Mother and Me

“Seize him, before he uses evil magic to bring her back to life. Or worse,” Eoghan said.

“All my life you were afraid of letting me near fire and nothing more,” Ciaran said. “Now you think my power extends to raising the dead?” He met his father’s gaze evenly.

“I don’t know what you are,” Eoghan spat.

Ciaran raised his eyebrows. “Did you know what my mother was before you married her? D’you think she was a monster?”


Fury crossed Eoghan’s face. “How dare you speak of –”

“My mother was a goddess. Would you treat her as you’ve treated me?”

Monstrousness, Kindness

Ciaran straightened up slowly.

“Why do you always call me that?” He tilted his head to one side, curious.

The music faded, and the villagers huddled together. Several men brandished torches and swords, but of course, it was Eoghan who stood front and center, eyes full of fury.

“Because you’re an abomination.”

Ciaran smiled guilelessly. “You raised me.”

“And yet I never fully cured you of the monstrousness inside of you.”

“I think it’s monstrous, that you’d murder a woman who helped you. What’s kindness, then? Shunning a boy after he finds out you lied to him his entire life?”

It's Always "Monster"

Dolan cared enough to cover Brenna in a winding sheet before he started back toward the village to join the others. Ciaran waited in the shadows until the others were distract, and then he edged along the rows and houses until he reached Brenna’s side.

He peeled back the soft edges of the winding sheet and gazed at Brenna’s face. But for the blue tinge of her mouth, she looked peaceful, asleep. Ciaran knew her death had been anything but peaceful. He had to take her far away from here, give her a proper burial.

And then someone shouted, “Monster!”

Mourn Alone

Dolan tugged Brenna's body onto the shore of the pond amidst cheers from the rest of the village. Eoghan drove a spear through her chest to ensure her death, and Ciaran felt rage spark in his veins. Brenna had used her magic to save them, had likely betrayed a friend and maybe her entire people to do so, and -

And they were celebrating.

Eoghan announced the successful purging, and cheers broke the air. Music started, and Eoghan tugged a woman - Brenna's accuser - into his arms for a dance.

It seemed Dolan and Ciaran mourned Brenna's death alone.

Killed Her

Ciaran turned and tore back through the trees, unheeding of the boughs and branches that clawed at him, drawing blood as he passed. Brenna must have known the others already knew, and she’d sent him away so he wouldn’t have to see –

Wouldn’t have to see her kicking and writhing as they held her down in the water, have to see the froth of bubbles as she tried to breathe. His voice lodged in his throat when the bubbles started to fade, because it meant she’d stopped trying, she’d given up, or it was already over, and –

They’d killed her.

Already Dead

Odran must have had some of Brenna’s strange magic, or maybe he saw things no one else saw because his true eyes were gone, because Niamh and Deagan were already marshaling enemy boats. If the map in the dirt was any indication, the southwest was their destination.

“Where’s Brenna?” Niamh asked.

Deagan laughed softly. “She break your heart already, laddie?”

But Odran’s face went pale, and he said, “You must return! Why did you leave her?”

“She told me to come tell you –”

“We know our orders, boy,” Odran snapped. “You walked away from her - and she’s probably already dead.”

Take Her With Him

Ciaran remembered judgments from before. Brenna would stand in the center of the village. Two people would speak against her, two could speak for her, and then three elders would decide her fate. She would spend the night tied to the post at the edge of the square while the village celebrated. Dolan was standing alone, but he was an elder, and the others respected him. Brenna would live one night before trial.

Ciaran would relay her orders to Niamh and Deagan, and then he would return. He had to rescue Brenna and take her south and west with him.

Celebrate, Judge

As soon as Ciaran hit forest cover, he caught himself against a tree and spun around, watched as the villagers surrounded Brenna. Eoghan tackled her to the ground, and then she was swallowed in a mass of human confusion. It was Dolan who waded in and rescued her, but by then she’d been beaten and bound.

The woman who’d started all the trouble yelled, “Drown her!”

