After a long journey north, we have found respite in Hunter’s Den. The inn is abandoned, as expected, but we found plenty of food and drink to see us off to bed. But I doubt I’ll rest much tonight.
As I retired, Farris confided in me that it was my pledge to Fionn that drove him to the decision to join us. Furthermore, as I prepared for sleep, Aislinn Carríga came to my chambers to speak to me. We stayed up for some hours, reminiscing of the times before the horde, before Morrígan. She too commended me on my loyalty to Diarmuid. She was preparing to join the others on their journey to Penance but changed her mind upon seeing me agree to go with Fionn.
Gods, this is a large responsibility to bear. The Lady Meadhbh had told us that it if not for Farris, we would all be dead. Now, as I write this, I realise that if it were not for me, Fionn would likely be taking this journey alone.
If the Tapestry of Fate dictates that we are all to fail, I can only hope we have strayed very far from its threads.
Journal of Padraig Tuathil, 21st Day under the Moon of Nes, AC404
***
Fionn found himself standing in a chapel. He did not recall how he got there, but already he was walking, slowly down the aisle. Ahead of him was an altar, with a stained-glass window behind it. It depicted the popular image of the birth of King Móráin to the Lady Meadhbh and the Lord Seletoth. The Lady appeared just as Fionn had seen her in Dromán, though instead of the blue light, here, She wore a cloak of red and green. Seletoth stood beside Her, dressed the same, but with a stern scowl upon His thickly bearded face. Between them was an infant, golden in colour, clutching an axe and a shield.
“If our ancestors claimed this land from the Simians using magic,” came a voice, “what use were an axe and a shield?”
Fionn turned abruptly to see a young girl, sitting in one of the aisles, alone. She wore a simple brown tunic, with wooden pins holding her black hair in a braid.
“Morrígan?” said Fionn, walking towards her. “Is that you?”
She seemed so fragile and harmless. Just a child.
“Mother,” sobbed Morrígan. “Why did you have to go? Why couldn’t it have been someone else?”
Fionn sat beside the girl. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure she—”
Just as he said this, the doors of the chapel burst open. There stood Morrígan, the real Morrígan, who had led the horde and slew the gods. She moved down the aisle, her black wings gliding gently over the wooden pews. She passed Fionn and the child, as if unaware of their presence. Instead, her gaze was locked ahead. Fionn looked towards the altar, to see that the stained-glass window had been replaced with a pair of doors. Giant, stone doors, thick and heavy upon their hinges. An intricate design of spirals filled the borders, stretching inwards to form the shape of a single eye that stared outwards. The crack between the two doors overlapped with its pupil, but as Morrígan approached, it began to open, and a bright light spilled forth.
Beside Fionn, the child leapt out of her seat into the centre of the aisle.
“No!” she cried. “Don’t go in! Look not upon His face!”
But the winged Morrígan did not listen, and instead pressed onward. The light was blinding now, and it filled the rest of the chapel. The child-Morrígan dropped to her knees as the light spilled over her.
“No!” she cried, once more, her voice cracking into a shriek. “Don’t!” As the light consumed her, she crumbled into dust, and disappeared into its golden rays.
***
“Don’t!” cried Fionn, waking with a start. His heart pounded as he tried to recognise his surroundings. He was in the neat and tidy room of Hunter’s Den. He closed his eyes.
A dream. Just a dream but it seemed so….
Different? suggested Sir Bearach. I saw it too. I’ve seen your dreams before, lad, and they are usually formless and abstract, only producing an occasional recognisable scene. But this. This was different….
I am no stranger to strange dreams, replied Fionn, thinking of the vision the Lady had shown him, of Nessa. Of his birth. Was this from Her too?
He looked out a nearby window. It was morning, that much was clear, but its hour was less so. The snow continued to fall upon the settlement of Hunter’s Den, gently smothering the landscape.
He made his way downstairs, where Padraig was preparing a breakfast, of sorts. He fried sausages and bacon on a pan, and boiled eggs in water, without their shells.
