Another Random Piece of Art John Preston Wasn't There to Pill to Death

Merlin of the Celts, First Incarnation:

The Roman Invasions, or, True Identity

Dedication

To Merlin as he was originally worshipped by the Celts, before being Christianized; to he who made me a believer in the gods, and under whose guidance I have found the deeper aspects and further walls of my faith: May I know your wisdom, and your love, eternally, that they might shine from my heart also. Blessed be.

Merlin, to you do I write this poem;

For you it is by whose love I am sent

Surely to this world so full of the meant

To find the meaning absent in its veils.

For what is it, what is meant,

To not find meaning therein?

I tell you it is nothing, nothing more,

But when I look to you, I find more:

For you it was who blessed me so;

For by your hand do I prophesy;

For, know as I say it so do I know,

By your hand do I believe.

In your honor do I write this novel,

In your honor do I write this poem;

For though from the Cauldron’s deep wells

Am I brought to earthly fruition,

For though the Goddess gave me soul,

Yet in you, my Lord, first patron,

I find more than what is meant; and the toll

On ignorance is but begun.

Gods and Goddesses to Note

The Morrigan- three goddesses who both signal death and bring it; they fly over the field of battle and take the fallen to the Otherworld

The Goddess- the chief goddess of the Celts, archetypal femininity, associated with the moon and the Earth, divided into three phases, Maiden, Mother, and Crone

The Crone Goddess- the oldest of the three aspects of the Goddess; she is in power at the time of the waning moon, and represents wisdom and death

The Mother Goddess- the Goddess in her full power, at the time of the full moon; she is the nurturing aspect of femininity

The Maiden- the Goddess in her youth, at the time of the waxing moon; she is beauty, youth, and romantic love

The God- the chief god of the Celts, archetypal masculinity, associated with the sun and all masculine things, such as battle, sex, and tool-creation

Chapter I

A New Kind of Life

The day Dimunay died something inside Kyle burned till it froze.

It was like any other day Kyle had spent with Dimunay- just the two of them. Kyle never wanted for friends, though he had only one. Dimunay was the greatest druid of all time, and Kyle loved the man with all his heart. Kyle’s only issue with his foster-father was how he was so bent on condemning the future, of late.

“It’s been an honor teaching you, Kyle,” said Dimunay, staring at Kyle through his aged eyes, his white hair sparkling in the sunlight that came from above the temple in the clearing in the forest. “I am glad you will have become a full druid before the landing of the Roman legions.”

Kyle smiled through his tears. “Father…”

Dimunay made a correcting sound in his throat. “Don’t’ call me that; Kyle. I love you like a son, and were it not for the memory of my best friend, I would gladly call myself your father- but your true father is dead and buried. And when you see him, I want him to feel I was true to his memory. Not that you’ll see him before I do. Age was gentle on me, and I feel about like keeling over right now.”

“All right, Dimunay. I will always miss our time together. But I wish you wouldn’t worry so, after we’ve gone our separate ways. A Roman soldier could never defeat a Celtic warrior.”

“The war-machine is set in motion. There is no stopping the Romans.”

Dimunay was the kindest, most self-sacrificing man Kyle had ever known, as well as the greatest druid. Perhaps, then again, that was what made him the greatest druid of all time. Nonetheless, sitting there beneath the beautiful sky, with the birds chirping in the chill sunshine, and a light layer of frost on the ground- here, beside this sacred altar, the shafts of sacrifices- yes, here, Dimunay’s worries sounded preposterous.

After a silence, Dimunay smiled and said, “If you are ever to become a great druid, son, you must learn to interact with people better. No one will listen to your rulings if you do not treat them respectfully.” He laughed. “But then, I never became a great druid- just another face in the crowd of the elite. I suppose we always are a face in some crowd or another, however we might stand out in other crowds. But you show promise. One day you will be better than I. One day you will work great magicks. One day you will do the Goddess huge honors and services. But,” he said, putting on a thinking expression, “first you’ve got to learn to listen.” He laughed again.

“Sorry, master,” Kyle said quickly. “I meant no offense- I’m just lost in my thoughts, that’s all.”

Dimunay smiled. “None taken, son. There is no need to apologize to me. I’m just saying that you need better tact if you are to bring peace to tribes- and especially if you are to negotiate peace with the Romans. That is beyond the power of our high-king.”

There it was again. Even if the Romans conquered the British Isles, Kyle would never negotiate with them. He and Dimunay would raise an army- the druids could do that, though they seldom did- and bring honor to the gods they served with the blood of their foes.

It occurred to Kyle he was being silent again, and he said quickly, trying to make up for a previous mistake, “If the Romans attack us, how will I complete my training?”

Dimunay frowned. “Ever be truthful, Kyle. You are usually good at it. Do not break good habits. A time will come when you’ll be on your own, as hard as it might be to believe, when I am no longer able to guide you. Then you must turn within for you answers, as the seers do, as all druids, even non-seers, learn to do at their peak. You do not have to worry about what you ask yet, but what you do not realize is that soon you will. Remember, the weak and frail of today are the mighty of tomorrow, and the thriving youth of today are faded, old, decrepit or dead tomorrow. Everything rises, everything falls- as will your life. You are about to rise- and fall at the same time. So my wife made plain to me before she died.”

Dimunay’s wife had been a seer, and she had died yesterday from a geise, or agreement with a god, that she had broken. Her death had been her punishment; Dimunay had asked her to let herself be reconciled by a priest, but she had refused. A priest had come to see her the next day when she got sick, but he could do nothing. No herb, no technique would save her, and he had sworn it was her punishment for the breaking of the geise.

Lost in thought, Kyle was about to offer his condolences to his master, but before he could, Dimunay continued with a warm smile: “My time is short today, so let’s get started with your test. Show me telekinesis.”

This startled Kyle; his master had never hurried in the past. Probably some paranoia about the Romans.

Kyle felt a quick pang of excitement in his belly, and looked at a pinecone sitting on the forest floor. He moved it up into the air, a movement caused by simply wishing it to do so and believing he could, for telekinesis relied heavily on belief, practice being what developed belief and confidence. Looking at the gently shaking pinecone slightly above their heads, Kyle smiled. He had taken so long to get to this day; now, he would soon pass druid school. He moved it toward Dimunay, and set it lightly on his white, curly haired head, then gave a silly smile.

Dimunay laughed, shook his head, and watched it fall. “The day you become head druid,” said Dimunay, “the world will become one big gigantic druidic playpen!” Kyle laughed, and Dimunay smiled at him. “Now levitate.”

Kyle did not even stand; instead, he let his torso rise, and his feet limply fall below him. He tucked them back up into his rear, the feeling of weightlessness still enthralling him after a full two months of being able to fly, though it had lost some of its high. He flew above Dimunay’s head, and, letting his legs fall, let them dance jovially without touching Dimunay’s head. Dimunay grunted, pointed for Kyle to return to his former place, and then burst out laughing.

“I am going to miss your silliness, Kyle, when you finally grow up,” said Dimunay.

Kyle nodded.

“Now,” said Dimunay, clearing a spot in the forest floor with movements of his hands, “show me pyrokinesis.” And, piling a small pile of frosted pine straw on the center, Dimunay glanced at it. A flame sprouted from the midst, with a lot of smoke. Kyle was used to smoke, but he preferred the strong scent of smoking herbs; his favorite was eucalyptus leaf. Most of the herbs he liked had to be imported, but a few grew in the forests. One of his favorite activities as a learning druid was finding proper flowers in the forest for the full druids to use in spells and sacrifices.

“Make it larger,” said Dimunay; “but be careful not to catch the forest on fire.”

Kyle nodded. The forest was the sacred place of the gods, and home to all their creatures. Seldom was a beast slain without an offering or at least a prayer to the gods of the forests, or one’s patron deity.

Clearing his head, Kyle melded his mind with the flame, and raised it up toward the forest roof. It was beautiful: a long, thin flame stretching some hundred feet, shrouded in greenery that stretched far higher, provided by majestic trees frequently ten feet in diameter, things Kyle took for granted. The claims that their society was barbaric often angered him; was it not more barbaric to rape the land and build unneeded massive structures made of the gods’ forests?

“I want to thank you,” said Kyle, “for letting me do this on my own today. It means a lot to me, Dimunay.”

And when Kyle met his master’s glance, a tear glistened in Dimunay’s eye. “Thank you, Kyle. It is nice to know you appreciate what I’ve done for you. Just so you know, if I had any regrets, it would be not spending more time with you outside of the class.”

They gazed there at each other a moment, the old sage and the youth (young for a druid, anyway; he’d started when he was five, and was now twenty five), and Kyle banished the flame so that they could hug.

When he had drawn back, Kyle heard Dimunay say, “I’ll tell you what, Kyle. I’ve seen you do these things many, many times before now. I’ll just say you passed the tests, or spread the word. Here.”

Dimunay dug in his pocket, then handed Kyle a slip of paper with writing on it. Letters being sacred, and this being the accumulation of all his efforts thus far, Kyle took the paper with a mounting mixture of relish, respect and awe.

“Go give this to Gong, in the Sikili village,” said Dimunay.

Kyle nodded, and hugged his master again. He swore he felt the gods’ embrace in his master’s, saw the waters of the Goddess in his tears, heard the wind of the God whistling through the trees in his whisper when he said, “I might not see you again, understand, Kyle; but you are ready. If I did not think you were ready, if I thought your training was not complete, I would not have given you that paper so freely. When and if you come to work at a temple, hang it there, and be proud, for today you have earned something far greater than any Roman will ever know.”

Now Kyle was crying himself, half with joy at the becoming of a druid, half with sorrow at saying goodbye to his father.

As they parted, Dimunay said more loudly, “Your father was a brave man, your mother a loving wife and a wise guide to him. You honor both of them with the man you have become, Kyle. Blessed be.”

He clasped Kyle’s hand briefly, and then he walked off through the forest toward the South. Kyle knelt and said a prayer at the stone altar sitting there, with its great pillars and the pike on which stood the head of a once- powerful king, whose guidance, it was said, had protected the Celts from the Romans for so long.

Then Kyle heard a shout, and the breaking of branches. Anger shot through him. Someone was being careless in the groves of the gods. He turned to the head for guidance, whispering, “Lend me your strength, Bran,” and stood.

Then he heard his master’s voice: “So you’ve finally made it. Many winters, more summers. You cannot imagine how long we’ve been waiting for the chance to kill you all.”

Dimunay did not sound at all himself- and then Kyle realized what had happened. The Romans had ridden onto the British Isles, and now Kyle’s master was standing in front of them.

“Tell me what to do!” Kyle exclaimed bitterly to the head of Bran.

And he remembered: “A time will come when you will be on your own, and I will not be able to guide you. Then you must turn within for your answers.” Dimunay had been doing more than conjecturing; he had been speaking of the soon. Kyle lived alone with Dimunay; only some of the students in his class could have told him the Romans were invading, and they had not. Kyle knew, then, that Dimunay had tried to prevent him from knowing. He had not wanted Kyle to lose his innocence too soon. Kyle thanked Bran for his guidance, and, despite a strong sense of warning against it, walked over toward Dimunay, briskly at first, then breaking into a run. He apologized to the diva within a tree as he passed it, breaking its branch; but somehow the sacred had become profane, and rage was churning in him.

The talking had grown quieter, but now there was a zing, a thud, and Dimunay screaming in pain. Kyle ran back to the altar and prayed at Bran’s head again. Then he heard footsteps trudging through the woods, dragging something across the leaves. Quickly he stole behind a tree on the other side, watched two Roman soldiers approach, with something dragging from their hands in between them, something big. A third man walked behind them, carrying a large cross over his shoulder. All three were covered in armor, with swords hanging at their sides and the edges of shields glinting in the sun from their backs as white vapor issued rhythmically from their half-open mouths. Kyle’s first impression was that they were very different from Celtic warriors: they were stiffer, less ferocious, more organized, with a sense of business about them. The thing they were carrying groaned, and Kyle recognized it for his master. An arrow was sticking up from his lower leg.