Some others, including Eoghan, picked up the chant, but Dolan managed to speak over them.

“We must wait,” he said. “First we must celebrate our victory over the enemy. Then we will judge her.”

An Order

“Ciaran,” Brenna said, “find Niamh and Deagan and tell them to repair captured enemy ships and move. There’s a land to the south and west where their kind will be safe, where they can dance in the standing circles and sing to the sun.”

“The southwest? What are you saying?” Ciaran tugged on her elbow. “Brenna, you have to go–”

“That’s an order,” Brenna said firmly.

“But they’ll kill you.”

Brenna shoved him, hard, and he’d forgotten that she was so much stronger than she looked. He stumbled, and when he caught his balance he was running for the trees.

But She Stayed

“No.” Ciaran shook his head. “I won’t let them do this. I won’t let my own father kill a woman who fought to save his life.”

“I’m not your father,” Eoghan said, “because I would never give rise to a monster who burns people alive.”

“Ciaran,” Brenna said softly, “they can’t hurt me. Not really. Haven’t you heard? Drowning is like falling asleep.”

“How can you say that?” Ciaran’s heart was pounding in his chest. The villagers were closing in, their eyes were full of cold fury.

“Brenna, run,” Ciaran said, and he tried to push her, but she stayed.

Me, Ciaran

“The only way to purge her kind of evil is by fire,” the woman said, and her voice was eerily calm.

“Fire won’t work,” Eoghan said. “The boy would save her. There must be another way.”

Ciaran spluttered. “You can’t talk about her like she’s not here. And you can’t kill her - she’s done nothing wrong.”

“Be careful, boy,” Eoghan said, and Ciaran flinched at the sheer hatred in his voice. “One would think she has enslaved you with her evil power. Perhaps you are in need of purging as well.”

“If you kill me,” Brenna said, “let Ciaran live.”

Satisfactory to All

Alarm shot down Ciaran’s spine. He stepped in front of Brenna. “No - she saved you, she most of all! She fought for you even though none of you have done anything for her.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “They can’t do anything permanent to me.”

Eoghan stepped forward. “We should take her, bind her magic permanently.”

Dolan glanced between Ciaran and Eoghan, eased forward warily. “If she will allow us to bind her magic, then she can go free. That would be satisfactory to all, yes?”

Ciaran nodded, but one woman said,

“No.”

Rid of Her

“We’re safe from them,” Eoghan said, and he narrowed his eyes. “But are we safe from you?”

Ciaran blinked. “Are you mad? We bled for you. Some of us died for you. Why would we hurt you?”

“She’s not one of them,” a woman said, pointing at Brenna.

A murmur ran through the crowd of villagers.

“She’s not one of us either,” Eoghan said. His voice rose. “She is the most powerful of all - she controlled all four of those gates.” He turned to face the villagers. “If we want to be safe forever, we must be rid of her!”

Safe Now

“We must bury what we can,” Brenna said quietly. She called out to Niamh and Deagan, “Send out the medics and round up the wounded. The survivors will flee, tell their commander not to come here again. If he’s a fool, he’ll make another sally, so we must take our chance to recover.”

Deagan and Niamh saluted, wearing wicked grins, and turned about, headed into the trees.

Ciaran watched them go, and as they walked away his gaze fell on Eoghan and Dolan. Both of them looked utterly terrified.

“We saved you,” Ciaran said. “You’re safe now. Don’t be afraid.”

Ashes to Ashes

Niamh and Deagan surged toward Ciaran with twin exultant cries, threw their arms around him and hugged him wildly. Sheer joy welled in his chest.

“We did it,” Niamh said, and she pressed a sloppy kiss to his brow. “We drove them back. We’re free of their plague. Forever!”

Deagan thumped him hard on the back, cheering loudly.

And then Brenna said, “Ciaran, you should put them out.”

Ciaran twisted out from Niamh and Deagan’s grip, and joy turned to shame. He hurried toward the edge of the flames, doused them with a thought.

All that was left was ashes.

