The most disturbing case of madness at the hands of a Seeing comes from an account written by Garvan Hawkeye, Simian astronomer from Penance in AC376. Whereas once he spent his days mapping and charting the movements of the heavenly bodies for the sake of navigation, Garvan suddenly turned his attention to something less practical: what he called the ‘voids of space’ that lie between the stars. His clear and accurate accounts lost most of their scientific rigour. Sometime later, Garvan was found dead in his laboratory, which had become a dwelling of festering decay over the course of weeks of studying in solitude. Dehydration was pronounced to be the cause of his death, though his workspace had been well-stocked with food and water. Most troubling was what he had apparently spent his last days of life creating; a huge mural of stars and constellations that filled a once blank wall at the back of his laboratory. Although the representation of the firmament here was as accurate as any, a thick line of blood meandered through the stars, annotated with nonsensical characters of no known language.
Except from The Progress of Truth, a collection of accounts regarding the so-called Seeings of Seletoth, put together by an unknown author.
***
“No!” cried Fionn. He awoke with a jolt, like he had so many times before. This time, he no longer lay in darkness, among a mass of dead limbs, but in a bed. A bed of many blankets and quilts in a bright room. The aches in his body were gone, and fear had somehow left as well.
“Fionn! You’re alive!”
The mage looked up to see Farris standing by the bed, next to Nicole, Aislinn Carríga, and Padraig Tuathil. All wore many layers of furs and coats. Farris rubbed his hands and held them to his face. Despite the warmth of his bed, Fionn felt a chill in the air.
We made it? said a familiar voice inside Fionn’s head. With each word Sir Bearach uttered, some of Fionn’s old strength return. What happened?
“Yes,” said Fionn aloud. “What happened?”
“It was all Farris,” said Nicole, beaming with pride. “After Morrígan decimated our forces, the Lady Meadhbh told Farris to find you. Once Morrígan was gone, he urged us all to return to the battlefield and start digging. The other survivors helped, and we gave the dead a proper burial. But you.…”
“You were still alive,” said Farris. “Unconscious but breathing. The camp’s healers had no idea how you didn’t die.”
“Well,” Fionn said, the contents of his dreams beginning to come together in his memory. “I think I have a vague idea why. But it’ll take a lot of explaining.”
Farris stepped forward. “Time, we don’t have, but if you know something we don’t, then you best start talking.”
Fionn sighed. “I had a vision. I was multiple people and saw through their eyes. One of them was a woman. She was a whore who slept with King Diarmuid and bore his child.”
“This is something that has happened many times before,” said Farris. “The Crown was always quick to send the Wraiths out to deal with any potential royal bastards.”
“But not this time,” said Fionn. He closed his eyes tightly. “She came to Dromán, and… left the child with the Brothers here.”
He paused for a moment, looking to Nicole, then to Aislinn, then to Farris. “It was me,” Fionn whispered. “The Brothers of the Academy raised me to be a mage, never telling me who I really was.”
The room fell to silence. Aislinn continued to stare at the ground, head bowed, while Nicole seemed to struggle to find the right words.
“Where did these visions come from?” she said.
“Between each one, all I saw was blue light. Like from back at the Temple of the Lady.”
“Yes,” said Farris. “I too have seen visions from Her, and they also came with blue light.”
“And where is the Lady now?” asked Fionn.
“Morrígan killed her,” said Nicole, barely a whisper. “The Godslayer claimed the Lady’s power as her own, just as predicted.”
“Yes,” said Farris. “And the Lady also knew you would survive. She knew you would not die… because you cannot.”
“No,” said Fionn. “You mean Divine Penetrance? It can’t be.”
Nicole placed a hand on Fionn’s shoulder. “You were out there for two full days before we found you. Nobody else made it.”
“But I can’t be… I can’t be immortal?”
It’s true, lad, said Sir Bearach. Think about it.
As if the memory was fresh, Fionn recalled the troll that came from the Glenn, tearing his arm from his socket. Even the healer who tended to his wounds had said it. ‘It’s a miracle you’re still alive.’
“But we’ve more pressing matters,” Farris said. “The Lady said you would know what do to next.”
Fionn shrugged. “Even if I am the son of King Diarmuid, She was wrong on that other matter. I’ve no idea.”
Farris swore abruptly. “Look outside, lad!” he roared. “Our army is a tenth of what we came here with, and those that survived are barely capable of marching. And then there’s the snow. We need answers now more than ever!”