Kyle was too busy staring in horror to think of running or fighting. The third man walked around the other two, stopped in front of the altar, only ten feet or so from Kyle, and stuck the cross on the ground. The two soldiers dropped Dimunay and came forward, one holding the cross bars as the third man and the other drew their swords and hammered the cross into the ground with their sword hilts. Dimunay sat up on his elbows, and a look of alarm spread on his face when he caught Kyle’s eye. He pointed away from the shrine with a severe look.

Then one of the men hoisted Dimunay up onto the cross, and held Dimunay’s left arm to the left crossbeam. Kyle didn’t understand. What were they doing? The Romans had no magic. Did they expect him to just stay there?

Then the third man, who had carried the cross, took out a hammer from underneath one of his thigh plates and a bag of nails from underneath one of his shoulder plates. Kyle stared, hardly aware of his partly visible body. His legs and arms were trembling, and his torso was twisting occasionally in the agony of what he felt powerless to change. He watched as, turning half way around so that Kyle could see only the left side of his face, the third man looked out of the bottom corners of his eyes at Dimunay and said:

“You’re a druid, aren’t you?”

“I am,” said Dimunay.

Why was he telling the truth? Why? Was this some confused notion of honor that Kyle had never fully understood?

“Where are your students, old fool?”

“I don’t have any. I’m retired.”

The man grunted. “Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t really care, son,” said Dimunay.

Kyle swore the man’s face was more rigid than that of a statue of the Morrigan in battle, more cruel than the face of a king demanding that the druids not intervene on his killing of an enemy’s child.

“Name’s Julius Diesarum,” said the one who had carried the cross. “High ranking officer in the Roman army. And my special purpose- do you know what that might be?” His face had gone from hard to sadistically playful.

“Again, I don’t care. But I don’t suppose my curiosity or lack thereof matters anymore to you than I do.”

“Well, you’re starting to get the gist of things, old fool,” said Julius. “But you’re still really, really missing the mark, druid- you matter a lot to me. It matters that you end, here, now. You druids rule the people here- that’s what I’m told. Am I right, or am I right?” Dimunay didn’t answer, and Julius repeated, “Am I right?”

Kyle couldn’t breathe in the silence that followed.

Dimunay shrugged. “I don’t deign to tell you, child,” he said.

Julius drew a dagger from a sheath in his boot, and put it to Dimunay’s throat. “You’re beginning to remind me of some people back home that we call ‘little Christs’- or maybe you’re too stupid to keep up with the times.” He made a big gesture with his free hand, saying in a mock-old man’s voice, “Why, when I was your age, the Romans had lost all their battles against us drathetics. Then when we started losing, we still didn’t know Zeus was king of the world. All fall before the Father of Olympus. Now we’ve made a big leap: we want to join the ‘little Christs’ and die like their crazy old leader.” Julius grinned, pricking Dimunay’s cheek with the dagger. Dimunay didn’t flinch.

Then, as blood dribbled down, Julius put the dagger to Dimunay’s throat again and said, “Listen. Be a little Christ if you want. Be a drathetic if you want. You’re too old and frail to live much longer anyway. But if you do happen to want to live, you’ll work with me.”

Dimunay laughed, though his laugh was riddled with pain from the arrow in his leg. “Here I thought you were going to kill me regardless.”

Kyle’s heart was racing. He glanced briefly down at the small pool of sticky blood on the leaves at Dimunay’s foot.

“Have it your way,” said Julius, eyeing Dimunay carefully. “All of you druids- excuse me- drathetics- are just like the little Christs back home. Think your pitiful death can challenge the might of Rome. Ha! That’s what the Senate thought, controlling us with their dogmatic magick and rituals, sacrificing those who opposed them to the gods, all under a secrecy that still isn’t fully broken throughout the Empire. They used to control everyone under their spellcraft, curses and such- we overthrew them, and we’ll overthrow you.”

“We’re not like them,” said Dimunay. “You are.”

“Have it your way, fool.” Julius Diesarum put his dagger back, fumbled with the hammer and bag of nails, took one out, and held up the nail to Dimunay’s arm. Kyle was clawing the tree, hardly aware of anything but that nail next to Dimunay’s arm.

“I’d like to say this will all be over quickly, drathetic- I think I’m going to call you bastards that publicly when I’m done here, I will; we’ll crucify all of you right in a row, and then we’ll heap all your lifeless bodies in a heap and burn them. It can be a human sacrifice. I’ll let your spirit preside over it.”

Julius laughed, drawing back the hammer, then stopped and continued.

“It will have to be your spirit, you know. I wish you could be around for the grand crucifixion- but hey, maybe you can work a healing spell!” He put his face an inch from Dimunay’s. Dimunay stared back coldly. Before Julius could speak, however, Kyle could hear a spitting sound, and saw Julius draw back in disgust.

“Well you’re no fun.” He took a deep breath, then, wiping his face, said, “Won’t work with us, eh? All right then, fair enough. I gave you your chance. Tell your gods I’ll be coming for them next.”

Julius put the nail back up to Dimunay’s hand. There was one quick stroke, and blood sprayed up and down, mostly down, from the crossbeam as Dimunay gave an inhuman shriek of pain.

“Stop!” Kyle shouted, unable to control himself anymore. “Damn you!”

Julius looked Kyle in the eye, glaring, glanced at Dimunay, and took a step toward Kyle- but Dimunay grabbed him with his free hand and hurled him backward into his men.

“Run Kyle, you fool!” shouted Dimunay. Julius removed the dagger from his boot again, and ran at Dimunay, thrusting the dagger forward into his belly. Dimunay stiffened, then there was a spitting sound, and blood shot on Julius’ face. Julius drew back, wiped his face angrily, and thrust the blade to the hilt through Dimunay’s throat- but Dimunay had already gone limp.

Kyle felt tears streaming down from his eyes, whispered, “No, no,” as Julius started after him. Kyle could not use his powers, he couldn’t- it was forbidden to let foreigners know of druidic powers, they might exploit them, use them, conquer the Celts by the power of their own magic- but that forbidding hadn’t saved Dimunay’s life… Dimunay! He had to avenge his teacher’s death, he could not let this go, it was written in every honor code ever passed down from Celtic parent to Celtic son, every druid to every student, every Dimunay to every Kyle. But he could not avenge him without using his magickal skills…. He had no time. Julius was advancing now, a look of hatred burning in his eyes, chiseled into his face. Why did Julius hate the druids?

Kyle would have to be strong now. Now he must be his own teacher. Now he must govern himself, be his own master, his own warrior, and his own druid. Kyle would overcome the Romans. He would overcome persecution of the druids. He would save this world from the apocalyptic invasion of a beautiful people. But for now, he must run. To where?

He glanced at his master’s head now, wishing he could take it with him. But Julius and two Roman soldiers stood between him and the head he would most revere, more, perhaps, than that of any god, even, that he had ever worshipped. He would have to find guidance elsewhere. Aye, he would go to Cerridwen’s shrine, not far from here, and seek guidance there. He would have to lose the Romans first.

Kyle spun around, started running. Julius’ dagger flew by his face, grazing his neck as blood sprayed from it out in front of him- but it had missed the mass of his neck, and it stuck with a thud and a shower of bark into a tree. Kyle ran fast, hoping to outdistance the heavily clad Roman soldiers before they could get help. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Julius running off away from Kyle, doubtlessly back to his troops, with the two Roman soldiers pursuing Kyle. Kyle darted around a large tree, panic seizing him. No. He had to be strong.

Kyle took a deep breath, and rose silently upward into the tree. A slight breeze stirred the branches, a breeze not of his making. Surely Dimunay’s spirit was watching over him.

Kyle stopped in the tree’s upper branches and did not look down. He did not know how long he waited there, but, for a long time, he could hear the soldiers’ footsteps trampling around and their confused, discouraged voices. He felt such hatred burning in his heart, that he wondered if ever he’d been graced by the Goddess, or any of Her lesser forms. He could not feel Her love now- only burning, hateful fear. He wanted death for these two men, but he dared not try to give it. Yet already the seeds of change were sewn in him, and he knew that nothing would ever be the same.

When Kyle could no longer hear the soldiers’ footsteps, and it seemed that their dawdling had led elsewhere, he looked out. He looked to every side before he came down: he looked between the two branches that supported him, leaning out just enough to see the base of the tree. He looked in a small branch-hole to his left, peering with his face to the branches, careful not to lean too heavily so as not to make a sound. He looked all around the side opposite him, which was bare except below; and then he descended to a lower branch telekinetically, so as to see for sure that there was no one below him before he revealed himself. When he was sure of all this, he lowered himself to the ground, and sat down at the base of the tree, head in his hands.

He was breathing heavily, tears streaming down his face now that he had a second to mourn. Before they had been tears he could not stop; now, at his leisure, he let them come. He cried like this for some time, then stood, and ambled off in the direction of his master’s body, yet wary of the Romans that might have come.

He found no one there, however; they had not found Master important enough, he supposed. Silently he knelt, struggling to control himself as tears tore down his cheeks like vicious hounds. He drew his athame, drew an invoking pentagram over his body, drawing his finger from his head to his left thigh, then to his right shoulder, then to his left shoulder, then to his right thigh, and finally back to his head. Then solemnly he put the dagger to Dimunay’s head, and cut away at it. Blood washed over his hands, and he swore that never had finer blood been spilled. When he had severed the head from the body, he unhitched his knapsack, pouring out the victuals therein. He had never cared less for food. He stuck the head inside, gazing at it as he closed the knapsack, a stray sob tearing at his face as his unintelligible voice whined high pitched. Then there was peace inside him, for he knew his master’s guidance would always be with him, and that, anytime he needed guidance, he could simply look at the head. But now the head seemed to guide him toward Cerridwen’s shrine, and he ambled toward it, yet wary of Roman sacrilege thereof.

As he walked through the forest, it seemed that every tree bowed in sorrow with the rustling of the wind as he passed. The birds seemed to sing sacred incantations of mourning. The wind seemed to come from Avalon, where the dead lived, and it seemed to Kyle that Dimunay was blowing him along his path, as the wind shifted to whip around his head and shoulders- and it even seemed that, for a moment, it was warmer than it usually was in the late Fall.

As Kyle neared the shrine of Cerridwen, he heard drums, beating a Roman tune. No longer afraid, but enraged and desperate, Kyle began to sprint for the shrine. He would make sure that, this time, no druid lost his life.

As he drew closer still, he began to smell oil, and his eyes bulged at the thought of a shrine being burned. He ran faster, though it had seemed he was running his fastest already, with the vigor only a fierce youth could have- fierce, for though he was not fierce, fierce were the Romans rapidly making him. Over his heart there passed a shadow, and he felt as chill as the wind that blew at his back.

May the Morrigan fly before me, and may Cuchulain and Queen Maeve fight as one beside me.

He stopped just inside the clearing.

There were many Romans inside the clearing; there must have been twenty or thirty of them, looking up at the peopled crosses propped up across Father Sky. But Kyle’s heart no longer feared numbers, for, for all their military might, for all their claim to faith, they held not the power of the gods at their back, and no spiritual leader’s head was there to guide them.

Nonetheless, Kyle had to admit it would be foolhardy to try to save everyone here. No, there was nothing he could do. He looked, shrinking back, at the oil-soaked women and men tied to crosses just in front of the shrine. This was sacrilege. And this was murder. Blood called for blood.

But one woman in particular caught Kyle’s eye: a girl only slightly older than he, with long blond hair tied back behind her head in a ponytail that swayed in the wind; eyes like the deep ocean’s, a beautiful, deep blue, and a thin, short stature that nonetheless commanded respect. But he had seen this girl before… where?

Kyle tried to keep his emotions in check, for something in her bitter stare at the Roman who was walking the torch toward her was tugging at his heart. It was as though he was attracted to her, though he had never before been attracted to anyone. But… who was she? For he was sure he had seen her before.