Right and Wrong

Ciaran scanned their faces, waiting for fear or anger, for someone to try to. One man raised his sword.

Ciaran let flame blossom on his palm.

The man let his sword fall, and then he turned. Fled.

The rest of the men followed him, some running, some stumbling, and behind Ciaran, the rest of the blue-painted began to cheer.

Relief trickled down Ciaran’s spine, and as the last of the enemies disappeared, he knew he had done something right.

And then the smell of burning flesh struck him again, and he knew he’d also done something very, very wrong.

Closed Against Our Enemies

Brenna, Niamh, and Deagan stood forward. Some of the enemies fell back.

But then Brenna reached out, tugged Ciaran forward.

“Address your enemies,” she hissed. “You’ve defeated them.”

Ciaran blinked. “What?”

“Go on,” Brenna said. “Your victory. You’ve earned it.”

Ciaran glanced at the cowering villagers and hesitated, but then he nodded, stepped up.

“People of Thor.”

The men flinched.

“The four gates of the elements have closed against our enemies, and any who remain after the goddesses have spoken will be swallowed by the fire of Brighid,” Ciaran said, and he could feel his gift flutter in his fingertips.

Shown True

Even Niamh and Deagan flinched and closed their eyes, turned away as the screams began to subside, as the stench of cooking flesh grew worse. Ciaran forced himself to watch, because it was the result of his gift. Maybe this was what his father had been afraid he’d become, but he hadn’t done it cruelly - he’d done it to save his land.


Judging by the looks on the faces of the enemy soldiers who’d surrounded the village, his gift had shown true. Their ranks were ragged, and some of them had already laid down their weapons to watch their comrades burn.

The Fourth Gate

“They’re not dying.” A woman moaned softly, cowering from the sight.

Ciaran took a deep breath and stretched his hands out again, ready to pour more fire onto the enemy soldiers. Brenna stayed him.

“The fourth gate,” she said. She knelt, drew in the dirt with her fingertips. Ciaran was horrified when she dropped her head to her wrist, jerked sharply, and blood began dripping down her hand. When she lifted her head to cast, Ciaran saw blood ringing her mouth, but then she was calling forth gods Ciaran had never imagined, and wind began to feed the flames higher.

The Third Gate

Brenna called out, “Ciaran, the third gate!”

And Ciaran knew what he had to do.

The enemy were trapped, panicking, and they had no way to escape. The elements were rising up against them, and they knew that the goddesses - and this land - had condemned them.

So Ciaran raised his hands and called his power, felt it sing in his blood the way his mother sang lullabies in his dreams, and he let fire spark at his fingertips.

He heard his father scream his name, heard Brenna call him again, and he let the flames fly loose.

His enemies screamed.

The Second Gate

“The Second Gate,” Brenna commanded, and there was another snap of energy, an explosion of magic.

Some of the soldiers were trying to climb out of the mud pit, but struggling made them sink faster.

Other Gifted knelt, pressed their hands to the ground, and Ciaran saw the ground harden, saw the soldiers’ struggles become more frantic. They were trapped, and they were screaming louder.

Ciaran’s grip on his sword slackened, awed at the sheer power of the other Gifted. The rest of the villagers cowered in terror, but soon they would be safe, and it would be all right.

The First Gate

Ciaran broke the line first and burst into the village, hollered for Brenna. Arrows zipped overhead, and Ciaran heard enemies behind him cry out, fall. Ciaran skittered toward Deagan’s ranks and spun, swung his sword up. His comrades spilled after him - fewer than Ciaran had started the night alongside - and the enemy soldiers followed.

As soon as they crossed the threshold into the center of the village, Ciaran felt something in the air snap, and magic sang in the air.

Water gushed up from the ground, and Ciaran watched in part amusement, part horror as the soldiers began to sink.

Catch His Breath

Arrows zipping through the air brought the foe running, swords singing. Ciaran hollered and then turned tail, dashed through the trees. The others scattered behind him.