“Still no bread,” he said, as Fionn sat with the others. Nicole sat beside Farris, but neither seemed to acknowledge Fionn. Aislinn sat on the opposite side, drinking deeply from a thick mug of broth.
“That’s okay,” said Fionn. “We should take as much as we can from here. We won’t have much comfort as we cross the Godspine.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Padraig said, running to the table with a pan of fried tomato slices. He forked one onto each plate. “I travelled through here before, and the road from Hunter’s Den to Ardh Sidhe is an easy one to follow.”
He sat down before his own plate and took a bite from a strip of bacon. He gestured towards Aislinn. “And when the road emerges, we see your namesake lake first, and gods above and below, it is a wonderful sight to behold.”
“We went there once,” said Aislinn with a smile. “Bearach and I were kids, we tried to swim the length of it, and almost drowned.” She turned to look westwards, through a window on the far side of the bar, frosted fingers grasping at the edges of its glass. “It’s probably frozen over now.”
Fionn looked inwards, focusing his attention on Bearach, but the old knight said nothing. Fionn had asked him many times now to communicate with Aislinn. But given how adamant Bearach had been the last time Fionn asked, he thought it better to not ask any more.
A shame, he thought, not expecting a response.
Still, he was disappointed when none came.
After breakfast, they gathered their things. Nicole busied herself altering some old potato sacks with some leather straps she found while raiding the cloakroom. It seemed many people had left here in such a hurry when the undead came, they never thought to put their coats on. When Fionn stepped outside into the frigid air, Aislinn had fastened additional sacks onto the elk mounts, which Farris promptly filled with food from the pantry.
“It’s a wonder they can carry all this,” said Fionn, considering the mass of both Simians, dressed head to foot in thick armour.
“They can handle more with less,” Nicole said, pulling a square helm over her head, covering her entire face. “They’re made of far stronger stuff than your horses,” she added, in a muffled voice.
Padraig and Aislinn came out behind them. Both were smiling in a very specific way that Fionn hadn’t seen in a very long time. He looked at them, expectantly, ready to hear a shared joke, but Padraig’s face immediately went straight as he tended to his horse.
As they left the settlement, a cold wind blew in from the north. The path that took them from Hunter’s Den was similar to the one that took them to it. For a time, they moved ahead at an accelerated pace, with hooves crunching into the snow. The forest was strangely silent here, with no sign of life bar the frozen brushes and trees that slowly passed as they went. Padraig led the way, confident as he was that he could follow the paths through the Godspine and out into the Midlands. Aislinn rode beside him, with Farris and Nicole lingering behind. Abruptly, Fionn felt very lonely, the only one taking the centre space of their advancing column.
Eventually, they came to a crossroads. Or at least Padraig identified it as such. To Fionn’s eyes, the path they were on continued northwards only.
“Here,” said Padraig, pointing towards the ground where a lone, wooden stake stood. “This marks the junction in our route. This westward path will take us through the mountains."
“This path?” asked Farris, riding up to take a closer look. “Looks more like a game trail than a path.”
“No matter what you call it,” said Padraig. “We are to take it westwards until we reach Ardh Sidhe.”
Fionn considered the path himself. Indeed, the freshly fallen snow obscured the ground beneath, but there certainly was a parting of the grass adjacent to the stake, and it wound through the trees until it disappeared into distant hills obscured by mist to the west.
“The stake,” said Nicole, nodding towards it. “Was it a sign of some sort before?”
“Yes,” said Padraig.
Fionn narrowed his eyes, then looked to the two Simians. They too didn’t seem happy with Padraig’s response, but what other choice did they have?
Why not continue down the main path? asked Sir Bearach. It may cost us more time to circle around the mountains, but it’s better than being lost.
No, replied Fionn. Every hour we spend dithering and deciding what to do next is an hour Morrígan steps ahead of us. We need to reach Mount Selyth before she does.
I don’t know, Fionn, replied the knight. If she wants to get there before we do, she surely would have done so with ease already.
Fionn didn’t reply. He hadn’t considered that until now. And considering it now didn’t bring him much joy.
He urged his mount towards the captain. “Have you taken this path before, Padraig?”