Then an image flashed in his mind. A painting. A man had paid for the painting of this woman, a man of great prestige: the head druid himself, Gong. And Kyle thought quickly, for never was there a more precious life to save: for this, then, was the head druid’s daughter.

He couldn’t receive guidance under these conditions; surely this was why Dimunay had brought him here: to save the girl- Alyssa, Kyle remembered her name was. But he could not save the others- there were too many Romans, and fifteen people could not very well run as a group. No- the torchbearer was kneeling to the ground- he had to save her now!

Kyle melded in heart with the crucifix of the head druid’s daughter, tried to move it out- but it only shook. However, there was one positive result.

The torchbearer fell back on his heels, staring upward in disbelief. “Sir!” he said in a booming, deep voice. “The cross is shaking!”

“Kill them, fool! I’ll have you court marshaled for cowardice!” shouted a familiar voice.

Then a man Kyle recognized stepped forward: Julius. He snatched the torch from the prostrate soldier and kicked his face into the ground, saying, “It’s the wind, nitwit.” So saying, he cast the torch onto the ground, and the shrine was enveloped in flame as everyone but Alyssa screamed.

Kyle had no time left. He would not let her die. Not her. He had lost someone already today, and this girl that he had just seen- it was as though he had known her his whole life.

Kyle ran into the clearing, Romans drawing swords at the sight of him, nonetheless looking surprised and disorderly, especially for Roman soldiers. One said, “Look at his clothes! You’d think he was trying to do one better than the sun!”

Julius Diesarum met him there with sword in hand, but Kyle rose over him, flying onto the top of Alyssa’s crucifix. He sent the fire that was burning her legs from her out over the soldiers. There was no turning back now.

Never was there a finer sight to see, than a healthy portion of a Roman legion running in cowardice from a lone man who was bent on revenge.

Julius Diesarum, however, did not move. He drew out a bow, and shot one shot into Alyssa’s chest as Kyle untied her. In rage, Kyle sent a jet of flame from one of the now dead women beside him into Julius, whose scream replaced those he had silenced. Two of his men, the ones who had been with him before, came back quickly and ran with him toward where Kyle knew there was a stream.

In the singing heat, Kyle untied Alyssa. When it became clear that the Romans were gone, he struggled with the flame a minute, and then he managed to extinguish it, banishing it from this plane.

As the hand rope came undone, Alyssa fell silently to hang from the remaining rope, the one at her left hand. Kyle untied this, too, and she fell to the ground, limp, but curling slightly so that Kyle knew she was still alive.

Kyle turned her, a mass of burns and blood, over, and removed the arrow. Blood gushed from the wound, but Kyle closed his eyes, breathing in blue energy, and, laying his hands over the wound, directed it into her. The bleeding stopped, and he proceeded to heal her burns. She was unconscious, evidently, and Kyle was glad; he imagined it would be difficult to heal someone who was wild in contortions of pain.

When he had finished, Kyle reached into a compartment of his knapsack he hadn’t emptied, took out salt, and sprinkled it over her nose. She sat up with a start, and looked wildly first at him, then at the burnt corpses of her companions. Her blue eyes looked more destroyed than beautiful at the moment as Kyle tried to grab her, shushing her before she could scream, but she shoved him off of her, and rose, screaming at him,

“Did my father send you? Ha? You wanna save me, let all my friends die? Was that his plan?”

“I’m not from your father,” Kyle started, but she was still shouting over him.

“You can tell him I’m still fighting for my people, that if he wanted my loyalty he should have saved my friends, I’m not going to be left here alone, and tell him I said I’d sooner die before I’d give up on this fight. Give me a sword, and you’re welcome to help me fight, or you can go die protecting my god-forsaken father.”

Kyle didn’t know what to make of this. She was mostly naked, her clothes having caught fire, and, now that she was healed, he found the sight attractive. He could barely keep his eyes off her. She was beautiful. But, on the other hand, she was screaming at him. She wanted to go off on her own, that was clear, but it was equally clear that if she did, she’d be killed. A more careless person Kyle swore he had never seen. Time to see if Dimunay had been right in saying Kyle needed to learn more diplomacy, because he’d need every bit of it as he tried to persuade her to come with him now.

“I had to save you,” he said. “My first loyalty is to the druids.”

“What about to the people? Ha? Think you and your crowd are better than the rest of us?”

Kyle sighed. “If you don’t quit screaming the Romans will come and find us both.”

“I hope they do,” said Alyssa. “Because I’m no coward, and, unlike you, I don’t serve those in authority. I serve the people. I would gladly give my life to save my country, and if they come, I have every intention of doing so. I’ll go now, if you don’t believe me. And on my honor, I’ll kill two Romans before a one of them lays a hand on me.”

Kyle was rapidly growing tired of this. “No offense, you don’t look like much of a fighter,” he said, nodding towards her ribs sticking out. “And your dying doesn’t necessarily save your people. Killing every living Celt would not save Britain; it would more likely destroy it, if you follow.”

“Did you know my friends were also druids? We came as a class to finish this. The woman beside me was my mother’s best friend. You might not think much of my mother…”

“Why wouldn’t I think much of your mother?” said Kyle, startled.

“Because I’m an illegitimate child.”

Kyle shrugged. “I don’t much care.”

Her gaze softened. “Is this because I’m my father’s daughter?”

Kyle sighed, knowing the true answer, in this case, was not the correct one. But the correct choice was not true. Forget it.

“What would you have had me say to your father had you been killed?”

“He would have understood.”

“I seriously doubt that- and we’ve seriously got to go. The Romans will probably return, and I can’t manifest fire under pressure like my master could.”

“I’d rather die. I’m a seer. I’ve seen what’s coming. Both me and my rescuer will die- I didn’t ask for it to come true, but it will, sure as you coming to rescue me. That’s why I was so upset with my friends’ dying- don’t you understand? I did everything I could, but I couldn’t change it.” Her voice ended on a high note, and she had begun making violent motions with her hands as tears sparkled in her pretty blue eyes.

“Then it was fated,” Kyle said, “and could not be changed.”

“Did you understand that you’re going to die? Because of me? Do you even care?”

“You don’t think much like a seer,” said Kyle, and added, “and certainly not like a druid’s daughter. With our religion, how can you fear death so much? Pain I understand- but death? You’re just back in another body, that’s all. I’d sooner have died myself than have said goodbye to my master, or to you.”

“Me? Why?”

Kyle shrugged, nervous. “I don’t know. Don’t want to explain it to your father, and I hate watching people die. Dimunay brought me before an old, passing woman once. It was the hardest day of my life before an hour or two ago. And I was supposed to be easing her passage. I think it would have been easier had I died myself. And you should be the same way.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, and Kyle started in surprise. “It’s not my death I fear, but yours.” Kyle really didn’t understand now. “In the distant future, you will have the power to drive the Romans out of Gaul, and that is how you are supposed to die. I can’t help but think it is I who will screw that up, that it is I who will stop that from happening sooner than later.”

“I assure you, Alyssa-” she started at the sound of her own name, but he did not stop- “that I will sell my life as dearly now, that I will negotiate peace.”

She gave a scoffing sound. “The Romans will never negotiate peace. They feel threatened by the druids in Gaul, and they want to kill us off. All of us. Because one single druid could start a rebellion- they know what kind of power we wield. And you will use it, one day. But, if you believe in Fate, then know that your death is fated, and that you will not accomplish a whole heck of a lot as far as stopping Roman progression goes in this lifetime.”

“I believe in Fate,” said Kyle, “but I assure you, you don’t know just what I’m capable of.”

“Everyone you know will die in battle.”

Kyle snorted. “They already have!”

“Anyone you come into contact with, including me, will be led to their death by you.”

Kyle’s temper flared, but he tried to keep it in check- and failed. “How dare you? I saved your life. I shouldn’t have.”

“I agree.”

Now Kyle blew up. “You really think you’re going to die? Want to blame that on me?” he shouted. “I swear you won’t die. Not unless you think you’re going to. Believe it, and bet you will. But I won’t let that happen. I’ll stop it! I will! I won’t let anyone else die!”

“Then don’t let me,” said Alyssa calmly, and, snatching a sword from a Roman corpse, she started walking off into the forest toward the Romans, speeding up into a run.

Kyle sighed. Did she really want to die that badly? She was becoming a rapid disappointment- and she was so stupid! She couldn’t help anyone like this. She needed help. Serious help. And he’d have to be the one to help her, because there wasn’t anyone else around- just a few corpses. A few corpses. The thought made him wonder if he had acted completely ethically; aye, he had made a mistake. But he had no time to consider now. If she asked him to, he would take their heads and give them to her, and she could use whichever ones she most mourned for guidance. But he had to get her to safety- if that was possible, as irresponsible and stupid as she seemed. She sure was blind for a seer.

So, watching her run away- rather klutzily- he thought it seemed he would have to take her by force. No other option had presented itself so far; she was impossible, after all.

Kyle took off after her, intending to take her to her father or the nearest clan by force. It didn’t take long to catch her. He grabbed her around the waist, slung her to the ground- but she proved more versatile than that. With a shriek and a sob, she stumbled to her feet and went on, putting her sword behind her back.

He could hear water running as he continued. There was a splash, somewhere ahead. He had to get her soon. Someone was up there.

She flung around a tree, and he heard her catch her breath. He rounded it himself, blinded for a minute as he leapt on her and brought her to the ground. She gave a cross between a gasp and a shriek, and, as he felt her crumble beneath him and watched the world over her right shoulder fall downward, there was a clank, and she grew still. Kyle realized they were next to the river, and, raising his head, he saw a stone where her head rested with a bit of blood on it. Looking to his right, he could see the dip of the bank where the stream turned that way; he could hear the rushing of the water. They had been closer to the stream than he’d thought. She could run after all.

Then he heard the shuffling and crunching of leaves, and he whipped his head to see a Roman soldier stepping up to just in front of Alyssa’s head, where he stopped. They both looked at each other a moment, the man’s expression hard and critical, while Kyle was sure his was its opposite pole; but mostly he did not think this, but felt it deep within his heart, in the form of terror.

As he looked into the Roman’s eyes, he grew determined not to let himself be killed this early on. If Alyssa’s prophecies were right, then nonetheless, he would not let them come to pass now. He glanced down at her for an instant- just an instant, but in that instant he felt all the love any man had ever felt for this little bundle of one man’s joy that had walked into his life like some backwards patron god, full of spunk and selflessness, if a bit of arrogant stupidity as well. She looked so peaceful, so gentle unconscious- her eyes seemed so different than they’d been when he’d been arguing with her. Aye, but there was still the same courage in them- the courage, the strength that had not let her scream when she was being burned alive.

All this came in the form of one instantaneous thought in Kyle’s head. As the soldier began to move the muscles of his jaw as though getting ready to spit, Kyle knew he could not let this soldier report back. With a heavy heart, Kyle realized he must kill this man.

Standing, Kyle felt something wet collide with his face. The man drew his sword in one fluid motion and, in the same motion, swiped for Kyle’s belly.

Kyle drew himself backward telekinetically, back to behind the tree. The Roman followed Kyle, but Kyle moved further. The Roman could not reach him, he was sure, because he could fly faster than the Roman could run- especially so because the Roman must turn his feet and twist awkwardly, while Kyle had simply to fly around the tree.

The Roman gave some bewildered Latin swear words and continued to follow Kyle.

As they made their first lap around the tree, the Roman thrust his sword for Kyle, nearly grazing his shoulder, then whipped in a 360 degree arc and knelt beside Alyssa. Panicking, Kyle rushed around the tree after him, but the soldier put his sword to Alyssa’s neck and said:

“Either you come with me, or your sweetheart dies. And don’t move any closer, either, tough guy.”

Kyle’s heart raced, his breathing quickening as his eyes darted from one place to another, without much strategy to the movement. He couldn’t let Alyssa die; he loved her, and she was the head druid’s daughter. She was a very important person. He had to save her. He’d give his life for her and her cause in a heartbeat, if only he knew she’d actually be safe afterward. He’d have to use guile to get her to her father. And he began to formulate a plan.