“Snow?” said Fionn, leaning forward. He craned his neck to look out the window. Indeed, the snow covered the spires and towers of the Academy, like mountain peaks in winter. But far more unsettling than this was the sea, Móráin Sea, now nothing more than a huge sheet of ice extending out to the horizon.
“No,” muttered the mage. “We seldom see anything more than hail out here, this time of year. Did Morrígan do this?”
“We don’t know,” said Nicole, rubbing the back of her neck. “We don’t know anything right now. Did Meadhbh give you any clue, anything at all, about how we are supposed to proceed?”
Slowly, Fionn sat upright. He flexed his over-sized hand, grimacing with each movement.
“She told me nothing more,” he said. “Her visions just showed me that the king is my father, and that means I can’t be killed.”
Fionn’s eyes went wide. “That’s it. We failed to protect Meadhbh from Morrígan and lost so may lives in the process. We’re in no position to protect Seletoth from the same fate… but perhaps I can. Perhaps I can protect Him. By myself.”
“No, lad,” said Padraig. “To climb Mount Selyth alone is suicide!”
Farris scoffed. “Skies above, Tuathil, haven’t you been listening?”
“Farris is right,” said Fionn, smiling despite it all. “I’d have to make the journey alone. Morrígan needs to be stopped, but we can’t risk any more lives in doing so.”
“But how do you mean to protect Seletoth?” asked Nicole. “Surely you can’t fight Morrígan by yourself.”
Fionn flexed the fingers in his oversized arm. “I know… but it’s the only hope we’ve got.”
That’s right, said Bearach. And you won’t be alone, as long as I’m here.
***
The grounds of the Academy of Dromán had once been meticulously well-kept, with neatly trimmed lawns and hedges surrounding the old castle. Facing Móráin Sea, the walls of the easternmost wing formed a wide circle. Within this, neat winding paths of stone spiralled through the lawns, serving no purpose other than aesthetics. Though once a serene escape from studies for the students of the Academy, now many of the stones lay upturned, with the wildflowers along the perimeter dying in this new, frightening frost.
Farris stepped through the courtyard, the frozen grass crackling with each step. He wore a heavy rabbit-fur cloak procured from the Academy’s stores. Winter-wear had become a sought-after commodity since the host settled in the Academy, and although the cloak fitted Farris terribly, and the fur of a dozen or so rabbits scratched irritably against his own, he was fortunate to have some protection from the frost.
Most of what the survivors of the outpost could take with them was scattered about here, sacks of grain, barrels of drinking water among them. Nicole had led an expedition back to the camp to see what they could recover. They salvaged many weapons and armour, and some tents to store them, which were presently being set up in the centre of the courtyard. The Reapers, unfortunately, were not recovered. Although designed to withstand any attempt to be manipulated by Human magic, Nicole had found them crushed under rocks pulled from the ground.
We can be fortunate that they weren’t being piloted at the time, thought Farris. Logically, he knew this was where his focus should be, on those that were still alive, on the number of people he had managed to save. But no matter how much he tried, his mind drifted elsewhere.
The fires that burned through the sky. The ground that swallowed up the Triad’s army. The family in Point Grey, fighting for their home….
As he walked, one footstep made a crack more audible than the others, and Farris paused. Beneath his heavy boot lay the broken stem of a rose, its thorns glistening with frost.
He stooped down to pick up the flower. Through heavy fur gloves, he barely felt it between his fingers.
Where have all the flowers gone?
“Farris,” came a voice from across the courtyard. He turned to see Nicole, having returned from another expedition to the outpost. Farris had been asked to join these excursions, of course. He was no stranger to riding with the light cavalry, and for a time before, he had even enjoyed it. But now, he always managed to find an excuse, either the quartermaster needed help with supplies, or the medics needed help with the injured. These he aided, for a time, but these past three days, he just wanted to be alone.
“How’s our patient?” she asked, dismounting from the great beast. The elk put its head to the ground, searching through the frosty stone for something to graze on.
“He’s good,” said Farris. “He’s out of bed since the morning now and doesn’t show any sign he’ll be back in it any time soon.”
“He truly is his father’s son,” said Nicole. Something about her words just felt… warm in Farris’s ears. Not so long ago, he seemed the only Simian who believed in the king’s Divine Penetrance. Now, to hear someone as learned and respected as Nicole making such an off-handed comment that supported its existence made Farris’s heart soar.
