Repeating Myself

Brenna sat beside him. "What are you thinking of?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing." Brenna poked him.

"Father. My life before." Ciaran sighed, too tired to be annoyed.

Brenna gazed into the flames; they were the same color as her eyes. "Do not forget him, but set him aside if you want to survive what comes."

"It's winter. The Hammer of Thor is trapped in the cold of the North. You said so yourself."

"I wasn't speaking of them. You have work to do."

This time Ciaran could summon some annoyance. "You already trained me. Why am I repeating myself?"

Harvest Fall

Ciaran wasn't the only one in the camp with a gift. He saw others raise a tent eith a gesture, murmur an enchantment over a healing poultice or peer at the guts of a chicken to read the future. Gifts were used more openly to preserve the spoils of hunting and gathering for the coming winter.

Ciaran sat beside the central fire on a rare break from Deagan's constant barrage of orders and tried not to remember the harvest festivals of his childhood, clinging to his father's hand and begging for pumpkin seeds or a toy.

Training With the Others

Training with the others meant moving from dawn till dusk with swords, staffs, spears, and knives, pausing to snatch food from the pot at the central fire. Training meant working himself so exhausted he forgot his father's name.

Ciaran saw little of Brenna during the day. At night she made him light all the flames in camp, every torch and fire, pushing his magic in constant bursts until he was sure that one wrong blink would set his tent on fire.

After supper and a drill in the dark, Ciaran could try to sleep.

He always dreamed the world was burning.

In a Thought

The people in the camp wore little more than rags; Ciaran could see blue patterns on their skin. They greeted Odran with respect, Niamh and Deagan with fondness, Brenna with wariness. Ciaran they ignored until Niamh dragged him toward the central fire.

"He's a son of Brighid," she said. "Brenna found him for us. He'll help save our land."

An archer looked Ciaran over. "Can you use that sword?"

"Brenna taught me."

"Can you kill a man?"

Ciaran shuddered. "In a thought."

The archer looked skeptical.

Ciaran extended a hand to demonstrate. Brenna stopped hm.

"He'll train with the others."

Monster, Despondent

Ciaran felt disgust churn in his gut once more. Yes, he’d defended his shores, but he’d burnt to death dozens, scores - maybe hundreds - of men. He was a killer. Warriors were hailed for their victories in battles, yes, but he was no warrior.

He was a monster.

As if Deagan had sensed Ciaran’s despondence, he began chattering about his life before he joined Odran and Brenna’s band, back when he was a silversmith who made lovely jewelry. Ciaran was grateful for the distraction and kept up the conversation until they emerged on a wide field crowded with fires and tents.

Dizzying Puzzle

Ciaran blinked at her; his heart fluttered oddly in his chest. “Do you want to marry me?”

“Why? Do you want to marry me?” Brenna pressed another kiss to his mouth and then pulled ahead to speak to Niamh.

Ciaran spluttered and reached out to try to catch her shoulder, but Deagan placed a hand on his arm.

“I wouldn’t bother puzzling her out,” Deagan said. “She’ll just make you dizzy.”

She already made him dizzy. Ciaran nodded. “So...do you believe I have some grand destiny?”

“I know you do, lad,” Deagan said easily. “I saw what you did.”

All The Time

Brenna scooped up her silver bowl, and Ciaran had the sudden notion that he knew exactly how she could predict the coming attacks. As the group trekked through the woods, Ciaran hung back beside Brenna.

“It’s the man in the water, isn’t it? He tells you what’s coming,” he said quietly.

She smiled up at him. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“Thanks,” Ciaran said. “I think.”

Brenna pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. “It was a compliment.”

“You can’t distract me by kissing me all the time,” Ciaran said, annoyed.

“I’m not trying to distract you all the time.”

To Sense Impending Doom

Ciaran’s stomach turned again. “Then what will they...?”


“Most likely drowning,” Brenna said. She flashed him a fierce grin. “But only if they catch you. Now come on - we have work to do if we want to be ready for the next attack.”

“Do you know when it will be?” Ciaran asked.

“Not exactly, but we’ll have some advance warning,” Brenna said.

Odran said, “Looking into the future like that is dangerous, girl.”