They knew their way through the trees far better than the foes, and it was easy to lure them back toward the village. Ciaran ducked around a tree and plastered himself against the trunk, took a moment to catch his breath.

He waited till two soldiers flew past him and he lunged out, stabbed them both from behind. Their cries as they fell alerted their comrades, and he turned, headed for the first gate.

Skill and Cunning

Ciaran had to lead the troops through the woods to the northeastern shore. It was slow, cautious going - they broke into small groups to avoid the enemy patrols. When they reached the tree line, they fanned out to study the enemy.


Ciaran’s breath caught in his chest when he saw the mass of boats spread along the shore, the swarm of enemy soldiers with their armor and weapons glittering in the moonlight.

“How are we supposed to survive this?” one of the archers breathed.

“With skill and cunning - just as we were taught,” Ciaran said. “Now hurry - summon the foes.”

Clear the Way

“Come back safely,” she said, and she pulled him into a kiss.

Ciaran reached up with his free hand, twined his fingers into her hair, and kissed her back.

“I will,” he whispered against her mouth when he pulled back.

“Bring the fire,” Brenna whispered, and then she stepped away, raised her sword. “Fág an bealach!”

The rest of the ranks threw their heads back and roared. Ciaran roared with them. When the shouting died down, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eoghan, Dolan, and the rest of the villagers cowering in the doorways of their houses.

Mostly

Brenna turned and began barking orders to Niamh’s archers, who submitted. Deagan rounded up the surviving members of his ranks and ordered weapons issued, and then Brenna summoned all the ranks in for final instructions. Ciaran listened intently, grip white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t understand half of what Brenna wanted, but he knew what he had to do.

Mostly, he had to survive.

He had to lure the enemy back to the village and everyone else would spring the trap.

Brenna caught his arm before he set off with the others and tugged him close.

Four Gates

“This is madness, and it’s evil,” Eoghan spat, but Dolan put a hand on his arm.

“We need them,” he said.

Ciaran tore his gaze away from his father and tried to focus on Brenna’s orders.

“Fine,” Eoghan said, voice low and fierce. “But when it’s done, we will deal with them.”

“I want four gates,” Brenna said. “One for each watchtower.”


Ciaran didn’t understand, but the other Gifted were nodding and shifting about, picking places.

“We’ll need lures,” Brenna continued. “Fighters to draw the enemy here.” She turned to Ciaran. “I’ll need you - your power - on the rear guard.”

Everything We Have

The forest was alive with enemies. They had no choice but to fall back to the village. Women and children screamed when blue-painted strangers tumbled along the dirt paths between houses, but Niamh and Deagan formed a fierce perimeter.

Eoghan sputtered, furious, but Dolan calmed him.

Brenna gathered the talented soldiers in the center of the village.

“We have one chance to drive them off. They outnumber us, and they have more weapons and armor than we could hope to withstand. We have to hit them with everything we have.” Brenna looked at each of them. “Are you ready?”

Rally

He pushed the fire out, into their individual bodies, and they dropped where they stood, writhing and screaming, and then Brenna was calling out to her comrades. Niamh and Deagan answered. Odran was wounded, hit in the initial press of soldiers coming from the northeast shore.

The attack on the northwest shore was a decoy, a test.

Almost all of the farmers were dead, save Eoghan and Dolan, though they had rallied support.

Brenna put out the burning soldiers with a splash of blood, a scrawled symbol and a muttered word, and then she issued the command - rally the troops.

Burning Flesh and Victory

“Distract them,” Brenna said.

The man slashed at her. She dodged, slashed back, nicked him enough to make him retreat.

“How?” Ciaran asked.

“You have the control. The fire doesn’t have to be big - it just has to scare them. Just - don’t burn the whole forest down.” Brenna’s tone was light, but her words were obviously strained.

Ciaran wished he was still sleeping. But she was right - he had the control. So he started small.

No soldier could hold burning weapons, after all.

The men screamed and dropped their swords, and Ciaran smelled burning flesh - and a chance at victory.