asked, nodding at Ruirech, who winked at her, causing a blush to creep up from her jerkin.

“Ruirech is our ally. He has been since the beginning. Can I inform you of the mission without fear An Dagda will hear of it?” Bee nodded.

Fis hesitated, regarding her with his intense eyes. Finally, he said, “What I told you about the dagger and the compass was true, apart from one small detail. We made four sets: one for An Dagda and one for each of us. Somehow, Danu got to hear of what we had done and ordered us not to give a set to An Dagda. You will admit that your liege is prone to bouts of forgetfulness, and he would leave them lying around for anyone to steal. She begged us to destroy it, which we did in her presence. However, we never told her of the other three sets—”

“Why?” Bee asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice. She thought she had a pretty good idea of what the story was leading to, and it recreated the feeling of frozen fingers gripping her spine that had been part of her dream.

“Pride, I am afraid. Simple pride. Like all artists, we are proud of our best work.”

“Only, now someone has stolen a set,” Bee finished for the God.