“All right,” he said softly. He was hoping the soldier would back away from her, but he didn’t- instead, he drew his knife, and motioned with it from his left hand for Kyle to come to him. Kyle did.

The soldier whipped around, putting the dagger to Kyle’s throat.

“Pick her up. You’re carrying her, if you value her at all.”

“All right.” Kyle took a deep breath, and leaned down to pick her up. He scooped her into his arms, and rose to his feet. The soldier never took his dagger from Kyle’s throat.

“Now walk,” said the Roman, circumambulating to behind Kyle. “Walk to the stream, dead ahead.”

Kyle did as he was told, as slowly as possible.

“Faster.”

Kyle was smart enough not to try anything stupid like breaking into a run. Instead he walked slightly faster, accelerating slowly, until the embankment of the river appeared, then grew larger. Julius Diesarum came into view, and called out to some eight soldiers to follow him. Kyle watched the nine of them come to him and then knelt at the soldier’s direction.

Kyle could see scars all over Julius’ arms and face. He looked more like a monster than a person now.

“Please, I’m hungry,” said Kyle softly.

“You think I’m going to feed you?” said Julius, laughing. But fear shone in his eyes.

“Well,” said Kyle, “as long as I’m your prisoner, you could let me beg from some of the soldiers.”

Julius nodded. “That’d truly be a sight. They’re eating now. Enjoy your last meal, freak.” He hit Kyle in the chest.

Kyle was thankful for this. He followed Julius into the main Roman army, where the soldier who had accompanied him dropped his dagger and put it away, along with his sword, which he had kept out the entire time, as though expecting Kyle to run at any moment. Not such an unfounded expectation.

Yes, it was nearing time to try something stupid.

As Kyle walked, he sought out a spot in the middle of four fires, with soldiers gathered in clusters at each one. The camp was fairly large; there must have been a hundred fires overall, and the army stretched as far as Kyle could see or hear.

Julius hailed the men. “This man is my prisoner. He wishes to beg food from you.”

The men laughed.

“Do not let him go, and do not feel sorry for him. Here’s my contribution.” Kyle watched as Julius turned, and spat on him. The men burst out laughing.

“Want some chicken, dog?” cried one man. “It might have been your brother’s- I think he knew you!”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures!” said another.

“Hey Celt! You people are headhunters, right? You wanna show me a head?”

Kyle found this perfect. He dropped Alyssa, as silence spread over the entire encampment, and unzipped his knapsack. As Dimunay’s head fell out and he caught it, the people he was facing shrank back from the fire.

Another soldier at a different fire shrank back in mockery. Kyle shook it at him, grasping it by the hair. The men began to laugh, and as Kyle shook it at each fire, the men shrank back in mockery of the few that had showed fear at the sight of a head.

Kyle shook it at Julius Diesarum, and Julius glared at him, but his men backed off in mock fear.

Now was the moment. All four fires forming the square around him were abandoned on his sides, as the men had skipped backward in their mockery or their fright. Kyle willed the flames to spread in a circle, connecting each fire. Now men were jumping back in real fright. Julius Diesarum, the only man caught inside the fire, drew his sword, but Kyle sent it flying away from him telekinetically.

“I’m going to kill you,” said Julius. “I don’t know when, but I’m going to.”

“You killed my master,” said Kyle. “You won’t kill me. Rest assured, coward, your days are numbered.”

So saying, Kyle grabbed Alyssa, and flew into the sky. He soared over the wall of flame, and heard shouts below him as men chased after him or tried to shoot at him with hunting bows. But Kyle was too high for their arrows to reach him, much less hit him.

As he flew, Kyle wondered why he had not killed Julius. He supposed it wasn’t in him. He was not used to killing yet, and as much as he ached to avenge his master’s death, he could not simply kill someone. It had to be undeniably necessary; there had to be no choice. And there had been a choice then.

He was shaken from his thoughts by a howl of anger. He felt his head whip down to see Alyssa glaring at him, though seemingly unscathed and unafraid.

It sufficed to say the gentleness in her eyes had vanished.

“Put me down,” she said.

Kyle smiled, shaking his head.

“Fine. Pointless demand. Listen, you take me to my brother’s clan’s warriors, and we’ll go in three raids against the Romans. If you do that, I’ll come willingly to my father.”

“And if I don’t?” said Kyle.

Alyssa laughed shortly. “You can’t watch me twenty four hours every day- the instant your back is turned, I will sacrifice myself to the gods, if you don’t take me there now, and my father can divine that if he wants to.”

Kyle stopped, being far enough from the Romans now that he was not worried about being followed. He thought a minute, deeply.

If Alyssa was telling the truth, he could do little to stop her. She was right. He couldn’t watch her at all times. She would be safer, too, if she agreed to a plan.

Plus, he wanted to kill Julius Diesarum anyway- at a moment when it was inescapable.

Battle would provide that moment.

“It’s a deal,” he said.

He would raise a group of soldiers.

Wind whipped by him as he sped up and listened to Alyssa’s directing voice coming over the howl of the wind.

A while later, as he neared her brother’s village, he asked her, “Where did you grow up?”

“I grew up in the North,” she said. “My mom wasn’t married to Gong…”

Kyle cut her off. “You really should call him ‘Dad.’”

“Fine. Mom didn’t marry Dad; she raised me on her own till I was ten. Why do you ask?”

“Let’s get to that in a minute,” said Kyle. “What happened when you were ten?”

When the pain shone in her eyes, he added, “You don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to.”

She looked away, bit her lip, her hair blowing in her face, then said, “It’s all right. I loved that woman more than I’ve ever loved anyone else in my entire life. She was awesome. I wish you’d known her. Heck, I wish Gong…”

“Dad,” corrected Kyle. She hadn’t used his name when talking about him in their time of emergency. She must consider Gong her dad subconsciously, Kyle thought, but not consciously.

“Right. I won’t call him that again. I wish Dad had known her better. I really do.”

Kyle was feeling sorry for her and was about to offer his sympathies, when she continued.

“My mom was expecting a child. I was sure it would be a sister. I could feel it. Story of my life. See something going wrong, fail to change it.”

She wiped at her eyes, and Kyle said, “Alyssa, you don’t have to tell me…”

But she continued: “I was right about the sister part. When she came out, she was a girl. But both she and my mother died that day. I’ve never been more devastated in my life- I still haven’t.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kyle, but he was reminded of Dimunay, and it was a struggle to not focus on his own loss.

“Why are you…”

“What did you do after that?” said Kyle.

“I signed up to study seership- not because I really wanted to, but because I really wanted to get away from my dad. I despised him. My trainer left to fight the Romans in Gaul, and it was hard. I’ve never cried so much in my life as I did those few days after she left. She and I had had a great relationship- we were together a long, long time. I’m not sure I can count the years. Most of my life. She was my mom’s best friend, and I could see Mother in her every time we talked. Same mannerisms, same habits, same dreams. I didn’t love her like I loved my mother, but I loved her, and I have more memories of her than I have of Mom.”

“Is she still alive?”

Alyssa looked away from him, staring decidedly into the forest below out of the corners of her eyes on her horizontal head.

“She came back, eventually,” she said slowly. “She was one of the people who were killed when you saved me.”

Kyle felt awful. He didn’t want her to finish. But she did.

“I asked my dad to let me fight a million times. But he always refused. Finally I had a smart idea: I told my dad I knew a trainer down south who would finish my training. It was so cool. He fell for it- it was easy, you could say. So I went down south- ‘to finish my training as seer’- and met my old trainer. Dad and I met in our dreams the night I arrived. I told him about my decision. He was angry, like he always was, but finally he calmed down and told me not to get killed. The next morning, my trainer introduced me to our group, and we hiked toward the High King’s army to join the fight against the Romans- but we were surprised in the middle of the night and taken captive. It wasn’t hard to figure out what we were doing. Plus, Julius Diesarum had our names somehow, knew we were druids. He didn’t know who every last person was, of course, but he’d seen my painting at a shrine on the coast, and that was enough for him to want to kill us all. So we were burned- they were burned.”

Kyle swallowed. “My father, and my teacher, was killed, too. My dad was a warrior- my birth dad, that is. I always wanted to be with him. My other dad, Dimunay, he taught me everything I know. We were close. I was always very withdrawn, but he was always with me. Only friend I ever had.” He was fighting for control of his emotions. “The Romans killed him. That’s why I was going to Cerridwen’s shrine- for guidance. His head led me to that.”

“I’m sorry,” said Alyssa.

“No,” said Kyle, “I’m sorry. I should have tried to save the rest of your group. It was careless of me. I don’t want us to argue. I want us to be friends. And if I’m going to accomplish that, then I’d best start now. I won’t mess up like that again. I promise. I’ll be more careful. And I’m sorry.”

They were looking each other in the eyes, and then, like a dream, his head was drawing undeniably toward hers.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “That means a lot to me. I’m sorry I was so uncooperative.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered. And then, when he was about to kiss her, her head whipped around, and she said:

“Kyle! Go down. It’s my brother’s village.”

Kyle looked down, saw a small group of thatched huts, rectangular, with one big one in their midst, and eased himself downward. In his heart was quaking pain- he had really, really wanted to kiss her. But now, he had to focus on getting a group of warriors together.

She called out to them in a voice both loud for a woman’s and clear as they descended; almost instantaneously a tall man, nearly half a foot over six feet, with blond hair to his rear end came running out of a hut with two apparent friends following shortly after. His face was long and thin, his jaw well defined, his whole physique tan and well-cut. He wore purple, green and blue trousers with a silk belt’s long end showing down below his tunic, which was plaid yellow, blue and red, the common dyes of the Celtic people. The leather pouch hanging from his belt looked worn to the point of nearly breaking. He approached Kyle as Kyle landed, and the man motioned for the other two to stay back as other tall warriors bearing arms, as well as a few women and farmers, ran from their huts and flocked to stand in a circle around them.

Alyssa ran from Kyle to the man facing them, and hugged him. “Aglishy!” she said in something akin to a screamed whisper.

“Alyssa,” he said, hugging her. “My friends,” he said, pivoting around to face the villagers with her in his arms, “this is my half-sister. And who is the man whom she has come with?” This with a look at Kyle.

Kyle liked this man. He seemed friendly, loving. He was open.

“She was nearly burned alive with her classmates,” he said. “I managed to save her from the fire and get out of there with both of us alive. No one else survived.”

“Thank you,” Aglishy said. “You can’t know how much this means to me. I am indebted to you. But, who are you?”

“A druid,” said Kyle. “But my master was killed before I was officially inducted into the service of the druids as a fully qualified practitioner.”

“That is very well,” said Aglishy. “But you have no need to justify yourself to me. My men- they are my equals. My sister, here- she is my equal. She is their equal, though she is a seer in training, and my village half peasants. It is not a widely accepted belief, but I believe it does not matter what you make of yourself in this world, but simply, who you are. So I ask you, who are you?”

Kyle had a moment when he thought this was a philosophical question aimed at his practice, but it struck him then that the man was simply asking for his name. So he replied, “My name is Kyle.”

“Kyle,” repeated Aglishy. He grasped his sister by the shoulders, gently pulling her away from him as he looked into her eyes, then, as both turned toward Kyle, parted from her and extended his hand with a step toward Kyle.

“Aglishy,” he said, and Kyle shook his hand.

Aglishy brought him into his arms, and hugged him so hard Kyle thought the man a fierce warrior indeed, if only by his hug. He was sure he could not possibly hug Alyssa with as much strength; it seemed to him that she would be crushed by it.

“Now, can I entertain you here awhile?” said Aglishy as he withdrew, grasping Kyle by the shoulders in the same way he had grasped Alyssa.

“Actually,” said Kyle as they parted completely, “she insisted I come to you for military aid. She wishes to make three raids on the Romans.”

“Ha!” cried Aglishy. “Three? Is that all? My brother-in-law has made seven already, and claims my sword is cleaner than silk! Surely my good-old sister-in-law does not wish to stop at three?”