“Well, he’s been in the library for the past six hours straight,” said Farris. “That much, he must have gotten from his mother.”
Nicole laughed, and suddenly Farris deeply regretted not joining her on the skirmish.
“Has he mentioned,” Nicole’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Him wanting to go to Mount Selyth and all?”
Farris shook his head.
Nicole stole a quick glance at the other scouts behind her; they tended to their mounts. “We checked the outpost’s interior, this time. The Lady’s Tomb was destroyed, the ceiling collapsed on itself. But the railway tunnel is still intact.”
Farris laughed. “You’re saying your father had a better understanding of structural engineering than the gods?”
Nicole smiled, leaning in. “What I’m saying is we can go home, Farris. Rather than trek through the ice and the snow, we can travel through the tunnel all the way back to Penance in a fraction of the time. We’re spreading the word now and preparing everything we need to leave in the morning.”
“Home?” said Farris. “But we can’t. Morrígan is—”
“You heard Fionn. Morrígan is no longer a problem we can resolve,” said Nicole. “The Lady is dead. This war is lost.”
“But… Meadhbh said that Morrígan will destroy Seletoth and put an end to the Age of Life.”
“I know,” said Nicole. She closed her eyes. “And it pains me to admit that now, we’re at her mercy. If we try and stop her, she’ll just kill us sooner.”
Farris took as step back. “So, you don’t want to even try?”
“I know this is hard to hear,” said Nicole. “But we just found out that Fionn cannot be killed. If he wants to climb Seletoth’s mountain, why would we risk our lives going with him.” She gestured to the rest of the camp. “These people have experienced so much pain, Farris. They want to see their families one last time before the world falls apart.”
She took Farris’s hand into her own. “We should join them. This war is no longer one we can win. It may not even be one anyone can win.”
Farris considered her words for a time. For how long, he was unsure, for with his hand in hers, the world around them seemed to stop.
Can we just give up like this? He had never admitted defeat like this before. Known it, he had, many times before. But to concede a victory, no matter how slim, just wasn’t something Farris Silvertongue did.
Things are different now, he thought, looking into Nicole’s deep, shining eyes. If I had given up sooner, maybe the family in Point Grey would still be alive. Maybe the soldiers of the Triad could have died in their lover’s arms, rather than buried under a battlefield by a mad god.
“And what about Fionn?” said Farris. “Do you think he’s prepared to make the journey alone?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” said Nicole. Tears were in her eyes now.
Farris nodded and reluctantly turned away.
It’s his fight now. And skies above, he better be ready for it.
***
Through a meandering labyrinth of shelves and bookcases, Fionn wandered, a Pyromancer’s torch clenched in his hand. Although the fire between his fingers burned brightly, mist still escaped his mouth with each breath.
The brothers would skin me if they saw me with an open flame here, he thought, scanning the hundreds of leather-bound spines presenting themselves along the shelves.
Do you still not know what you’re looking for? asked Sir Bearach. If Fionn didn’t know any better, he could have sworn the knight spoke through chattering teeth in the cold.
I already found it, replied Fionn, reaching up to take a particularly large tome from a high shelf. Although the library’s skylights were thickly crusted with snow, enough light shone down upon the book’s cover to reveal the title: The Progress of Truth.
Fionn sat where he stood in the middle of the aisle and pulled open the cover. Inside, chaotic scribblings filled the pages, with only the occasional printed text in margins being legible.
I spent a lot of time here when I was younger, Fionn said, licking a finger as he leafed through the pages. I’ve read every book here at least once, even if I didn’t understand most of them. Once he reached the centre page, he stopped. A messy cloud of wild scrawls covered the centre between two pages, with circular shapes like eyes dotted around the outside. In the margin, a footnote read, ‘Replicated from the logbook of the Simian astronomer Garvan Hawkeye.’
But even though I never understood this book, I always came back to it. Just to look at the pictures.
What’s it about? asked Sir Bearach
People, replied Fionn. Humans and Simians who claimed to have had Seeings from Seletoth. Garvan Hawkeye was the first Simian who claimed to have had contact with the Lord. An atheist and a scientist too, right beforehand.
Fionn continued through the book. Its author had spent many pages and paragraphs interpreting each of the wild ramblings of those who had had contact with Seletoth. And at the centre of each conjecture was a reference to the Truth.