“I have,” he replied. “Though I admit it was a long time ago. Without the snowfall, it would be clear that this stake once marked a significant junction in this road. This much, I am sure of.”
There was no strong objection to this, or perhaps none could think of any. Nonetheless, the company reluctantly steered their mounts westwards, and stepped off the main road. They trudged slowly through this new path. Fionn often had to stoop his head low to avoid being brushed by snow-covered branches as he went. To his relief, there certainly was a path of some sort beneath the hooves of his horse, even if he couldn’t see it under the snow and the ice.
Soon, the trees grew thinner, and the path sloped upwards. The grassy ground surrounding them slowly rose above to give way to steep, rocky foothills. The snowfall gradually grew thicker too, until Fionn had to squint through the sleet to see through it.
All conversation among the party stopped now, as their focused remained only on the path ahead of them. Padraig led the way still, though it was only now that Fionn realised how much they had truly staked in the man’s confidence.
They went on like this for some time; a time that felt to Fionn far longer than the few hours that elapsed. The path continued to slope upwards, until it began to wind around tall peaks of mountains. Fionn did not take in much of the scenery as he went, keeping his jaw clenched firmly shut, and his eyes focused only on the road before him. The cold fangs of the howling wind bit into his face, constantly, with each step. A time to rest was warranted, but Fionn dared not suggest one, for the faster they made it through these wretched hills, the better.
At times, Padraig would pause and survey the area, then direct the company to move forward again. Given the conditions in which they presently travelled, Fionn felt he was in no position to question the captain’s navigation skills. On the other hand, over the screeches of the billowing winds, Fionn heard the Simians behind him. One of them, or perhaps both, was expressing concern with Padraig’s ability.
Still, Fionn dared not say a word.
Onwards they went for some hours, until Fionn reckoned they had gone well past noon. He periodically looked upwards, hoping to gauge the time of day. With the sky so overcast, it was difficult to distinguish between afternoon and dusk.
We still have some time until sunset, right?
That much is true, said Sir Bearach, but despite how long we’ve been travelling, I fear we are still far from seeing the other side of these mountains.
Fionn couldn’t help but agree. From his memory, the Godspine was thinnest at the point west of Hunters Den. This trek through the mountains really should not take more than half a day. As Padraig had put it before, the plan was to reach Ardh Sidhe by nightfall.
But if they were still within the Godspine at this time, perhaps three hours from nightfall by Fionn’s reckoning, then what chance did they have to cross the Midlands and the banks of Lough Aislinn at within that time too?
But Fionn kept his hesitations and his questions to himself. After the night in Hunter’s Den, spirits were high, so he didn’t feel the need to cause a ruckus for no reason.
As the hours when on, and darkness slowly descended upon the mountain path, Fionn felt the need to renege on this position. But just as he was about to speak up, Sir Bearach spoke first.
Have we been travelling south?
I don't think so, replied Fionn. The path is still taking us westwards, no?
I believe you are mistaken. This road has been sinister its steering. We were travelling westwards initially. But the path took a gradual, southern bend that gained more and more influence these past hours.
No! Fionn looked ahead through the thick snow. Padraig and Aislinn were still riding ahead of them, with the captain looking this way and that. Fionn sighed and moved forward, dreading the discourse that was to come.
Fortunately, Farris bound past on elkback and caught Padraig before Fionn could.
“Shouldn’t we have reached the Midlands by now?” the Simian asked curtly, as if it was more a statement than a question.
“We should have,” replied Padraig, “but our progress has been slower than it ought to have been. We should press on until we reach the other side.”
“No, we should not. If we press on any further, we’ll be pressing into the night. Should any of our mounts take a fall in the dark, we’ll all be travelling on foot. We should find a place to camp while there’s light to find one.”
Padraig turned to look at Aislinn, who exchanged a confused glance with him. He gave Farris a similar look.
“But we don’t have any gear for camping. We planned only to rest in settlements like Ardh Sidhe or Hunter’s Den.”
“And we did not plan on getting lost,” said Farris. “But for our own survival, we now must improvise.”
