“How much longer?” said Aislinn, turning the heads of the two healers tending to Cathal Carríga with her tone.
“This was the only thing that kept him alive, milady,” said one of the healers, now dismantling the apparatus that held the network of tubes that once gripped Cathal’s body. “If you have anything you want to say, now would be the best time.”
If Aislinn had heard those words, she gave no indication. The Lady of Rosca Umhír continued to stare down at her brother.
Bearach, thought Fionn. I think… I think I should tell her. This could very well be our—
I said no! barked the knight. Just let her grieve for one brother at a time.
A low murmur escaped Cathal’s greying lips, though nothing close to a spoken word. Fionn had read about this before. Death rattles: the sound of a man’s last breath leaving his body. But something flickered in the patient’s eyes, and for the first time since Fionn had first seen him, Cathal Carríga blinked.
A lucid glint replaced Cathal’s dead stare as he rolled over to face Fionn. In silence, he considered Fionn’s over-sized right arm for a moment, then turned to the other side to look up at the giant of a lady that stood over him.
“Ash…” he groaned, something close to a smile creeping across his face. “Am I home?”
“Cathal,” whispered Aislinn. All her stoic strength vanished as she stooped down to face her brother. “Is that really you?”
“I… I do not know,” croaked Cathal. “I heard you… I thought I already passed. But now you’re here. Where… where is Bearach?”
Aislinn shook her head. “I don’t know. So much has happened, Cathal. There’s so much to tell.”
The man flinched and shook his head. “I heard talk… talk of war. Are we… fighting still?”
“No. The war is over, Cathal. We’ve won.”
He nodded. “Good. I can hear them calling to me, Ash. The voices of Tierna Meall.”
“Don’t go,” said Aislinn, taking Cathal’s hand in her own. “You were gone for so long. They’ll fix you up and—”
“No… it has come. I can hear them. I can hear Mother… Father. I can hear….”
Cathal’s voice trailed off into another low moan, then he went still.
“Cathal!” cried Aislinn, placing a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Come back! Please! Don’t leave me here alone. There’s… there’s no one left.” She shook him, but Cathal Carríga did not respond.
“Aislinn…” said Fionn. “I’m sorry. I —”
“I fled home when we were attacked,” she whispered. “I left Mother and Father and everyone else there behind and came here. Just so I would no longer be alone.”
“And you’re not alone.”
“I appreciate your kindness, Fionn, but apart from you, I’m alone in a city of strangers. And I’m all that’s left of Rosca Umhír. I’m all that’s left to remember that great city.”
“No,” said Fionn. “That’s not true. There’s —”
Please, came Bearach’s voice at the back of Fionn’s mind. His anger had left, leaving only a weak plea. Don’t.
Fionn obeyed the words of the dead knight, leaving Aislinn to deal with her loss on her own. If only Bearach would agree to have Aislinn speak to him through Fionn. Then at least he’d feel like all he had gone through had served some good. Some purpose. He looked down at his severed hand again. No, Fionn was just as powerless here as he was out on the battlefield at the Goldgate. Sure, he had helped turn the tide of that battle with his fire, but once Morrígan turned up, his magic was useless. To her, he was like a blade of grass trampled under the foot of a mammoth.
Without warning, the door to the clinic swung open with a slam. A figure as wide as its frame entered, taller than all within the room. With coarse, brown hair covering every inch of his body, the Simian strode towards Fionn without paying much mind to anyone else.
“Firemaster Fionn,” he said, his deep voice booming through the room. “The council are meeting now, and your attendance is required.”
“Ah, Farris,” said Fionn. “How did your meeting with the Arch-Canon go?”
“Not as expected,” said the Simian. “He’s seeing that an adequate portion of the skyfleet is fitted with focus-crystals for the flight south, and he’s giving us a portion of the Churchguard to bolster our numbers.”
“Oh,” said Fionn. He’s being sarcastic. Even after living in Penance for more than a year, Fionn never really understood Simian humour.
“And why are the council meeting at such short notice?”
“To make preparations for the flight south,” said Farris slowly, as if Fionn would have trouble understanding. “The resources of the city must now be re-allocated to sustain the Churchguard and the Triad’s supply-line.”
Fionn’s eyes widened. He glanced over to Aislinn, who shrugged.
“Anyway,” said Farris. “Your attendance is required. That’s all.”
As abruptly as he came, Farris left.
“Was he serious?” asked Fionn. “The Church handed their forces over to us? Old Cathbad is thinking about something other than himself for once?”
“I don’t know,” said Aislinn. “But I’m sure we’ll see soon enough.”
Chapter 3:
What is Right
For a long time, my people were lost, wandering through the hills of Arinor without a home, or a purpose. Then the Grey Plague came, destroying any hope they had of finding somewhere to settle.