Is the Truth about me? wondered Fionn, flicking past a stirring illustration of a green valley flooding with blood. That I’m the last heir of Seletoth?
Perhaps not, said Sir Bearach. Didn’t the Lady say that the Church was established hundreds of years ago to hide it? Making the Truth far older than you.
Fionn frowned. They knew far too little so far. If anyone would know, it would be Him. The Lord.
My… ancestor?
“Fionn?” came a voice from down the aisle. “Are you alone?”
“No—I mean… yes,” said Fionn, standing to face Farris. The Simian had done a spectacular job of making himself unheard, although his frame was almost too large to weave through all those shelved books.
Wasn’t he a thief before? asked Sir Bearach.
“What brings you here?” asked Fionn instead, shaking his head to drown out the knight’s words. “Shouldn’t you be with the others?”
“I should,” said Farris. “The soldiers are making their preparations to return to Penance, but many are reluctant to leave. To leave this quest unfinished, after so many have died, isn’t sitting well with many of them.”
“I don’t blame them. We all left Penance thinking we’d end this, but it looks like we’ve only made things worse.”
“And you… are you still planning on going on this trek to Mount Selyth?”
“You came to convince me not to go?” Fionn smirked. “You can’t claim it’s too dangerous for me.”
“I suppose I can’t. Tell me, how does it feel, to be a living god?”
“If you came here to mock me, you can leave,” said Fionn, slamming the book closed.
“No,” said Farris. “I’m serious. I mean, did you ever, suspect it? Before being buried alive and surviving and all that. Did you ever feel… special?”
Fionn paused for a moment. “No. I felt different from the other students in the Academy, sure, but that was mainly because I had a different upbringing to them. I assumed I was so adept with magic because I grew up here, surrounded by books and scrolls detailing the arcane arts. And as for narrowly avoiding death so often, I just assumed that I was lucky.”
“Most do,” said Farris. “I once knew a Simian who thought he was lucky. Turned out that he—”
“Was there anything else?” asked Fionn, opening the book once more.
“The others are worried about you.” Farris’s voice was sterner now. “Anyone else would collapse under the weight of what’s been thrust upon your back. You need to speak to the rest of the camp. And tell them that you have everything under control.”
“Under control?” said Fionn. “How can you say that everything’s under control after all that’s happened?”
“I never said you would tell them the truth,” replied Farris. “Let me tell you something about leadership. Once a group, any kind of group, has a leader at its head, the burden of responsibility is lifted from the many, and rests with the one. Plackart played this role well. In truth, he knew little of the ways of magic or the nature of our enemy, though he was a good leader regardless. But with him gone, the responsibility he held has spread throughout the camp. And unlike other burdens, when responsibility is shared too thin it festers into helplessness. Right now, there’s all sorts of rumours spreading about what happened to Meadhbh. And what happened to you. The soldiers need to know, Fionn. They need to know that there’s some hope yet of overcoming all this.”
“You really think there’s hope? After all that’s happened?”
“Of course,” said Farris. He stood a little taller on saying this. “When King Diarmuid first met the Lady, She said we were all doomed to our destinies. But when She saw us, and we were still alive, She said there was hope. Even though She knew well that Morrígan would strike Her down, the Lady still believed not all was lost. She said that you would survive, which you did—and that you’d know what to do next, which you do. When we all start the march back to Penance, it’ll make everyone happier knowing that at least someone knows what must be done. And the responsibility of this war will be left with you and your journey to Mount Selyth, leaving everyone else free to return to their homes.”
“I don’t know, Farris,” said Fionn. “I know only as much as you do with all this. Me travelling to Mount Selyth is nothing more than… a lucky guess. I don’t think I can pretend it’s anything more than that.”
The Simian raised a finger and smiled. “Ah, you have a lot to learn about lying, lad. Never let others know how much you know, and always let on that you know much more than that. People will be happy to fill in the gaps themselves. Even if you think it’ll make no difference, and we’ll all die horrible deaths at the hands of some psychotic demi-god, what harm would it be to tell the others that everything will be okay until then?”
“I don’t know. It just feels… wrong to say that.”
“It wouldn’t be wrong. It’d just be incorrect.” Farris smiled. “I’ll give you some time to think on it.” He turned to leave. In the waning light of the frosty dusk outside, Farris’s figure disappeared into the shadows.
Maybe he has a point, said Sir Bearach. Is there any harm in lying to those that shouldn’t know the truth?
