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.