A knock thundered through the building.
“Go!” rasped Bronach. “Through the window. The caravan will be at the North Wall. Go!”
Nessa scrambled over the empty beds towards the open window. Without looking back, she darted out, leaving Bronach alone.
She waited there, for a moment, silently praying that Nessa would somehow leave the city, and somehow find a safe place far from the reach of the Church.
The door to the private chambers creaked open behind her, but Bronach did not turn around.
“You’re too late,” she said over her shoulder. “She’s long gone. You’ll have to kill me twice before I tell you anything.”
“That can be arranged,” croaked a wicked voice. A hand reached out for Bronach’s shoulder, pressing down hard and forcing her to turn. “The Lord is capable of far more than you can imagine.”
The last thing Bronach saw was the Wraith’s hooded figure, heavy dark robes revealing nothing but a twisted smile.
***
“Bronach… Nessa....” mused Fionn as he woke again. “Who are they?”
But before he could finish that thought, the pulsating blue light engulfed him once more.
***
On weary legs, Nessa stumbled across the road of a strange city. She had travelled through so many towns and slept in so many odd places she had long since lost count. The sky above roared with thunder as more rain pelted down upon her, but Nessa’s stride did not slow.
I’ve come so far, she thought, a hand placed over a stomach almost as heavy as herself. I’ll keep you safe, little prince.
Although the names of the places where she had travelled were lost to her, Nessa never stopped keeping track of the moon’s turn. If the sky was not covered in thick storm-clouds, the Moon of Dana would be shining down on her.
It’s almost time, she thought as she crossed a street so thick with rainwater it could have been mistaken as a river.
She stopped short once she saw what stood waiting for her across the way. The tall, slender figure stepped forward in silence, raising a single hand towards her.
“No!” Nessa cried. “You will not hurt him! He’s mine. He’s the king’s. Your king’s!”
“The child belongs to nobody but the Lord,” said the Wraith, hissing each word through his teeth. “And the Lord has been looking for you for quite some time.”
“My prince will be born soon,” sobbed Nessa, taking a step towards the ghostly figure. “He’ll grow to be a great leader, and he’ll hang your kind from their toes!”
“No,” muttered the Wraith. He reached into his cloak. “The bastard will never be born. He’ll perish in a gutter along with his whore mother.”
Before Nessa could react, the Wraith pulled a crossbow from under his robe. With a smooth manoeuvre, he fired a bolt that struck Nessa in the chest. She fell forward and landed with a splash in the rainwater.
No, she tried to say, but blood already filled her lungs. Not my baby. Not my little prince.
***
Alone and afraid, the young mage lay in his coffin made of flesh.
“I’ll die here,” thought Fionn, struggling to move. But once he shifted his body, he found he had more room than before. Although nothing but bloodied flesh surrounded him, something quickly became apparent. This was not the pit in the fields of Dromán.
This is from my old dream, Fionn realised. Not the chasm Morrígan created, but this.
He pushed at the walls, kicking with his feet. Indeed, the walls were not made from the bodies of the dead, but of flesh from something else.
He twisted where he lay and kicked again.
I will not die here, he thought. He punched and clawed against the walls over and over, not quite sure what he was hoping to achieve. Suddenly, a glimmer of light fell upon his body. He paid little mind to what the light illuminated, but instead kicked again and again. A small hole had opened somewhere below, letting more light enter the bloody chamber.
For what felt like the first time in his life, Fionn inhaled in a mouthful of air.
I’m almost out, he thought, kicking again and again, until there was a cool breeze upon his face.
***
Bláithín the White held her tongue as Brother Niall and Brother Dillon struggled to find the words to explain what had happened.
“We were walking out at night when we found her, dead in the streets, s-sir,” stammered Niall. “We brought her back, and our healers said she had been gone for three days.”
Arch-Mage Ferdia looked down expectantly at the two Brothers, then he turned to Bláithín. She nodded curtly, as if to confirm the brother’s words, but nothing else.
It would be easier if I could just tell him straight, she thought.
“No, Niall,” cut in Dillon. “You’re leaving out the most important part. Arch-Mage, sir, the reason why we’re bringing this to your attention so late at night is because the woman was with child.”
“This I already know,” said the Arch-Mage. “If there’s more to tell, spit it out.”
Spit it out, echoed Bláithín to herself, her white robes still covered in blood after all that had happened. Surely the Arch-Mage was expecting a far more gruesome account than Dillon and Niall were providing.