Perhaps, thought Fionn. He could have a point. What harm is there in lying, if there’s a greater good to come from it?
***
Through a meandering labyrinth of shelves and bookcases, Fionn wandered, a Pyromancer’s torch clenched in his hand. Although the fire between his fingers burned brightly, mist still escaped his mouth with each breath.
The brothers would skin me if they saw me with an open flame here, he thought, scanning the hundreds of leather-bound spines presenting themselves along the shelves.
Do you still not know what you’re looking for? asked Sir Bearach. If Fionn didn’t know any better, he could have sworn the knight spoke through chattering teeth in the cold.
I already found it, replied Fionn, reaching up to take a particularly large tome from a high shelf. Although the library’s skylights were thickly crusted with snow, enough light shone down upon the book’s cover to reveal the title: The Progress of Truth.
Fionn sat where he stood in the middle of the aisle and pulled open the cover. Inside, chaotic scribblings filled the pages, with only the occasional printed text in margins being legible.
I spent a lot of time here when I was younger, Fionn said, licking a finger as he leafed through the pages. I’ve read every book here at least once, even if I didn’t understand most of them. Once he reached the centre page, he stopped. A messy cloud of wild scrawls covered the centre between two pages, with circular shapes like eyes dotted around the outside. In the margin, a footnote read, ‘Replicated from the logbook of the Simian astronomer Garvan Hawkeye.’
But even though I never understood this book, I always came back to it. Just to look at the pictures.
What’s it about? asked Sir Bearach
People, replied Fionn. Humans and Simians who claimed to have had Seeings from Seletoth. Garvan Hawkeye was the first Simian who claimed to have had contact with the Lord. An atheist and a scientist too, right beforehand.
Fionn continued through the book. Its author had spent many pages and paragraphs interpreting each of the wild ramblings of those who had had contact with Seletoth. And at the centre of each conjecture was a reference to the Truth.
Is the Truth about me? wondered Fionn, flicking past a stirring illustration of a green valley flooding with blood. That I’m the last heir of Seletoth?
Perhaps not, said Sir Bearach. Didn’t the Lady say that the Church was established hundreds of years ago to hide it? Making the Truth far older than you.
Fionn frowned. They knew far too little so far. If anyone would know, it would be Him. The Lord.
My… ancestor?
“Fionn?” came a voice from down the aisle. “Are you alone?”
“No—I mean… yes,” said Fionn, standing to face Farris. The Simian had done a spectacular job of making himself unheard, although his frame was almost too large to weave through all those shelved books.
Wasn’t he a thief before? asked Sir Bearach.
“What brings you here?” asked Fionn instead, shaking his head to drown out the knight’s words. “Shouldn’t you be with the others?”
“I should,” said Farris. “The soldiers are making their preparations to return to Penance, but many are reluctant to leave. To leave this quest unfinished, after so many have died, isn’t sitting well with many of them.”
“I don’t blame them. We all left Penance thinking we’d end this, but it looks like we’ve only made things worse.”
“And you… are you still planning on going on this trek to Mount Selyth?”
“You came to convince me not to go?” Fionn smirked. “You can’t claim it’s too dangerous for me.”
“I suppose I can’t. Tell me, how does it feel, to be a living god?”
“If you came here to mock me, you can leave,” said Fionn, slamming the book closed.
“No,” said Farris. “I’m serious. I mean, did you ever, suspect it? Before being buried alive and surviving and all that. Did you ever feel… special?”
Fionn paused for a moment. “No. I felt different from the other students in the Academy, sure, but that was mainly because I had a different upbringing to them. I assumed I was so adept with magic because I grew up here, surrounded by books and scrolls detailing the arcane arts. And as for narrowly avoiding death so often, I just assumed that I was lucky.”
“Most do,” said Farris. “I once knew a Simian who thought he was lucky. Turned out that he—”
“Was there anything else?” asked Fionn, opening the book once more.
“The others are worried about you.” Farris’s voice was sterner now. “Anyone else would collapse under the weight of what’s been thrust upon your back. You need to speak to the rest of the camp. And tell them that you have everything under control.”
“Under control?” said Fionn. “How can you say that everything’s under control after all that’s happened?”