He looked around at his men, bobbing his head and upper body at them with a hearty look in his eye, and they gave cries of support.

Before Alyssa could answer, Kyle said carefully, “She doesn’t, I’m sure; but I wish to bring her to her father safely.”

Aglishy nodded, suddenly solemn. “I understand. Is there anything else in this for you?” He was looking at Kyle carefully.

“No, I don’t know what you mean.” Kyle was nervous, mostly because he knew exactly what Aglishy meant.

Aglishy motioned for his village people to part to his right, and, grasping Kyle’s arm, he led him out of the parting circle past the oddly assorted houses, calling over his shoulder, “Show my sister all the hospitality man ever gave to guest. My new friend and I will discuss plans, and come back for warrior-volunteers in a moment.”

“Volunteers?” said Kyle.

“I only take volunteers on raids or even into battles,” said Aglishy. “Personal policy.” He pulled Kyle to a stop on the edge of a field, currently nothing but dirt. He put his massive hand on Kyle’s shoulder, and looked him in the eye with a demanding tilt of his head. “My sister has never before been loved. Understand, I wish to make sure that whomever takes her heart is someone I can trust, and, more importantly, I wish to know him, because I love my sister. When I lived up north with Father, I used to play with her a lot. We used to raucous, and at the time she was nearly as good a fighter as I. We remain close, though I have not seen her since I moved down here to head a village a year ago, shortly before the first threat of major Roman invasion began to circulate.”

Kyle had not realized it had been that long ago. He’d had no clue.

“Now tell me, honestly- I won’t ask you again- do you love my sister?”

Kyle’s heart was racing, far more so than it had been when he’d been rescuing Alyssa or tricking Julius Diesarum and fleeing from him. He looked down, and said softly, wishing he could say the truth, “I’ve never loved a girl before.”

Aglishy patted him on the shoulder, started to walk off, then looked him in the eye again with a squint, tilting Kyle’s head up with the hand that had been on his shoulder and keeping it on Kyle’s chin a moment.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said softly.

Kyle looked above Aglishy’s head, taking a deep breath and exhaling, and Aglishy began to laugh.

“So you do,” he said. “I knew I was right. I could tell it from the moment she came running to me. As soon as she was out of your arms, you never took your eyes off her.”

“I didn’t?” said Kyle.

“You didn’t notice?”

Kyle really hadn’t, and he said so.

“Aye, I think you’ll make a great husband to her someday. You have my full support. Now, my father will never see her married, but….” His voice trailed off a minute, and then he added, “Well, good luck.”

He gave a smile, and started to walk back. Kyle followed, heart still thumping, though no longer racing. It felt good to have that over.

The group of villagers had taken Alyssa to a large teepee of branches that hadn’t been lit yet, and was still being built. Kyle walked up to her, not knowing anyone else.

“What did my brother say?” she said.

Kyle glanced away from her, thankful she wasn’t as insightful as her brother. “Nothing,” he said.

She nodded. “That’s my brother. Never says much of anything, but he talks a lot.”

Kyle thought this ridiculous. The man had said more to him in ten minutes than he thought he’d heard in his last year of life, at least if you didn’t include Dimunay’s speech. And even then….

Still, he was glad she thought so (did she even remember her brother at all?) because it gave him the sustenance of his secrecy. He couldn’t imagine telling her how he felt. No, it was far easier to think of these raids that were coming up, even killing a Roman, even seeing his face.

It was clear to Kyle that he was not like other Celts. He feared killing people. Most of them seemed to see it as a natural part of life- the great Wheel of Rebirth. In order to die, one had to be reborn. Dying was natural. Taking life was a necessary part of survival. But Kyle thought about killing one of these jovial villagers here, Alyssa or Aglishy, and he couldn’t help but think that every Roman soldier was another one of them, just on the other side. Not evil, just on the other side. And it scared him to think of killing another being that not only had as much right to live as he or Alyssa did, but who was actually another one of him, another Alyssa, living a different fate.

As the fire started, Aglishy climbed on top of the nearest house, seemingly effortlessly, and said, “Listen!” Instantly it grew quiet.

“My sister and her friend, who saved her from death, wish to go hunting the Roman invaders tomorrow. I’m looking for stout volunteers, people who can wield a sword- you know who you are! I’ve got some awesome fighters in here, and I’d see as many of them as are willing join me and my sister and Kyle tomorrow for these raids. We’ll meet in my house tomorrow morning, at dawn. Thank you, and blessed be.”

“So mote it be!” Kyle called after him, and the crowd followed with a reverent repetition, “So mote it be.”

Aglishy climbed down, and meat was thrown over the fire. Chicken was boiled in cauldrons suspended from firedogs; barley was brought out, with beans and porridge, and three full casks of mead were opened for that night. As it grew dark, Kyle looked up into the sky and saw that the moon was full; he’d forgotten it, in the confusion of that day. He yearned to honor the Goddess in her full power, but he knew it was a different sort of time period in his life now. As awful as it sounded, the gods and goddesses would have to come second to survival now. And yet in his heart he could not let what he believed in give in to that demand, whether that demand was for his life or not. He withdrew from the circle, and went out into the forest to honor his Goddess.

Kyle took his time with his casting of Circle. He started in the east, honoring that Quarter and the realm of Air. He took his forefinger to his head, then to his right thigh, then to his left shoulder, then to his left thigh, and then back to his head in an invoking pentagram. A sort of peace settled on him, and he could feel a higher presence already.

“Blessed be Air,” he whispered. “I thank you for a sharp mind.”

Holding his finger out, he walked in a circle three times, saluting the East each time with a simple upward motion of his finger. The smell of magick began to manifest.

When he had finished invoking Air, he moved to the South to invoke Fire, and began to dance joyously. His movements were wild, not to the discipline of any of the dances he knew. He had never liked discipline in dance- wild was better.

He danced around his Circle many more times than was standard. When he was satisfied, the energy he’d raised was surging through him and his Circle. He moved to the Western Quarter, and invoked Water with his pentagram, saying:

“Water, I owe you a special thanks this night. For the first time in my life, I am in love. I have never known more joy than I have to look into Alyssa’s eyes. Guide me with your wisdom, that I might know your love, Water. Blessed be.”

When he had walked three times around his Circle, he moved to the North, where Earth’s Quarter lay.

“I thank you Earth, for keeping my life stable so long. Now that it looks to be tempest-tossed, I thank you for letting me find stability in the form of a new friend, and his sister, whom I feel I am destined to love for all of my life. She is beautiful, more fiery, more dedicated, wilder than Fire itself, and to look into her eyes is to see the unquenchable, eternal flame of the human spirit….” Kyle’s voice trailed off as he realized he’d gone on a tangent. And this after he was accepted as a complete druid. He tried to get back to invoking Earth, but it was no good.

“I hope to settle down with her someday. I’ve never been more intent on anything in my entire life, not even completing my training. I love her.” One last try to save his error: “I ask that you come this night, Earth, to lend me your balance and simple pleasure, and to welcome the Goddess in full bloom on this, Her sacred night.”

He moved to the center of the Circle, sang softly:

“Beautiful is she

When walking

Beautiful is she

When speaking

Beautiful is she

O beautiful is she

On Mother’s night

When soft silver light

Gently from her shines

For druid am I;

By the powers of old

Let me experience

What cannot be told.”

Then, knowing the correct astrological association of this moon, Kyle whispered, “Blessed be the Ivy Moon. Blessed be the exorcism of our enemies, blessed the cooperation of man and god to strive for a brighter tomorrow. May your healing light send love tonight; may your full force watch over me this month, that the Romans might never know my throat, but only the edge of my blade.”

He knelt down and picked up a pinecone, pointing it up toward the moon.

“Milady, Creator of this world, beautiful as the night sky, loving as the dog at hearthside on a cold winter’s night- Milady, beautiful in your passing, o come down to me, that my soul might know that beauty, that I might honor that love so caring, that Goddess and man might walk together on this plane.”

He visualized his pinecone filling with Her energy. His arm tensed, but he kept the energy in the pinecone. Then he drew the pinecone down to his chest, let Her energy surge upward into him.

Power, love, and beauty flowed through him. The moon blurred as he opened his eyes, though he had not known he’d shut them. Then he was dancing, and dancing wildly, high in spirit off the drink to which even mead could not compare.

He sang loudly, spontaneously, as he danced sunwise, or clockwise.

Still dancing, he called to his patron gods, Queen Maeve and Bran.

After intoning Queen Maeve’s name three times, Kyle called out to her:

“Milady brave, milady fair,

So loved by man, we won’t go there,

Blessed be the times many

We’ve danced as one, our magick spun;

Now beautiful as beauty can be,

Now surely as beauty is undone,

Let Alyssa come back North with me,

And find her father there, and safely.”

Then he repeated the three-time intonation and welcomed her to his Circle:

“I thank you Queen Maeve, for coming. Welcome to my Circle-” he waved his hand as he paused in his dance- “and may the thrill of the hunt find pleasure in your dancing, blessed be!”

And he could feel her dancing with him.

“Bran, Bran, Bran,” he called. “Bran, who made a bridge of himself, Bran, who taught me to use an athame in my dreams, Bran, who chose me- Bran, as surely as ever I’ve honored you, as surely as ever you’ve given me so much, as surely as ever any deity and any man made fast friends- as surely as these things, come to me, and before year’s end, let Julius Diesarum be dead!”

He hadn’t meant to include two petitions in his invocation, but he had. He wasn’t following any rules, not really- but wasn’t that what a full druid was supposed to be able to do- break the rules? Aye, it was.

“Welcome, Bran, and blessed be.”

So saying, he flung himself on the ground, and felt the Goddess slip out of him as the elements parted, the smell subsided, and, sure he had not devoked any of the Quarters, he fell asleep.

Kyle woke with a start to the crunching of leaves. A man was approaching.

Kyle fiddled for a dagger, but he had never been in the practice of carrying one, unlike most Celts, and he did not know why he was searching for it- definitely not, for the man approaching him was old, bent, and looked too wise and gentle to be out to kill.

“My child,” he said, in a voice as gentle as the lines on his ancient face as he drew close. Kyle was sitting up now, propped on one hand with his legs straight out before him, slightly parted. The man leaned down, showing his withered lips and pale, aged face more clearly as his long white hair fell down around his face, glimmering in the moonlight.

“My child,” he repeated. “Look at what you have become.”

And he spread his arms, and thunder cracked.

Something wet splashed on Kyle’s face, and he started, sitting up again, for he had been asleep. He found himself in the middle of the woods, after dawn, with rain pouring down from above.

Hurriedly he got to his feet and ran toward the village, knowing no one would be happy that the man who had asked them to join the raids was himself late. Nor was he wrong.

There was a bit of snow on the ground, rapidly melting with the rain, and he was wet, with cold rain washing over his face. Kyle noticed that the leaves crunched heavier now with the new-fallen snow, and that the wind sent chills through his body. He seemed to be on the verge of convulsing, but he was long since used to damp Celtic winters. His white breath streamed rhythmically from his mouth, seeming almost to be synchronized to every three footfalls. The rain let up and became a drizzle as he ran. Even knowing the way, he was yet unsure of how far he had to go until he saw a field and the clearing.

He sped up. As he crossed the field, a farmer came out after him, looking like his drinking from the night before hadn’t worn off yet. He drew his dagger and shook it at Kyle, saying, “You know how long they’ve been waiting on you boy?”

The man had long gray hair and a stony face that nevertheless looked dangerous, but Kyle flew over his head, not even glancing over his shoulder. The man would have to have no honor at all to stab him in the back. Then again, Kyle’s brusque refusal to fight could have been seen as cowardly. But Kyle didn’t care. More than honor was to be laid at stake this day.

As Kyle approached Aglishy’s house, the rectangular one, a man came out, a wild look in his eyes and a spear in his hand, already drawn back. But Aglishy stilled him with a hand on the shoulder, and the man glanced down from Kyle and put his spear back to his side. Aglishy drew a falcata, a sword whose short, broad blade curved outward at the middle, with hardly any back to it, and motioned with it for Kyle to join them in the cottage.