Padraig scoffed. “We are not lost. We’re just behind on time. If we continue on, we’ll—”
“South!” cut in Fionn. “The path is taking us south.”
Both the Human and the Simian gave Fionn a curious look.
“How do you know this?” said Padraig. “Intuition? Or have you a ship’s compass under your cloak?”
“The path has curved southwards,” he said. “It was gradual, so we didn’t notice without the setting sun to confirm our orientation. I think we really are lost.”
“If this is true, then we have no choice but to rest,” said Farris. “We should find shelter from this storm and start a fire if we can.”
“I suggest we reconsider,” said Padraig.
“You have lost your right to reconsider!” roared Farris. “We have lost our way, Captain Tuathil, and you may very well have led us to our death!”
“There’s no need for that,” cut in Aislinn. “Things may not be that dire. If we work together, perhaps we can find—”
“A better guide? I think a dowsing rod will serve a better guide than this buffoon.”
Padraig scoffed, but he didn’t have much more of a follow-up. Fionn reckoned the captain was well and truly lost.
“We must consider the worst possibility,” said Fionn. “There is a distinct chance that we are far from where we expect to be, and we may not find our way out of the mountains until the morning. Furthermore, if this storm gets worse, or the terrain grows less welcoming than it is now, we will surely perish in this cold.”
“We?” said Farris. “The only ones to perish here will be…” He trailed off. “Never mind. Well said, Firemaster.”
Padraig moved his mount towards Fionn. “What would you have us do? Camp here, in the middle of the road, in the middle of a storm?"
"No," said Fionn. “Half a mile back, the road took us through high rising cliffs. There may be cover there, or even a cave, if we’re lucky.”
“I have considered myself lucky before,” said Farris. “Maybe fortune will favour us more under a new guide.”
He threw a glance to Padraig, who after a long pause, gave a reluctant nod. With that, the party turned, and tracked back towards where they had come.
At first, Fionn had regretted speaking up so assertively, but even during the few minutes it took them to return to find shelter, the storm grew harsher. Sure enough, when they came back to the area he had spoken of, somewhere behind him Farris remarked that this was indeed well suited for a camp.
It's his grudge with the captain, remarked Sir Bearach. Farris sees this as getting another one over Padraig.
Why would that even matter? replied Fionn. Making it through the night now is all that does.
Together, they dismounted, and surveyed the area for a place to settle. Without any camping equipment or supplies, their night’s sleep was sure to be a harsh one. Farris found a spot in the bend of the road, where the high mountains sheltered the space from the roaring winds on three sides. All were about to agree to rest here, until Padraig shouted out, claiming to have found a cave.
“It’s just here!” he cried over the wind, beckoning the others to follow him. As they did, the black mouth of an open cave emerged from around a bend.
“Not much of a cave,” remarked Farris. Indeed, when Fionn was close enough to look inside, it was no more than ten feet deep, sloping gently downwards.
“And have you found anything better?” snapped Padraig. “As the Firemaster says, we may not have a better time than now to find a place to rest.”
“This may be our best option,” said Nicole, stepping inside. “We should take all the furs and clothes we have and pile them on top of us.”
“I can work on a fire,” said Fionn, stepping in.
“A fire?” said Farris. “In such an enclosed space, shouldn’t we be concerned about inhaling smoke?”
“Not with me here,” said Fionn. “I can direct the heat of the flames inwards, and the plumes of the smoke outwards.”
With that, they set to work on the meagre camp. Padraig and Nicole unpacked and lay whatever materials they had available on the floor of the cave. Farris tied up the mounts up, expressing concern that the horses might struggle in the cold. Fionn searched for firewood, but no dry kindling could be found.
I’ll have to fashion a fire without fuel, he thought, walking back to the cave.
Is that a problem? asked Bearach. I thought you didn’t need fuel.
That is correct. Although he didn’t directly express it to Sir Bearach, this would mean he would need to stay awake to keep the fire going and ensuring the party weren’t engulfed in smoke. Without better cover than this, the fire would need to burn throughout the night to ensure the safety of the group. Fionn tried not to let this bother him. After all, he had already been through worse than a night without sleep.