“I never said you would tell them the truth,” replied Farris. “Let me tell you something about leadership. Once a group, any kind of group, has a leader at its head, the burden of responsibility is lifted from the many, and rests with the one. Plackart played this role well. In truth, he knew little of the ways of magic or the nature of our enemy, though he was a good leader regardless. But with him gone, the responsibility he held has spread throughout the camp. And unlike other burdens, when responsibility is shared too thin it festers into helplessness. Right now, there’s all sorts of rumours spreading about what happened to Meadhbh. And what happened to you. The soldiers need to know, Fionn. They need to know that there’s some hope yet of overcoming all this.”
“You really think there’s hope? After all that’s happened?”
“Of course,” said Farris. He stood a little taller on saying this. “When King Diarmuid first met the Lady, She said we were all doomed to our destinies. But when She saw us, and we were still alive, She said there was hope. Even though She knew well that Morrígan would strike Her down, the Lady still believed not all was lost. She said that you would survive, which you did—and that you’d know what to do next, which you do. When we all start the march back to Penance, it’ll make everyone happier knowing that at least someone knows what must be done. And the responsibility of this war will be left with you and your journey to Mount Selyth, leaving everyone else free to return to their homes.”
“I don’t know, Farris,” said Fionn. “I know only as much as you do with all this. Me travelling to Mount Selyth is nothing more than… a lucky guess. I don’t think I can pretend it’s anything more than that.”
The Simian raised a finger and smiled. “Ah, you have a lot to learn about lying, lad. Never let others know how much you know, and always let on that you know much more than that. People will be happy to fill in the gaps themselves. Even if you think it’ll make no difference, and we’ll all die horrible deaths at the hands of some psychotic demi-god, what harm would it be to tell the others that everything will be okay until then?”
“I don’t know. It just feels… wrong to say that.”
“It wouldn’t be wrong. It’d just be incorrect.” Farris smiled. “I’ll give you some time to think on it.” He turned to leave. In the waning light of the frosty dusk outside, Farris’s figure disappeared into the shadows.
Maybe he has a point, said Sir Bearach. Is there any harm in lying to those that shouldn’t know the truth?
Perhaps, thought Fionn. He could have a point. What harm is there in lying, if there’s a greater good to come from it?
***
Throughout the rest of the day, news spread that the young Pyromaster was planning on addressing the camp. Although the soldiers of the Triad and the Churchguard were all stationed throughout the old castle, the message had no problem reaching every inch of the Academy grounds. Known to some as Fionn, to others as simply the Last Battlemage, this young man suddenly filled the role of a leader of sorts for an army desperately in need of one. And there were other rumours too—that he had been buried for two days in the pit that opened beneath the battlefield and lived to tell the tale.
By nightfall, dozens of men and women filled the Academy courtyard. Farris stood to the front, and constantly turned back to gauge who else was there. The Carríga woman stood behind Farris. Despite all that had happened, her steel-plate still shone. Even though the last day of everyone’s lives lay just around the corner, she had taken the time to clean her armour. Farris wasn’t quite sure how to take this.
Next to her was Padraig Tuathil. He avoided Farris’s gaze, standing straight and tall.
I saved his life many times over, realised Farris. The least he could do is thank me.
“What do you think he’ll say,” whispered Nicole, over Farris’s shoulder. “Did you talk to him?”
“We’ll see,” said Farris, eyeing Fionn as the young lad paced up and down ahead of them. “Soon enough, I hope.”
Abruptly, the mage stopped. He turned to the crowd and narrowed his eyes. His lips moved silently, but what words they formed, Farris could only guess.
“My name is Fionn,” he announced. All went still on hearing this. “I never had a second name. I was brought up in this very castle as an orphan, training to be a mage while never knowing where I came from.”
He paused, and locked eyes with Farris.
“But now I know,” Fionn continued. He looked up at the crowd. “Now I know that King Diarmuid, Third and Nineteenth, was my father.”
A ripple of excitement tore through the army, but the mage didn’t give them a chance to consider the implication of this revelation themselves.
“The blood of Seletoth runs through my veins, as does His holy power. Power that Morrígan seeks. Power that drove her to taking everything away from us. The Lady Meadhbh showed me this truth before She died, and She showed me what we must do next to win this war. I must travel to Mount Selyth alone and protect the Lord Himself.”
Gasps sprang up throughout Fionn’s audience, and some of the joy and excitement vanished from the atmosphere.
“Madness,” muttered one voice. “There’s nothing but death there.”
“And what are we do to?” shouted another voice. “Can we go home?”