“Better late than never, I suppose,” he said.

Kyle walked inside the cottage, finding a total of 35 warriors gathered there, as he counted. It must have been nearly a quarter of the village. The rain picked up for a moment, dripping through the roof and making the fire lit in the middle steam.

“We have gathered here,” said Aglishy, “to fight the vile Romans. If any of you now wish to leave, before we begin the fighting, he may do so at this time with no shame or dishonor to him or any of his kinsmen.”

No one moved. One man spoke in a voice as mellow as a summer brook.

“Aglishy! You know as well as I do that none of us have gut and grit enough to turn back now. We’ll never fear those prissy Romans, with all those formations to make weak men feel safe, and all their huge shields to cover for poor sword-fighting skills”

There was a ripple of mixed applause and laughter as the man finished, saying, “We’re with you, old friend.”

“It will always be your choice, Damon,” said Aglishy.

There was a ripple of people from the back of the room, and the speaker, Damon, came forward, his blond hair bouncing up and down from his shoulders with every step. He was pale, with clear blue eyes and a clear, pretty face. He would have seemed effeminate, were it not for the bulge of his arms and the thickness of his legs.

“And when your sister’s prophecies from years ago come true, what will you do then?”

“It will remain your choice,” said Aglishy again.

“What did Alyssa tell you?” said Kyle.

“Alyssa told me my men would stop volunteering for me because of a stranger whom she would bring,” said Aglishy.

A raindrop hit Kyle’s head, but it was just dripping from dampness now; the rain had stopped, and, through the holes in the roof, Kyle could see a white blur of snowfall. He was trying hard not to answer, but he felt as though he had to.

“I won’t run,” he said. “And I will not disgrace my father or my family.”

Aglishy was giving him a hard look. “I never said you would. Neither did my sister. Mistakes are easily made; a bad strategy in a battle can lead to loss, even one’s own death. Taking the wrong job can lead to misery, no matter how prosperous the prospected income or how much one loved the original intent. A man can come to wage war, even on behalf of the gods, and yet he might bring nothing more than destruction. Was it his fault? No. It was the fault of Fate. Perhaps the gods did not favor him, but I say: he was human, that is all.”

Kyle nodded, grateful for this wisdom.

“Together we go now, and my sister and her heroic rescuer will lead us to victory. So mote it be.”

There was a general whisper of, “So mote it be,” and Kyle said it himself three times, moved by Aglishy’s words, though they were always full of propaganda.

They started off at a run, running from the building with weapons drawn. Damon handed Kyle a double-edged broad-bladed short sword with a small fake skull at its base as they squeezed out of the doorway. It was an awkward movement in such close quarters, but Damon seemed to almost make it graceful.

“Use it well,” he said. “Blessed be.”

As they exited, he ran to the front, giving a war cry with a spear and a small round shield with a spike in the middle raised.

Alyssa was at the front, too, Kyle could see, and he fanned out with the other men, running fast to reach the front; but everyone seemed to be eager to do this, and they wound up all running in a confused mass.

They ran like this for a long time, giving war cries here and there, though they fell to a lower frequency as time passed. Finally, Aglishy gave the signal to go silent, and the group did so at once.

A few minutes later a man Kyle had never noticed leaving (he supposed it was because he was shorter than those around him) returned, Kyle now being nearer the front and able to see, and Aglishy put a finger to his lips and, turning back around, began to move very slowly.

Kyle twirled his sword in his hands, bringing it slanted diagonally across his body in close proximity, watching through the trees carefully. As they continued, he noticed smoke above the trees, then heard Roman voices- Roman, he knew, because one, they sounded different, and two, they spoke in Latin.

Finally they came to a clearing where the Romans had made camp, with a few Romans out making breakfast, the rest in their tents, evidently taking some time off. They all halted behind trees, following Aglishy’s hand motions. He nodded at Damon, and a Celt handed a saw to Damon, who began to saw down a tree in line with three Roman tents.

Just then a soldier looked up, and stood quickly, drawing his sword. He called out “Men! Sound the alarm!” in Latin.

“What did he say?” whispered Aglishy loudly.

“He knows we’re here,” said Kyle. “He’s calling to sound the alarm.”

“You know Latin too?” said Aglishy.

Kyle smiled. “I know many languages,” he said- “Greek, Latin, Arabic….”

Aglishy interrupted, saying, “Hurry up Damon!”

Kyle glanced at the tree as drums started sounding and footsteps could be heard. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw some of the warriors shooting bows at advancing Romans, heard the whistle and thud of the arrows and the screams of the slain or dying Romans.

Kyle willed the tree to fall, and it fell quickly over the tents, while men shouted from them.

“What happened?” said someone somewhere- where, Kyle couldn’t tell in the confusion.

“I knocked the tree over,” said Kyle, stepping out from behind his tree to face an oncoming Roman. He knocked him over telekinetically, and stabbed his sword to the hilt upward through the bottom of the Roman’s elevated foot. The Roman screamed, and Kyle withdrew as protests from the men began.

“You’ll get yourself exploited!”

“The gods will destroy you!”

“I hope Gong excommunicates you, you fool! No wonder you managed to save Alyssa.”

“Don’t the geise of your patron gods keep you in line- or do you have any?”

People were leaving now- trickling away at first, then running in groups of two or three. In a few seconds, only Aglishy, Alyssa, Kyle and Damon remained.

Damon gave Aglishy a skeptical look. “What now? There are dozens of them.”

Kyle didn’t even hear the answer. All he knew was that they were running, apart from the rest of the group. This was awful. This could not happen! They’d be killed! Aglishy had to get the men back. He had to get Aglishy to get his men back.

“Aglishy,” said Kyle. “Please! Help me get your men back. If we overtake them….”

“No!”

They ducked behind the embankment to the river Kyle and Alyssa had been taken by the Romans at, hoping the Romans wouldn’t find them. At first, there was only the ripple of the stream. But then there were cries- many- and the tops of armored helmets became visible.

Kyle’s blood was running hot. He would kill these bastards if he could. The four of them would do it. That, or they would die. He would not be killed. Yet this was surely the time Alyssa had warned him about, the time in which he would be killed with her, having accomplished nothing. Let them come, then. He would sell his life dearly.

So mote it be.

Chapter II

Alyssa’s Pains

As Alyssa watched men pour over the embankment, her only thought was of their safety. She had to get everyone out of there alive- especially her brother. His life was far more important than any of theirs; he had a village that loved him. He was the shining example of her people. If she, Damon and Kyle died, she would be all right; but she could not stand the thought of her brother being killed.

But if any of them died, she wanted to die as well.

Damon and Aglishy were now rushing to meet the Romans; Damon threw his spear through the neck of one, as a spray of blood preceded him to the ground. Alyssa saw that Damon did not have time to get his spear back as another Roman leapt over the corpse, wielding a pilum and aiming for Alyssa. Damon jumped between them, thrusting his sword for the Roman’s belly as he shouted, “Kyle! Get her out of here!”

Alyssa felt a strong hand grab her, and turned to see Kyle as she was dragged away. She gave in, feeling overwhelmed; but as they ran off to the sound of clashing swords, she said, “Kyle, please, make sure my brother’s all right.”

“I’ve got to get you to safety,” said Kyle. “That comes first.”

“Please,” she said, conscious her voice sounded whiny, “My brother… I can’t lose him.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she heard him say. Then he turned on her, grabbing her by the shoulders and hugging him to her. There was something reassuring in his arms as they ascended into the skies. The huge trees became small, a forest of broccoli as they soared overhead. Air rushed by them, whipping her long hair back behind her, chilling her so that she snuggled closer into Kyle’s arms. She felt comfortable there. For a moment, she was back with her mother, working in the fields without a care in the world. But that moment was soon lost.

They descended through a clearing in the trees to a small white stone shrine with steps leading up to its platform. At the bottom of these steps, they landed and climbed the stairs to the top.

She watched as Kyle reverently undid his knapsack and took out his old master’s head. After a minute he put it back, and she heard him say, “You’re telepathic, right?”

“Yeah,” she said.

There was a gust of wind, and snow started to fall again. Coldness whipped across her cheek- just like the dread inside her.

“Contact your brother,” he said.

Alyssa nodded, sitting down on the altar. Wind swept her hair behind her face, and for a brief moment, she was at peace. She calmed her mind and called out to her brother telepathically, “Where are you?”

There was a pause, even though she could feel the connection strengthening.

“Promise not to be mad?” he thought back at last.

She took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

There was a chuckle she could almost hear, ironic and sorrowful. “I served my people well. I will always love you, Alyssa. Come by and visit me, someday, many years from now, I would hope. It’s rather nice here.”

Alyssa was tense now, listening for the final affirmation she so keenly dreaded.

“Cerridwen has taken me on as her student. She says she was impressed by my life, and that now if I learn well from her, she’ll let me help processing others into the Otherworld.”

Don’t say it.

“I got to see Cuchulain and Queen Maeve fight here. And guess what? Cuchulain actually won! I couldn’t believe it…”

Don’t say it, Aglishy.

“…because Queen Maeve won on this plane. Cuchulain was my patron god, on this plane. That plane. Your plane. I’m sorry, Alyssa.”

Alyssa finally broke out sobbing. In her heart, she couldn’t stand not to hear the final word, and she couldn’t stand to hear it. And then it finally came.

“I’m dead, Alyssa. I’m sorry.”

Kyle was at her back, rubbing her shoulder; she spun around and slapped him across the face, leaning over backward to kick him. Though he was small, he didn’t really move, and Alyssa desperately wanted more satisfaction. She wanted to hit something. Destroy something. Kill something. She needed a sword; she’d kill all those bastard-Romans herself. She’d…

For the first time in forever, she burst out in a stream of curses.

“It’s all right, Alyssa, I’m fine.”

Her brother’s words only made things worse.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to keep it in her head, and hardly able to keep the connection. “I can’t do this again. You know why.”

“Aye, I know,” came her brother’s thoughts; and mixed in was a twinge of sadness. “Depression always was your greatest demon. I’m sorry, Alyssa. Goodbye.”

Alyssa bit her lip, choking back tears that would nevertheless not abate. In that moment, she did not dread what had already happened. She did not dread her brother’s death. She did not dread invasion or disaster. No, she feared being alive in the future.

And then, as she progressed, she grew mad at herself. Her brother was passed away because of her. She had been blind and selfish this entire time. Just because it was her fate to die did not mean she should get everyone else killed as well.

She was no longer trying to choke back the tears. She had given up.

“Are you all right?” said Kyle. Alyssa nodded, even though tears still washed down her face, and knelt at the altar.

“I can’t give up now,” she whispered, “because if I do many more will die. Please, guide me, whatever god may be guardian of this shrine, guide me.”

And she received guidance. She would, she decided, seek out her father. She would go where Kyle had wanted her to go for so long.

She had time to mull over this, as she arranged Kyle’s and her meeting with Damon at a nearby temple. The three of them met there, beneath the thatched, wall-less temple, standing around the altar, Alyssa at its head, Kyle and Damon standing together at the opposite side, between the corners. Well past noon now, the sun shone through the trees at a slant, lighting the thatched hut with a half-light. The surrounding forest was dark. The space below the ceiling was also dark, though not as dark; Alyssa could see a few straws here and there, but it strained at her eyes. Her eyes began to tire, and she looked back. Kyle had just finished telling Damon how glad he was that he had made it, and now Damon was looking at her with the face of a dog licking the sores of a man who’s skinned his knee on rock.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” said Damon.

“It’s my fault, I know,” said Alyssa.

“Don’t you ever say that,” said Damon, shaking his head. “He knew he’d die someday. He knew he’d die in a battle against the Romans. He knew what was coming. I’m sure of it. And he gave his life for you, freely, gladly. I would have given my life for him, but he gave it for us. A finer leader you will never know. But he made that sacrifice for a reason.”

Alyssa’s eyes were watery again, and she cut him off before he could get her crying. “I want to go to my father,” she said.