As the darkness of the evening settled in, the winds of the storm rose to a mighty pitch, seemingly threatening to blow the mountains themselves away. Thick snow pelted the ground, with more blots of white visible in the air than the black space that separated them.
Fortunately, at this point, the company had all settled in the cave. Padraig and Nicole lay side by side, both in their armour. On either side of them was Farris and Aislinn. Fionn had suggested they all sleep as close to one another as possible, and fortunately none had protested. Fionn sat at the foot of them. He breathed slowly, staring out into the storm. Focusing on the cold air against his skin, he made an estimate of the temperature of the room. Once he was confident in his assertion, he went to work.
He clicked to together the flint rings on his right hand and deftly pushed the power of his soul into the spark that emerged. With a whoosh, the spark turned into a flame, which Fionn cradled into his hands. He quickly estimated the temperature of the flame, and using Rionach’s Theorems of Heat Exchange, he calculated the rate of heat loss and heat transfer throughout the chamber. Once he had this worked out, he pushed upon the flame, slowly increasing its temperature.
Moving into more advanced aspects of Pyromancy, he took both hands, and pulled at either side of the flame. He was careful not to do so too quickly, otherwise the denominators of Rionach’s Fourth Theorem would be larger than their numerators, and this would cause the output to be less than one, which of course would not create a rational product from Rionach’s Sixth Theorem, which would come later.
Although slightly out of practice, Fionn managed to strike the balance well, pulling the flames apart with both hands and stretching it like warm dough. Rionach’s Theorems allowed for the manipulation of fire well beyond what would be possible without magic, though any miscalculation would case the flame to extinguish. Or worse.
Slowly, Fionn stretched the flames around him, forming them into a ball of orange, pulsating sludge. He pushed upon his soul once more, extending the mass to surround the perimeter of the caves. This, fortunately, Fionn had been able to measure to a decent level of accuracy before he began. Once the flames filled the walls, Fionn ignited the flame of his soul once more, and the walls came alight.
“Amazing,” said Farris, looking up to Fionn. Nicole, Aislinn, and Padraig didn’t add to this, each just started up at the fires with awe. Farris reached out to the flames. “They’re hot,” he said. “But they do not burn.”
“They only burn what I want them to burn,” said Fionn. “Now we better sleep while we can.”
The others didn’t need any further convincing, Fionn lay down, but he had no intention of sleeping. His focus remained firmly on the flames that surrounded them.
Sleep lad, said Sir Bearach. You’ll need it for the journey tomorrow.
I can’t, replied Fionn. I need to keep the fire lit, or we’ll freeze.
I think I can help there, said the knight. I lent my soul to help your magic before. Perhaps I can do the same now.
Fionn hadn’t considered this, but he welcomed the possibility. Don’t you need to sleep? he asked.
Of course not! I don’t have a body that needs rest. When you sleep, I just lie in wait until you wake.
And the flames, said Fionn. Do you know how to manipulate them?
I don’t think I need to. Out in the Goldgate, I just added my soul to the magic you had already conjured. With the hard work already done, I believe all I need to do is switch the fuel source from yours to mine.
Fionn frowned. This much he hadn’t tried before, at least not intentionally. The first time he did, he was being attacked by Firemaster Conleth. The last time was when the horde was upon him.
Let us try, then, said Fionn. I’ll start counting, and I’ll stop adding to the flames on three. Once I do, see if you can take over. If you do not do so by the time I reach five, I’ll take them back again.
Of course, said Bearach. I’m ready.
Fionn closed his eyes. Alright. One. Two. Three!
Fionn ceased his Pyromancy, and the flames all around them shook, their tongues flailing overhead.
Four….
Panicking, Fionn reached back out to the flames again, but before he did, the shaking stopped.
Five, said Sir Bearach. I have them now, lad. You should get some sleep.
Fionn scanned the walls. Indeed, the flames around them were just as stable as they had been when he had their control. Perhaps Sir Bearach could maintain them throughout the night. Perhaps he really did need some sleep.
But what if….
But before Fionn could finish that thought, he drifted into a deep slumber.