My… ancestor?
“Fionn?” came a voice from down the aisle. “Are you alone?”
“No—I mean… yes,” said Fionn, standing to face Farris. The Simian had done a spectacular job of making himself unheard, although his frame was almost too large to weave through all those shelved books.
Wasn’t he a thief before? asked Sir Bearach.
“What brings you here?” asked Fionn instead, shaking his head to drown out the knight’s words. “Shouldn’t you be with the others?”
“I should,” said Farris. “The soldiers are making their preparations to return to Penance, but many are reluctant to leave. To leave this quest unfinished, after so many have died, isn’t sitting well with many of them.”
“I don’t blame them. We all left Penance thinking we’d end this, but it looks like we’ve only made things worse.”
“And you… are you still planning on going on this trek to Mount Selyth?”
“You came to convince me not to go?” Fionn smirked. “You can’t claim it’s too dangerous for me.”
“I suppose I can’t. Tell me, how does it feel, to be a living god?”
“If you came here to mock me, you can leave,” said Fionn, slamming the book closed.
“No,” said Farris. “I’m serious. I mean, did you ever, suspect it? Before being buried alive and surviving and all that. Did you ever feel… special?”
Fionn paused for a moment. “No. I felt different from the other students in the Academy, sure, but that was mainly because I had a different upbringing to them. I assumed I was so adept with magic because I grew up here, surrounded by books and scrolls detailing the arcane arts. And as for narrowly avoiding death so often, I just assumed that I was lucky.”
“Most do,” said Farris. “I once knew a Simian who thought he was lucky. Turned out that he—”
“Was there anything else?” asked Fionn, opening the book once more.
“The others are worried about you.” Farris’s voice was sterner now. “Anyone else would collapse under the weight of what’s been thrust upon your back. You need to speak to the rest of the camp. And tell them that you have everything under control.”
“Under control?” said Fionn. “How can you say that everything’s under control after all that’s happened?”
“I never said you would tell them the truth,” replied Farris. “Let me tell you something about leadership. Once a group, any kind of group, has a leader at its head, the burden of responsibility is lifted from the many, and rests with the one. Plackart played this role well. In truth, he knew little of the ways of magic or the nature of our enemy, though he was a good leader regardless. But with him gone, the responsibility he held has spread throughout the camp. And unlike other burdens, when responsibility is shared too thin it festers into helplessness. Right now, there’s all sorts of rumours spreading about what happened to Meadhbh. And what happened to you. The soldiers need to know, Fionn. They need to know that there’s some hope yet of overcoming all this.”
“You really think there’s hope? After all that’s happened?”
“Of course,” said Farris. He stood a little taller on saying this. “When King Diarmuid first met the Lady, She said we were all doomed to our destinies. But when She saw us, and we were still alive, She said there was hope. Even though She knew well that Morrígan would strike Her down, the Lady still believed not all was lost. She said that you would survive, which you did—and that you’d know what to do next, which you do. When we all start the march back to Penance, it’ll make everyone happier knowing that at least someone knows what must be done. And the responsibility of this war will be left with you and your journey to Mount Selyth, leaving everyone else free to return to their homes.”
“I don’t know, Farris,” said Fionn. “I know only as much as you do with all this. Me travelling to Mount Selyth is nothing more than… a lucky guess. I don’t think I can pretend it’s anything more than that.”
The Simian raised a finger and smiled. “Ah, you have a lot to learn about lying, lad. Never let others know how much you know, and always let on that you know much more than that. People will be happy to fill in the gaps themselves. Even if you think it’ll make no difference, and we’ll all die horrible deaths at the hands of some psychotic demi-god, what harm would it be to tell the others that everything will be okay until then?”
“I don’t know. It just feels… wrong to say that.”
“It wouldn’t be wrong. It’d just be incorrect.” Farris smiled. “I’ll give you some time to think on it.” He turned to leave. In the waning light of the frosty dusk outside, Farris’s figure disappeared into the shadows.
Maybe he has a point, said Sir Bearach. Is there any harm in lying to those that shouldn’t know the truth?
Perhaps, thought Fionn. He could have a point. What harm is there in lying, if there’s a greater good to come from it?
***
Throughout the rest of the day, news spread that the young Pyromaster was planning on addressing the camp. Although the soldiers of the Triad and the Churchguard were all stationed throughout the old castle, the message had no problem reaching every inch of the Academy grounds. Known to some as Fionn, to others as simply the Last Battlemage, this young man suddenly filled the role of a leader of sorts for an army desperately in need of one. And there were other rumours too—that he had been buried for two days in the pit that opened beneath the battlefield and lived to tell the tale.
By nightfall, dozens of men and women filled the Academy courtyard. Farris stood to the front, and constantly turned back to gauge who else was there. The Carríga woman stood behind Farris. Despite all that had happened, her steel-plate still shone. Even though the last day of everyone’s lives lay just around the corner, she had taken the time to clean her armour. Farris wasn’t quite sure how to take this.
Next to her was Padraig Tuathil. He avoided Farris’s gaze, standing straight and tall.
I saved his life many times over, realised Farris. The least he could do is thank me.
“What do you think he’ll say,” whispered Nicole, over Farris’s shoulder. “Did you talk to him?”
“We’ll see,” said Farris, eyeing Fionn as the young lad paced up and down ahead of them. “Soon enough, I hope.”
Abruptly, the mage stopped. He turned to the crowd and narrowed his eyes. His lips moved silently, but what words they formed, Farris could only guess.
“My name is Fionn,” he announced. All went still on hearing this. “I never had a second name. I was brought up in this very castle as an orphan, training to be a mage while never knowing where I came from.”
He paused, and locked eyes with Farris.
“But now I know,” Fionn continued. He looked up at the crowd. “Now I know that King Diarmuid, Third and Nineteenth, was my father.”
A ripple of excitement tore through the army, but the mage didn’t give them a chance to consider the implication of this revelation themselves.
“The blood of Seletoth runs through my veins, as does His holy power. Power that Morrígan seeks. Power that drove her to taking everything away from us. The Lady Meadhbh showed me this truth before She died, and She showed me what we must do next to win this war. I must travel to Mount Selyth alone and protect the Lord Himself.”
Gasps sprang up throughout Fionn’s audience, and some of the joy and excitement vanished from the atmosphere.