In response to this question, all went silent.
“Yes,” said Fionn. He paused, and his eyes met Farris’s. “This is a journey for me to make, alone. I will not endanger any more lives. For this is my fight, and no one else’s.”
An excited murmur resounded through the courtyard. Farris felt something warm grab his hand. He turned to see Nicole, beaming back at him. Farris smiled back, wrapping his fingers tightly between hers.
It’s over. We can go home. To be together while Fionn makes one last attempt to put an end to all this.
“You will not travel alone!” cried a voice from the crowd. Padraig Tuathil stepped forward. He unsheathed his sword, fell to one knee, and raised the blade up towards the mage.
“I failed to protect your father, but I will not let you down. I put my life from the late king’s hands into yours. You will not make the journey west alone. I pledge my life to yours, King Fionn the First, Twentieth Incarnate of Seletoth.”
The crowd stood in shocked silence. Fionn too, didn’t seem to know how to respond, his eyes wide, his mouth wide with shock.
Padraig fucking Tuathil! That spineless coward? What does he seek to gain from this?
“King Fionn, First and Twentieth!” came another voice. Lady Aislinn Carríga stepped forward. She too unsheathed her sword and lay it before Fionn. “The Godslayer destroyed all that is dear to me. I have no home left to return to. My Liege, this sword is yours as long as I’m alive to wield it.”
“Don’t they understand?” whispered Farris. “He wants to go alone. Do they think Divine Penetrance will protect them too?”
“Fools,” replied Nicole. “Their allegiance to their dead king has blinded them. If they want to throw their lives away, let them.”
Farris couldn’t help but agree. If they wanted to trek across this desolate land, they were welcome to. It was none of Farris’s business.
No. It is my fault. I manipulated him into instilling confidence in the others. I didn’t expect him to instil enough to make them want to go with him.
Both Aislinn and the Padraig had seen the true extent of Morrígan’s power first-hand. They were not naive to what lay ahead of them. But they were naive in their own, Human way.
Honour. An absurd Human notion of doing something foolish in the name of something that doesn’t exist. Farris had seen honour claim the lives of many men, from those who threw away their lives on the battlefield for a king that didn’t care, to those who chose imprisonment over denouncing an allegiance. Sure, Farris had always been loyal to the Silverback. But he happily denounced his name many times while working for the Crown. Some Humans would have a great deal of trouble doing the same.
But is this the same? Is it honour that drives Padraig and Aislinn to their knees? Or something else?
Farris closed his eyes. Perhaps they just want to fight. Perhaps they just don’t want to give up so easily.
He turned to look at Nicole. As if sensing something was amiss, she squeezed his hand tighter. Farris’s chest was suddenly hollow. His breathing turned short.
Everything that I could have wanted is home in Penance. We could live out the rest of our lives together, without fear. Without pain. We could finally be… happy.
Farris let go of Nicole’s hand. And stepped forward.
But what joy can there be, in a life lived in hiding? At the mercy of someone to come and take it away?
For once, Farris did not have to choose between what was right, and what must be done. Here, there was one option that satisfied both.
“I’ll come too,” he said, loud so all could hear him. “I’ll see you safely to Mount Selyth, King Fionn, even if it kills me.”
Fionn nodded in response, still clearly in shock. Aislinn turned to face Farris, sorrow and dread upon her features. Padraig turned too, though his expression gave away little of his emotions.
But Farris dared not turn back to see Nicole’s reaction.
***
That night, Farris lay in bed. The struggle to sleep was a battle all too familiar. Often before an important day, he would spend many hours awake, worrying about it. Then upon realising that the night was growing deeper with him still awake, he would start worrying about not getting enough sleep instead, which would deter him from sleeping all the more.
This night, he was on the cusp of this transition, slowly growing frustrated with his lack of slumber.
It might be my last night in a comfortable bed, he realised. This, of course, caused his heartbeat to increase, pulling him even further from sleep.
Before retiring for the night, he, Fionn, Padraig, and Aislinn had briefly discussed the journey they were to embark on. It would take four days, all going well. They would travel north at first light in the morning, reaching Hunter’s Den by nightfall. From here, they’d cross the Godspine, which Padraig reckoned would take most of a day, allowing them to rest at Ardh Sidhe. From here, they’d head south across the Midlands, to Rosca Umhír. This would leave them with one more night’s rest before spending another day climbing Mount Selyth.