“Brenna likes danger,” Niamh said dryly, but she looked worried at the prospect as well.

“There is more than one way to sense impending doom,” Brenna said.

Work With You

“Why?” Ciaran asked. “Where?”

“Now that the threat is mostly gone, Eoghan is rallying the other mundane fools to be rid of the evil druids who brought the enemy upon us. Dolan has at least delayed the madness because you helped your former neighbors survive, but we can’t stay here.” Brenna scooped up the other set of blankets. Odran, Niamh, and Deagan began gathering up the rest of her supplies.

Ciaran’s throat closed. His father hated him, wanted him dead. “What will they do if they catch us?”

“The traditional method is burning, but that won’t really work with you.”

Get Moving

“I leave you alone for one hour and already you’re breaking him?” Brenna stepped into the clearing. Her sword was dripping with blood and she had a gash across her cheekbone, but she seemed otherwise intact.

Ciaran dragged his hand across the back of his mouth. “Da was right. I did it - I killed my own mother. I can remember -”

“You spoke to her,” Brenna said. “You’re mother’s alive.”

“No. I know I -”

“Shuffling the mortal coil is painful. Usually more for the people left behind, but she’s fine now. Don’t feel guilty,” Brenna said. “We need to get moving.”

Accidentally in Case of Memory

Ciaran sat up and pushed Brenna’s blankets aside. “The invaders are gone?”

“For now,” Niamh said. “You frightened them pretty well. I’m not going to lie - it was very impressive. You didn’t need to cast or anything. The fire is in your blood.” She grinned, the expression gleeful and fierce, and Ciaran felt his stomach turn.

He could still remember the scent of burning flesh, could hear the screams. If he closed his eyes, he could remember - his father crying, and a woman screaming, and that same smell, and -

“Easy, lad,” Deagan said, patting Ciaran’s back as he retched violently.

Grand Destiny

Ciaran came awake several hours later when Niamh, Deagan, and Odran came crashing into the grove. The sky was still dark, but the fire had been re-lit, and another bed roll had been laid out on the other side of the camp. Brenna was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s gone scouting,” Niamh said. “So...Brighid’s son. Are you ready for your grand destiny?”

“I don’t have a destiny,” Ciaran said, feeling mulish. “I’m just a peat-cutter’s son.”

“Your fire drove away the Hammer of Thor,” Odran said, “but they will be back, and they still want this land.”

Crashing Over Him

Brenna was gone before Ciaran could form a coherent response. Embarrassed, he crawled over to her bedroll and spread out the blankets, curled up with his hands cradled against his body, his sword an arm’s length away. He lay and watch the flames until they burned out, tried to stay awake, but the stress of the day crashed over him.

His father hated him - thought he’d killed his own mother. His mother was - a goddess made of fire, and she’d left him behind for some great destiny, and he had killed other men.

And Brenna had kissed him. A lot.

Keep Doing That

“You can’t just keep doing that!” Ciaran called after her. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to answer my questions!” But he was breathless and his head felt fuzzy; he suspected it was the burns on his hands.

Brenna paused and turned, slewed him a narrow-eyed look. Then she prowled toward him, her steps silent, body sleek, and Ciaran was hypnotized by the sway of her hips. She knelt over him and fisted a hand in his hair, tugged him up, and kissed him again. His heart roared in his ears, and then -

“How will you stop me?”

Not People

Ciaran put a hand on her arm. “You’re not so different from me. You might be a more experienced warrior, but all people need sleep.”

“Perhaps,” Brenna said tightly, “I am not ‘people’.”

Ciaran’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Brenna shook him off. “I need to go. Some of Niamh’s archers were injured and she’s not the best at doctoring.”

“Brenna,” Ciaran began. She leaned in and kissed him squarely on the mouth. He made a muffled sound of surprise, and she took advantage of his distraction to deepen the kiss. Then she pulled back, started for the trees.

We and You

“I already told you - they come from the north, and they are fierce warriors.” Brenna handed him his sword and stoked the fire. “You stay here - I have to make sure the others are all right.”

“They will be,” Ciaran said. “I only know what you told me about war, but even though those men looked mad - they will have to stop and regroup, take time to put out the fires and sort out their dead. We have until morning.”

“Then you also know we shouldn’t give them time to regroup.”