She counted nearly a minute of birds chirping and an occasional squirrel passing by, as well as both Kyle and Damon gawking at her in anger, before anyone answered.

“You seldom hear me speak sternly,” Damon said at last.

Alyssa nodded, tense.

“That’s because I’m very mild of nature. But I can’t accept this, not at all, Alyssa, never, never. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I would far sooner give my life well than give up. Everyone loses. Both my brothers were killed in battle. You know that. I was there both times. You know that. I never stopped fighting. If you can’t see that, then let me prove it in battle with a sharp blade, because neither should you.”

Damon had gone with Aglishy from Alyssa’s father’s hometown shortly after his brother had been killed. Alyssa was a mess of shakes, but she found courage to answer.

“Some causes are not worth dying over.”

She glanced nervously at Kyle, worried he’d object based on what he knew about her; but he said nothing, and, for a moment, she was sure he still wanted to take her to her father.

But Damon said: “You’re coming with us, Alyssa. I will not escort you to your father. I am sorry, but I refuse.”

“Damon! You’ll only get more people killed. Do you really think we can stop the Romans?”

For an instant there was a blaze in Damon’s soft eyes, and Alyssa actually caught herself afraid for her safety. Then he said, “If I had any doubt in the power of my people, do you think I’d be here today?”

Alyssa looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“Then you’ll keep fighting?”

Alyssa struggled a moment, then looked into Damon’s eyes, feeling the fire in her soul, sure it must gleam from her face and eyes. “No.”

“Why not?”

“It is my destiny to bring death to those who accompany me. I will go alone to my father, and the two of you may continue fighting. I wish you the best, and I am sorry for what seemed selfishness to you….”

“I never said you were selfish,” said Damon.

“Nevertheless, let me go.”

She turned and began to stroll off, determined to leave behind these two men and let them live. And yet, what was to keep her from bringing death to her father? Perhaps this reasoning was why, when a hand lay on her shoulder, she stopped, rather than shrugging it off.

“I apologize, milady,” said Damon from behind. “I will not let you go to certain death. I admit I did think you were being selfish; now I see my mistake. Forgive me.”

Alyssa turned, tears in her eyes, and hugged Damon.

“I miss my brother!” she said.

And Damon held her like that for some time, both of them shifting on their feet, the warmth of his arms taking her into their safety. Kyle joined, and she was sure that these two men would save her soul. She honestly wanted to be dead. She wanted to be with her brother. She wanted to join him in the Summerland, at the end of all their incarnations, and stay with him forever- and she wanted Kyle and Damon to be there, too.

They slept on the temple floor and began running early the next day. Damon scouted ahead for Romans, and every time she saw him it brought relief to her to see that he was still alive. It seemed that life was so easily taken. Yet she had been at many cairn stones, many cremations, and never since her mother’s death had she felt loss so keenly. In truth, she had not had any other major losses, save that of her mother’s friend and her instructor.

Damon had been a scout and messenger for Aglishy and a few larger groups at various times in his life, and Alyssa had heard from multiple sources that he had never been caught or seen. It was evident today, for he led them clear from Roman troops, even though, at one point, he found two legions marching inland fairly close to them and on either side of them.

Kyle led the way and called times to rest or sleep. Every day they ran for nearly ten hours, waking at dawn and running till darkness fell, stopping only for food, hunting and gathering, or an occasional rest. Alyssa found that as the days wore on, her heart began to pound periodically in recognition of the nearing to her father.

They went on like this for a week, at which point they neared her father’s village.

“Anyone nervous?” said Kyle, turning on her as they walked. They were less than a mile away now, and the three of them had started walking (Damon had joined them, too, as, he said, it was safe passage to the village).

Alyssa was actually trembling, and the chill wind at her back seemed to make things worse in the half-sunlight that filtered through the clouds as the snow beat against her shoulders and soaked her hair.

She was sure he was aiming his question at her. He must have known how she felt.

“I’m sure he’s been taken,” she said. “The Romans know who my dad is. And they’re so close to him- of course they’d take him.”

“You want me to go take a look?” said Kyle softly, and there was something comforting and reassuring in the way he looked into her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “Could you?”

“Aye,” said Kyle. “I’d love to. I’m here for you, Alyssa, if you need anything.”

She felt bitter longing for something she couldn’t define as she looked into his eyes, and she said, “Thank you.”

Kyle put a hand on her shoulder, turned his back to her, and ran off.

She and Damon sat there in silence for several minutes before Damon spoke, and when he did, Alyssa was still breathing heavily, painfully aware she could not stop.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine,” he said. “Your dad is a wily man. He’d do anything to avoid capture.”

Alyssa glanced up at him, swallowed, and said, “You didn’t know him in the last year. The man cuts himself.”

“That can’t be true,” said Damon.

Alyssa glanced at the white vapor issuing from her mouth, veiling the forest in front of her, with its yellow, orange, and red leaves, mostly fallen now. The vapor rose as she felt it leave her lungs, and she stopped breathing for an instant, wishing, just for an instant, that she were dead. Then she breathed again.

“You know it’s not,” Damon said.

“It is,” she said. “He’s not the man he used to be….”

“He’s your father,” said Damon. “For that, you should honor him.”

“He wanted the Romans to take him. That’s one of the reasons I agreed to go. I wasn’t thinking it consciously at the time, but I know it was somewhere there, in the back of my mind, beating its way to the front. Now I’m sure he’s tried to be caught. That’s why he moved south. I don’t even know for sure that he was at this village; I heard it from a secondhand source.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Damon calmly.

“I’m sure I am.”

“Good.”

There was a pause; then Damon said, “Do you even love the man?”

Alyssa paused, deep in thought. She honestly wasn’t sure.

“I guess so.”

“Then don’t slander him. He is your elder, your father, and a widely loved elder in the Order. Unless you hate him, don’t slander him.”

“I do hate him.” She could feel the aggravation even in her breath. She shifted, listening to the crunching of the leaves with mild satisfaction.

“Alyssa, look,” he said. “I don’t want to upset you. I just think you would be deprived if you did not let yourself have a good relationship with your father. You need a father figure in your life. I want what’s best for you.”

At first she nearly snapped his head off- but when she looked into his eyes, she found something reassuring and friendly there. This man was her brother’s trusted close friend. Aglishy would not want her to fight this man. She drowned her pride and resentment successfully. “Thank you,” she whispered. A cold tear pricked her cheek as more poured from her heart.

She turned, taking out a little dagger from her side, and walked off, keeping the dagger hidden. She didn’t want Damon to see.

“Where are you going?” Damon called after her.

“I need some time to myself. I’ll be behind that tree.” She pointed with her left hand toward a large oak tree with no branches for some twenty feet up.

“Why are you using your left hand?” Damon called after her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Does it matter, Damon? It’s a little thing, not something to fight over, okay?”

“I’m not fighting,” said Damon. “Just making sure it’s all right. Turn around.”

Alyssa stopped. “Can I just go?” She slipped the dagger back into its sheath without moving her upper arm any more than she had to.

“No. Turn around.”

Alyssa did so, holding up her hands.

He looked at her in an expression that was a cross between confusion and skepticism, then seemed to reach a decision, and said, “Okay. Go on.”

Turning back around, Alyssa did so. She sat down on the other side of the tree, where she let her tears fall. She wasn’t sure why she was crying; she surely was her father’s daughter. Why his having issues with depression made her have them as well was beyond her, but she knew she felt sad so many times.

She hadn’t lied to Damon. Her father really did cut himself. She had just left out a little detail: she cut herself, too. It was a good way to relieve stress. It seemed to ease the pain. Before she’d come South, she’d been in the practice of meditating every day, and she had been fine- but then between moving and the burning of her friends and the fighting and the trip up here, she hadn’t had the time or the willpower to do so. Now, it was taking its toll.

She withdrew the dagger. She knew that Damon would be watching her, so she’d have to get places that would be covered by her dress, which was, fortunately (and intentionally) long-sleeved. She rolled up one of the loose sleeves all the way to her shoulder, and made a small incision with her dagger. The dagger wasn’t sharp; she was scared that if she ever used a blade made for killing or skinning, she’d kill herself, something she didn’t want to do, though there were times when she was not sure she wanted to live, and could have cared less. The day Kyle had found her had been one of those days. This day was becoming one.

She dragged it along her arm, shutting her eyes with the pain. When she opened them, a thin red line had appeared, and blood was gathering slowly. She grabbed the top of her dress. If Damon caught her doing this, she’d really be in trouble; but she had ceased to care.

She untied and folded down her dress, looked down at her breasts. The sight eased her pain a little bit, but she wasn’t done yet. She put the dagger below her chest and cut a little bit.

Why was she doing this? It was so stupid. And yet she couldn’t stop.

She knew she was moving down a bad path. Keep this up, and it wouldn’t be the Romans that would kill her. It would be herself.

She’d known a girl, once, that had committed suicide. Everyone had been devastated. Alyssa had thought the girl was happy. Everyone was shocked, but no one so much as her. And while she might hate her father, she could not help but admit that they had essentially the same problem with them.

She wondered what her father had been like before his only wife had died. It was said that he’d been the most loving, sunniest and friendliest man alive, and that from the day she’d died forward he had smiled one tenth as much as before, and never recovered. He’d begun compulsive sex, which is how Alyssa had been born. She hated that thought. She was a bastard daughter. She deserved to die.

So thinking, she made another incision. This time she raised her dress, and cut into her leg. There were already several scars there, some nearly gone, most not yet healed.

The crunching of leaves at first changed nothing. Then she realized it was coming from the North, not from where Damon stood; and so thinking, she rubbed the blood off quickly, wishing she hadn’t done it, wondering why she had. She really wasn’t headed anywhere good.

She stood, reattached her dress to her shoulders, and, pulling down her sleeves as she went, walked out from behind the tree. Checking herself, when she was sure she was not revealing the cuts in any way, she put the dagger back and ran, heart fluttering, toward the sound.

It was not long before she could see Kyle. He didn’t look happy, and she slowed down in dread. Fear crept through her, and she began to fiddle with her hair. She pulled on it, feeling like whacking herself in the head, but resisting.

Kyle looked at her then, and stopped.

“I want you to come with me, Alyssa,” he said.

“Is he there?” she said.

“I’d rather show you, because I’m not sure how to tell you.”

The cuts were beginning to bite with the cold. It had stopped snowing, but her sleeve was still damp, and it both tickled and stung. But she could have cared less about that at this point. She trudged off after Kyle, who turned and began walking semi-North when she started. She could hear Damon following after her. A minute later there was a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see him.

“Be brave, my child,” he said.

Alyssa nodded, grateful and guilty, grateful for his sympathy, guilty for her lies, arguing and action against his trust. But she was the only one who was getting hurt. Why should she feel guilty?

When he took his hand down, she turned and started walking again. Unable to stand a longer wait, she ran, catching up to Kyle and passing him.

Glancing behind her, she saw Kyle close his eyes. This wasn’t looking good right now.

She could see a clearing through the trees, see something black- but what? She sped up, branches snapping and leaves crunching as a cacophony to her frenzy.

Then she smelled smoke, caught her breath, and stumbled the last few feet to her father’s village. She heard Kyle and Damon running after her now as she stopped on her hands and knees, head poking into the burned-down village.

Every building was now a mass of charred rubble. A few smoking piles of black straw still lay there, some red. Charred beams, sharpened by burning, lay in mass around piles of ash and wood that she knew had made the former walls. She looked anxiously for her father’s house, suddenly forgiving him for all the harsh words and lies as new love spread through her chest. She was gripped by convulsions and sobbed on the word, “Father!”

There was a hand on her shoulder now, then another hand on the other shoulder. She wasn’t sure whose was whose. She stood slowly, then stumbled into the clearing. She recognized her father’s house- burned to the ground- and also a few charred corpses. There was a pile of them burned at the Northern edge of the village, and, for a moment, she was going to look through all of them for her father. If he wasn’t there, maybe he still lived. She started to look, but Kyle and Damon stopped her, dragging her away as she sobbed and screamed. She began hitting the ground, hitting Kyle and Damon in the feet, knees and shins. They pinned her to the ground, and she sobbed, screaming, unable to do anything more.