He hadn’t spoken to Nicole, who had been helping the rest of the army with their preparations to return home. Her journey would be far more straightforward, fortunately. Some estimated they would all be home in Penance by overmorrow.
Farris turned in his bed. The Academy had housed a thousand or so students in the past, and about a hundred teachers, mentors, and staff. There had been plenty of dormitory rooms for the students to sleep in, and a handful of private bedrooms for the staff. Upon arriving, Farris had taken the initiative to claim one of the latter for himself, before anyone else could. This one belonged to someone called Brother Dillon the White. Both a healer of the Academy and a druid of the church, Farris reckoned, based on the name. Other than this, Dillon seemed a rather plain, simple fellow, with very few of his own furnishings or personal items. Beside the door was a large stack of parchments, detailing the ailments and illnesses of his patients. These made for some rather droll reading material.
Farris sat upright. Perhaps reading through some medical histories of dead Humans was just what Farris needed to fall asleep. He lit an oil lamp beside his bed and walked across the room.
He approached the writing desk just as a loud knock thundered upon the door.
As he opened it, he knew well who would be standing on the other side.
“Good evening, Farris,” said Nicole. “Sorry to disturb you. May I come in?”
“Sure,” Farris said, so excited to see her he struggled to get the words out.
She stepped through the threshold, and Farris closed the door, gently. Once it clicked shut, she whipped around to face him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she hissed. “After all we talked about, after all you promised me, you just turn around and throw your life away, for Diarmuid’s bastard son?”
She was visibly shaking now. Farris raised his hands in submission, with the words ‘calm down’ upon his lips. He opted for another strategy, however.
“He’s just a young lad, Nicole. He’s frightened of all of this, just as much as we are.”
“How does that concern us? How does this concern you?”
“It doesn’t,” said Farris, “But it’s the right thing to do, Nicole. We can’t let him go alone.”
“You’re right about that. But he’s not travelling alone now, is he? Padraig and Aislinn already volunteered to go.”
“And I had to, too.” Farris sighed. “I don’t know why. I… I can’t explain it.”
“By Sin’s Stones, Farris, you better try.”
“This… this is bigger than me. Bigger than us. I fought alongside Argyll for so long, for a cause I truly believed in. And I still believe in that fight. But this one is even bigger, Nicole. You have to understand.”
She snorted. “Oh, I understand very well. You’ve spent too much time living among Humans. Their warped sense of duty, honour, whatever they want to call it, has rubbed off on you.”
“Now that’s not very fair. I’ve no love for the Crown.”
Nicole gestured towards the door. “You just announced your allegiance to the Crown, in front of everyone! You’re choosing to put your life on the line for the immortal bastard of the man you conspired to murder!”
“Don’t say that.”
“The world we knew is gone, Farris. Who cares who you may or may not have poisoned in the old world?”
“Not that,” said Farris. “You call Fionn a bastard, as if it’s an insult. But Simians don’t marry, so doesn’t that make us all bastards too?”
“No.” Nicole folded her arms. “It’s a Human term, you know that. They’d see his birth as a symbol of Diarmuid’s lust.”
“Perhaps they would have,” said Farris. “But tonight, they saw him as something else. A chance to end all of this. If there’s a chance, even a tiny one, that we can defeat Morrígan, I’ll take it. I’ll swear allegiance to any king, Arch-Canon, or god if it means we end this war.”
“And what if there’s no chance,” said Nicole. “Would you still fight then?”
“Yes,” said Farris.
“Then you are a fool, Farris Silvertongue. I have nothing more to say to you.”
She went to leave. Before she could, Farris said, “Garth. Garth would have done the same.”
Nicole turned. Her brow was narrowed. She bared her fangs. “Don’t you dare put words into the mouth of the dead. You have no way of knowing what he would have done.”
“I do,” whispered Farris. “He did as much back in Saltworks. He sacrificed himself to let us escape.”
Nicole didn’t respond to this. Knowing he had hit a nerve, Farris pressed on.
“Do you remember what his last words were. He told me to protect the king, no matter the cost. In his last moments, he knew what really mattered the most. I failed him. But now… now I have a chance to make up for it.”
“Then go,” Nicole whispered, still facing away. “And you better get some rest first.”
As she left, Farris closed the door and returned to bed. But he did not heed Nicole’s advice. Instead, he lay awake staring at the ceiling for hours into the night, until the sun’s light filled the room.