Fionn attempted to cry out but nothing but a low gurgle escaped his dried lips. Before he could figure out was happening, he found himself being pulled, then carried, then pushed over the side of the boat.
With a heavy splash, he fell into the freezing water and sank into the darkness below.
***
Time passed. How much, Fionn did not know. He sat at the bottom of the sea, the weight of the chains pulling him down against the ocean floor. All he could do was stare up into the faint light of the sky and watch as day became night became day became night.
Until one day, the light grew brighter. Brighter and brighter that before, until it threatened to blind him. He closed his eyes tight, hearing only the sound of rushing water all around him.
“Fionn,” came a voice. It was the first time he had heard anything for some time. “Fionn the Red.”
Fionn opened his eyes, and he saw a woman. A woman dressed in dark clothes with giant, black feathered wings spread out from each shoulder. She hung in the air. Fionn still lay on the ocean floor, but the ocean itself was parted around him, with sea rushing like waterfalls either side.
Did she do this? thought Fionn. The woman was strangely familiar, but Fionn could recall little from the life that came before this. “Come, Fionn,” she said, reaching out a hand. “Lord Seletoth is waiting for us.”
***
Fionn woke with a yelp, grabbing at his throat. His heart raced. When he realised where he was, in the cave in the Godspine with Farris, Padraig, Aislinn, and Nicole, his breathing returned to a natural pace, and he started to relax.
Was that a dream? he thought. Again, it seemed far too realistic, far too intentional, for want of a better word, to be a dream.
He was walking from Roseán, he recalled. After Yarlaith had healed him. Then he was ambushed.
Something about that was vaguely familiar to Fionn. Like he heard of something like that happening before.
Of course, he realised. The Lady said that was fated to happen, but it did not come to pass. He recalled her words. “Fionn the Red. Set upon by bandits on the way from Roseán to Point Grey.”
He pressed his hand against his head, trying to recall more details.
They saw I could not be killed, so they buried me at sea….
And then Morrígan had found him. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to recall what she had said.,
Seletoth is waiting for us? That doesn’t make any sense. Sir Bearach what do you think?
But there was no response. The dead knight would never pass up the chance to make a quick comment about Fionn’s dreams, so why was he holding his tongue on this occasion?
Sir Bearach? said Fionn, standing up. Sir Bearach? Where are you? The familiar source of magic, the remnants of Sir Bearach’s soul that had always been so close to Fionn… was gone.
“No,” said Fionn out loud. He sprang up to examine the walls of the chamber.
“What’s the matter, Firemaster?” said Padraig, yawning. “It looks like your magic has saved us yet again. And the storm seems to have passed.”
“I don’t care,” snapped Fionn, pressing is hands against the stone. It was still warm to touch.
“It must have burned all night,” he whispered. “Bearach.…”
“What did you say?” asked Aislinn, gathering her things from the floor.
“Nothing,” muttered Fionn. “Just… just a dream.”
The others went to work repacking their belongings. Farris went off to fetch the mounts. All five had made it through the night in good health.
But Fionn’s thoughts remained on the knight.
Was it too much for him? To keep the fire going so long? Did it… burn him out?
Usually, if a mage was to overspend themselves, they would just require ample rest to restore their energy. For this reason, in marching armies, it was important for the battlemages to have better conditions to sleep in than the rest of the soldiers.
Perhaps that was where his mind was, thought Fionn. Thinking my rest was more important than his.
He cursed himself. Sir Bearach had already given his life to protect a family from a mountain troll. And now he had given his soul just so Fionn could get a good night’s sleep.
In a daze, Fionn ate with the others. They broke their fast with food pilfered from Hunter’s Den, though Fionn couldn’t taste anything.
They set off, back over the path Padraig had led them, and then beyond, deeper into the mountains. Although snow covered the trail, they progressed with ease, and a much faster pace than before.
After some hours, when the sun stood high in a clear, frigid sky, the path took a sharp turn south, sloping downwards aggressively. Upon seeing this, the party broke out into a fast trot, which they maintained for an excited half hour, until the trees westwards grew thin, and the wide, flat Midlands came into view.
After all the narrow roads and tight passages they had come through, this was truly a welcome sight. To the west lay the city of Rosca Umhír, with the fortress of Keep Carríga roaring over its walls. To the south, a tiny fishing village hugged the southern coast. And far to the north lay the city of Ardh Sidhe, with many tall towers and spires blurred in the distant mist.
Though these sights all paled in comparison to what lay further west, beyond Rosca Umhír: a mighty mountain that dwarfed all that surrounded it. It stood alone, in the middle of the flatlands, like a wart upon smooth skin.
The company all paused as this came into view. Padraig whooped in delight.
“I told you!” he said. “I told you we were on the right track!”
“I believe you are still mistaken,” said Nicole. She pointed northwards. “We’re far from our destination, now closer to the River Tine than Ardh Sidhe. Your path, Captain Tuathil, has taken us far further south than you had intended.”