“We need to rest,” Ciaran said.

“Not we - you.”

For Now

“Why would you fight for them?” Ciaran asked.

“Them who?” Brenna bandaged his burnt hands with brusque efficiency.

“Dolan and my - and Eoghan and the rest.”

Brenna tied off the last of the bandage and set her jar of liniment aside. “I’m not fighting for them. I’m fighting for this land. For now, we have the same goals.”

“For now? What happens when that changes?”

“Things will go back to the way they were, I suspect.”

Ciaran studied her expression; she seemed almost - angry. He decided to change the subject. “What do you know about the men in the dragonboats?”

Know How

"Not by choice."

"Then why?" Why did I grow up afraid of myself, not knowing my father feared and hated me more than I ever could? Ciaran didn't dare say the words aloud even if Eoghan wasn't there to hear.

"You are still half mortal. And you have a destiny."

"What destiny?"

"You started it tonight."

At Brenna's pointed glance in the direction they'd come, Ciaran knew. His stomach lurched.

"She couldn't have meant me to be a murderer."

"She meant you to save her lands."

"Me? Save the land from those monsters in their dragonboats? How?"

"You know how."

Gone Home; Left Behind

Brenna's eyes blazed gold, like the flames dancing across the surface of the water, and then Ciaran realized she was Brenna and his hands hurt fiercely and then - then the face in the bowl was gone.

Ciaran wrenched himself backward, closed his agonizing hand over the hilt of his sword.

"What was that? Who was that? What did you do to me?"

Brenna emptied the bowl carefully, hissed when her fingertips lingered too long on the metal. "That was your mother, Brighid. In life she was Ceri."

"In life? Then she's dead."

"No. Gone home."

"She left us behind."

Name or Form

Ciaran leaned closer to the fiery surface; his hands gripped the edges of the bowl and blistered, but he felt no pain. If he closed his eyes and gave in, he would be free of his flesh cage. He could ride the wind and sky, level forests and boil lakes down to their beds, burst out of mountains and build new lands on the seas. He could turn gold into liquid and use it to paint the world. He could -

"Ciaran."

No, he was tine, an element beyond name or form. He was -

"Ciaran, come back to me."

Beyond Words

What followed was beyond words. One moment, Ciaran was gazing at a reflection of the trees. The next he was looking at...living fire. It flickered and danced, formed the face of a woman, and Ciaran knew. She was his mother. He knew her smile and her laughter, and then she said his name.

Ma, he whispered, reached for the bowl, but then he felt the heat, the flames skimming the surface and calling his name.

My son. It wasn’t her voice he heard - it was her that he felt. Join me. Be one with the magic.

With the flames.

Doing That

They made it to her bower quickly.

“Keep your sword handy,” Brenna said. “Now light a fire while I fill this bowl.”

Ciaran lit the kindling in the stone circle with little more than a thought. Beside him, Brenna had cut herself again, and water was streaming from her palm into the bowl.

“Should you keep doing that?” Ciaran asked. “You’ll do yourself a harm if you keep losing so much blood.” He reached for her wrist once the water stopped flowing. “Let me bandage --”

Brenna snatched her hand back. “No. Look into the water. You can see your mother.”

Through the Trees

As they ran through the trees, Ciaran couldn’t help but notice that Brenna really was beautiful. Whenever she smiled at him, her eyes glittered golden-bright, and her hair was as soft and dark as shadows, and --

Brenna tugged on his elbow and brought him around, hard. He crashed into her, and they both stumbled back.

“Ow,” Ciaran said. She was strong, and she’d tugged fiercely.

“You almost ran into a tree,” Brenna said.

Ciaran looked up and saw that he had, indeed, almost plowed headlong into a massive oak.

Brenna smirked a little bit as she let him go.

The Silver Bowl

Brenna rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that, you dirty-minded amadan. Ciaran, hurry. And bring that silver bowl.”

Odran turned his sightless eyes on her. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

“He deserves to know,” Brenna said.

“He’ll survive the conversation, but I doubt you will.” Niamh flicked a leaf at her.

“I think you’ll find Brenna is made of sturdier stuff than we give her credit for,” Deagan said.

