Ruairí closed his eyes tightly. Earthmaster Seán had been a Son, devout as any, but kept his faith a close secret. For someone so brash and so loud, the Earthmaster kept many secrets. But when he came to Ruairí with knowledge that Fionn might be an heir of King Diarmuid, based on some very faint whispers in the Academy of Dromán, Ruairí had to act. For the lad’s life represented something both incredibly important to the Church, and something incredibly profane to his own faith. If he really was immortal, then the entire gospel of the Sons was in question.

So Ruairí had to find out. An act he took no pride in. An act that left only two options: to kill an innocent young man, or to prove his entire faith a falsehood.

And since Fionn had not died to the lethal dose, the latter and worse of the two outcomes was realised.

Ruairí realised that Argyll was studying him severely now. Indeed, all attempts Ruairí had previously made to mask his true intentions were attempted no more, for those feelings were too strong to be restrained in the Simian’s game of subterfuge. His motives too plain to hide.

“This may come to a surprise you,” continued Argyll. “But you must not let any challenge to your faith shake your allegiance to your cause. The population of Penance could very well rely on us these coming days.”

Ruairí nodded, remaining silent.

“Furthermore, you would do well not to forget what our cause has done for the Sons so far. The riot at the Basilica, the information we spread in its wake. With our goal shifted now, is your allegiance still firmly with us?”

“Of course,” said Ruairí.

“And what of this voyage? Do you still wish to leave this land, promised by your god?”

“Yes,” said Ruairí, perhaps a little too quickly.

This wasn’t the full picture, however. That much he would show Argyll later.

“And do your followers wish to leave too?”

Ruairí closed his eyes. A shudder ran through his body.

Lord Seletoth, I seek forgiveness. For I shall find your Truths and read them. Lord Seletoth, I seek courage. For I shall find Arch-Canon Cathbhadh and slay him.This I promise. In your most Blessed and Holy name, I—

“End your prayer and answer me!” barked Argyll. Ruairí jumped with fright.

“Yes,” he said. “We follow your orders to the letter.”

“Then take me home.” Argyll, gestured to his chair. “We have much to do tomorrow.”

Ruairí stood and prepared Argyll’s chair for the return journey.

Seletoth hear me.Soon we shall destroy the Church and the false gods they hold. And if your grace is good, and your love for us is true, we shall succeed.

Chapter 14:

God’s Spine

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, 21^st 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.”