Niamh giggled. “She’s just so tiny. Like a fae--”

“Don’t go calling their attention down on us,” Odran said. “Go on, Brenna. Be gentle with the lad.”

Wholly Unholy

“Well,” Niamh said, “I’d have slapped him, personally, but whatever works.”

Ciaran’s eyes slipped closed, and he reached up automatically, tangled one hand in Brenna’s wild curls.

“I’d say he’s snapped out of it,” Deagan said.

“Or that she’s just snapped.” Niamh sounded too amused.

Ciaran moaned when Brenna pulled back. Her mouth was grave, but her eyes were bright.

“We don’t have that much time,” she said. “Come along. I have something you’ll want to see.”

“Under your clothes, aye?” Deagan grinned.

“Oy,” Odran said. “Not in front of the Holy Mother’s --”

“There’s nothing holy about it, old man.”

The Next

“We should split up,” Deagan said quietly. “Who knows what Eoghan might do.”

“What do you mean?” Ciaran asked. The hurt was starting to fade, and despite the fire he was feeling cold.

“He’s none too pleased that Brenna taught you your power,” Niamh said.

“He wouldn’t hurt her,” Ciaran said, but the words sounded distant, as if someone else were speaking them.

“I think he’s in shock,” Odran said.

“Aye.” Deagan nudged Brenna. “Snap him out of it.”

One moment, Brenna was peering curiously at Ciaran, as if he were an ill bird, the next, she was kissing him.

Yes and No

“Your mother is a goddess, yes,” Niamh said.

“Did I really kill her?”

"A goddess cannot die,” Deagan said.

Brenna shot him a look.

“Well, not that easily, and certainly not of her own element.” Deagan smiled with false brightness.

Ciaran felt, for the first time in years, his eyes begin to sting with tears. “But I’m the reason we grew up alone.”

“Yes,” Niamh said.

“But it’s not your fault,” Brenna said. “It was an accident. She’s not angry.”

“How would you know?”

“Now’s not the time,” Niamh said. “We need to regroup.”

“I’ll tell you later,” Brenna said.

Is It True?

Ciaran couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe; he felt as though his father had taken a sword and run him through with it. His knees started to buckle. He managed one syllable.

“Da --”

Eoghan turned away from him.

“We should rally with the men Padraig summoned,” Dolan said. He cast Ciaran an apologetic look.

“Aye,” Eoghan said. “This way.”

Ciaran started after him, but Odran put a hand on his arm.

“Lad, I wouldn’t.”

Ciaran watched his father vanish into the night shadows, uncaring of the heat of the flames behind him, of the cries of the enemy.

“Is it true?”

Commit Yourself

Ciaran’s heart crawled into his throat. “Da,” he croaked.

Eoghan hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

“Ceri was a goddess,” Brenna said calmly. “She did not die. She merely surrendered her mortal aspect.”

“I loved her, and that creature --” he pointed a shakily at Ciaran -- “is the reason she’s gone.”

“Whatever he is that makes him a creature he got from her,” Brenna said.

Odran spoke up. “Eoghan, you should be honored to have been the consort of a goddess --”

“Leave this place,” Eoghan said to Ciaran, “and never come back. Perhaps you should commit yourself to the flames you created.”

Speak Madness

Deagan spoke up. “Man, the boy just saved us all. They’ll be all night trying to quell those fires, and by then reinforcements will have arrived --”

“It was fire that killed your mother, and I knew that if you learned what you could do you would kill others too.” Eoghan’s eyes were cold.

“Others?” Ciaran asked. Something in his father’s voice was alien, afraid and angry all at once. “What do you mean?”

“Come now,” Dolan said, and he too was pale with fear, “you speak madness. A babe cannot set such a blaze, not such as killed your Ceri.”

Told You

“Da?” Ciaran asked again. His arms were beginning to buckle.

Brenna reached out and caught him by the wrist, pulled him up, and really, she was good with a sword, but should she have been that strong?

Eoghan shook his head. “All his life, I protected him from that vile power, and then you - you taught it to him. And he used it to kill. It killed his mother!”

Ciaran cast a glance at Dolan, but he was looking away, embarrassed.

“Da, now’s not the time. We need to run.”

“I told you,” Eoghan said, “to never light a fire.”