“Father! Father!” she said over and over again.

“Calm down, Alyssa,” said Kyle softly.

“He’s gone, he’s gone,” she said, and sobbed again louder than before.

“Not necessarily,” said Kyle.

“It’s unlikely,” said Damon. “The Romans wouldn’t kill him. As head druid, he’s worth a heck of a lot politically.”

“You think this is some kind of game?” said Alyssa.

“Listen to him, Alyssa,” said Kyle. “He’s not dead.”

“All right, all right,” said Alyssa, calming slightly. She sobbed again, but Damon and Kyle were patient with her.

Finally Kyle said, “Can we let you up now?”

She nodded, and they eased off of her. She stood slowly, still sniffing, but only gulping occasionally.

“He’s not gone?” she said.

“No, Alyssa,” said Kyle.

“You’re sure?”

There was a pause, and she looked desperately to Damon for confirmation.

“We can’t be certain,” said Damon. “That’s why we need to capture a Roman and find out if he’s alive, and where, and how many people are guarding him, and what they plan to do with him.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kyle nod. “That’s a good idea, Damon. If it’s okay with you, we’ll do that, Alyssa. I can’t get you to your father without him being here. Then the two of you can go up North, or whatever you agree to. Are you all right with that?”

“Yeah,” she said softly- but she did not want to lose contact. “Will you come with me?”

Kyle sighed, and she saw him and Damon look at each other.

“No,” said Damon. “I will return to my village.”

“And you?”

Kyle smiled gently, looking into her eyes as she stared into his. “I’d love to go with you, Alyssa, but it depends on what happens, and what your father says.”

Alyssa nodded. “All right then.”

“Right. Let’s go.” Kyle turned, motioning Damon to scout, and the three of them began tracking the Roman army.

Chapter III

Tracking the Romans

For two days, Damon led them toward the Roman army, following in their path by signs they had left. Kyle was impressed with Damon’s tracking ability; the man seemed an expert tracker- and an expert hunter. They lived off the land, having no food supplies with them left, and went hunting nearly every day. One day they caught a deer, and this seemed to cheer up Alyssa a great deal, but she still spent a lot of time off by herself- crying, she said.

He really did pity her- and the more he pitied her, the more his love grew. He wanted to spend every waking moment with her. She always seemed just beyond his grasp, and he knew that if he asked her to marry him, it would make things weird, besides which, he couldn’t get the father’s permission yet, and it was probable that he yet lived.

At night, Kyle frequently had dreams. They were always the same general plotline: an old man in a cloak came to him, and leaned down to touch him, and then he awoke. One night the dream went further.

Kyle was below a stormy sky on a ship rocking violently on the howling sea, and the old man was leaning down to touch him in the head again.

“My child,” he said.

Kyle wanted to speak, but his lips would not move.

“My child,” the man said again. There was nothing but kindness and love written on the man’s face and exuded from him. “You do not belong here. Look at what you have become.”

Kyle found himself on a horse, watching over a battlefield. Many armored men stood there, great warrior Celts who faced a larger force. And standing on one horse sat the old man.

Finally Kyle could speak. “Who are you?”

The man smiled, and pointed. “Look at what you have become.”

Then he spread his arms, and Kyle awoke to a crack of thunder.

The sky was actually blue. Kyle was jarred with the transition, but mostly he was confused. He did not understand. The man had been pointing at the other version of him, the one that had been sitting on the horse. And it seemed as though the man intended him to believe that this man was related to him in some way. “Look at what you have become,” he had said. What did it mean?

He stood, frost and leaves falling from his shirt. He beat it off onto the pile of leaves he had been sleeping under. There was a small fire going, and Alyssa and Damon sat there. Kyle was in the habit of being awakened by Damon, and he did not understand what was going on.

“Why didn’t anyone wake me?” he said. Could it have something to do with the dream?

“Alyssa saw a sign,” said Damon.

“Augury,” Alyssa added.

Kyle nodded. Evidently not.

He sat down. The fire felt good. The damp on his clothes seemed almost to sizzle.

“What did it mean?” he asked.

“The Romans are tracking us,” said Alyssa.

Kyle laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“It should be easy to find them, then, shouldn’t it?”

Alyssa smiled. “Actually, sort of.”

“She told me what we have to do to get her father back,” said Damon.

It seemed to Kyle that Alyssa was doing much better. “What do we do?”

“Tie me to a tree,” said Alyssa.

“And this is going to help us find the Romans how?”

“Bait,” she said. “A Roman scout will find me.”

Kyle grinned. “Hence the fire.”

“You got it bud,” said Damon. “Now that you’re awake, what do you say we get started before they get here?”

As Kyle nodded, Damon took some rope out of his backpack, and Alyssa backed up against one of the thinnest trees around them. Together Damon and Kyle wrapped it around her twice and tied it tightly at the rear of the tree.

“You don’t have to kill me,” said Alyssa- but she was not complaining. She was laughing. It gladdened Kyle’s heart to see her laugh. He was in a good mood.

As Damon finished knotting the rope, he nodded to Kyle, and Kyle raised the two of them into the treetop telekinetically. Kyle watched the branches pass him by as he craned his neck to see above him, focusing on Damon’s progress at the same time. He glanced down, using a slight tilt of his head, and decided it was high up enough off the ground. He maneuvered himself to a large branch and Damon to a smaller branch offsetting it.

They waited there, and the humor of the moment eventually passed in the silence that became tense. Kyle’s muscles were taut, but he was far from afraid. He knew they could handle what was coming- and if they could not, he did not fear his own death. It would be far harder to lose Damon, whom he’d come to admire so much, or, especially, Alyssa, whom he loved and wished to be with forever, than it would be to simply die and reincarnate, rapidly becoming unaware of the ones he had once known. In a way, he had become closer to these two friends than he had to anyone else save Dimunay in his entire life.

He knew that death would mean the end of his identity, so long as he reincarnated. He knew that in this, there was nothing to fear, as he would quickly come to not consciously know the difference, just as he did not miss his loved ones from his last life. Yet still, for an instant of reasoning not fitting to a druid, and yet in another respect, fitting entirely, he wished he could be with Alyssa indefinitely, or at least that the memory of someone so… what? Stubborn? Suicidal? Why did he love her? And yet he did. And he knew that should she leave him, or he leave her, for those few days before he lost all memory of her, he would be as lost and sad as a calf watching his mother be butchered.

And that reminded him of Dimunay. The thought brought a twinge of pain, but there was love, too. He wondered who Dimunay had become, and if they would ever meet again. He wondered if Alyssa could help him find Dimunay’s new incarnation, help that incarnation remember him… but he knew it would never happen. Dimunay had been a great leader, but it was one lesson of his teacher and many druids to live in the present, not be so absorbed in what once was or what might never be.

There was a snap, and he looked up sharply, the world of thought vanishing from his mind as he cleared it and made himself aware of his surroundings. He did not think, he did not reason, he did not become oblivious- instead, he became aware of all that surrounded him, a form of meditation he had learned from Dimunay.

He could hear the birds chirping, squirrels flitting through the trees. One passed up the tree he was in as he peered around the edge. Further into the forest, he heard voices, but he couldn’t see anything yet. Then a hand pulled him backward gently, and he looked at Damon with an apologetic nod.

The crunches were getting louder now- solitary, but with someone in the distance taking more time. The loud person was running, and a few minutes later Kyle could hear him just under his tree, almost felt Alyssa’s fixed stare at the man.

The man below the tree called out in Latin, “Hey, looks like a girl’s been abandoned. Come here man!”

There was silence for a moment, then a voice from somewhere distant to Kyle’s right called out, also in Latin, “I’m coming.”

Kyle could hear the clear, metallic note of a sword being drawn swiftly, and Damon gave Kyle a glance and nodded, drawing his sword. Then Damon jumped down from the tree, falling swiftly. Kyle slowed Damon down as he neared the ground, then followed him, sliding around the tree’s trunk as he glided downward just in time to see Damon’s and the Roman’s swords striking with a clang, Damon’s right arm twisted to his left with his sword aimed from his left for the Roman soldier’s right hip.

Kyle focused on the Roman’s sword- a very quick process- and ripped it up into the air from the Roman’s grasp.

Now there were running footsteps from somewhere else as Damon put his sword to the Roman’s throat. The Roman took a wild look in his eye, and screamed: “Run and get help!”

There was an earsplitting pause as the footsteps of the Roman’s friend turned course, and then Kyle watched Damon thrust his blade through the Roman’s neck. Blood sprayed onto all three of them- Kyle, Alyssa and Damon- and the Roman’s eyes bulged, then sunk blankly. Damon removed his sword as the Roman slumped, and the Roman sank limply in an awkward fashion to the ground.

“Sorry,” said Damon. “I should have killed him when he started screaming. I guess I’m just not used to being with druids who have so much power over the natural world and its magicks.”

Kyle fought to contain his rage. Damon had made a fatal error; the Roman could have led them to Gong, Alyssa’s father. Now they had no way of knowing where he was or how to get there. This was by far the biggest mistake they had made so far. There was nothing left to do.

“What were you thinking?” Kyle demanded, unable to contain himself any further, spinning on Damon.

“What do you mean?” said Damon. He had sheathed his sword, and was untying Alyssa.

“You will be responsible for the blood of Alyssa’s father,” said Kyle; “you will be responsible for the blood of the druid’s leader- my leader. I hope you can live with that.”

Damon only laughed, breaking out in roll after roll, obviously struggling to stop but unable to. He leaned against the tree as he bent over.

“What’s so funny?” said Kyle.

“Druids may be magickal geniuses,” said Damon- “and even incredible warriors. But understand, you know nothing, and I mean nothing, about the art of war. I can track the other guy. Otherwise I would not have killed the first.”

Instantly Kyle felt bad for his criticism.

“I’m sorry, Damon,” he said. “I was being arrogant. Forgive me.”

“Hey, we all make mistakes,” said Damon, clapping a hand to Kyle’s shoulder and looking him in the eye. “I expect I’ll make some myself before Yule.”

Kyle nodded. Samhain had just passed not too long ago- about a month ago. It was a late winter this year, and the events following the New Year did not bode well for his people, or for him. And yet did it? He could not deny that his time with Alyssa had been of the finest quality he could ever remember spending with anyone other than Dimunay.

Damon withdrew his hand, looking around craftily. “Follow me,” he said, and slit Alyssa’s bonds with one strike of his dagger. Kyle and Alyssa tore after Damon.

“I could fly the three of us,” Kyle called after Damon. “It would be faster.”

Damon looked over his shoulder as he ran, nodding, looking as though he were preparing for flight by the slightly altered motions of his running.

Kyle flew into Alyssa, grabbing her. He took off into the air, levitating Damon in front of them. “Use your hand to motion,” he said- “like you would for a horse.”

Damon did this, mostly going straight. As they sped up, Kyle could see the running Roman through the trees, and understood when Damon put his hand back some. Kyle slowed down.

As they followed the man below, who was still oblivious to the three Celts flying behind him, Kyle noted how good it felt to have Alyssa there in his arms. He wondered if she felt it, too: how easily she fitted into his arms, how warm she felt against his body, how much he ached to kiss her… he was sure she could not feel this way. It was one of those things that was too much desired to be true. And if she loved him, she, being a seer, could easily have known how he felt- in which case she would surely give him some kind of sign. But nonesuch had there been. And even in the heat of a chase to save his love’s father’s life, Kyle found time to wistfully reflect on how badly he wanted to make her his wife.

Kyle suddenly noticed that Damon’s hand was waving in the air, and Kyle banked to the right sharply as Damon had indicated. He had lost sight of the Roman, but shortly afterward he was visible again.

Then Damon made a frantic “Come here” motion, and Kyle closed their gap.

“Kill him, quick!” Damon said.

“We won’t be able to find….”

“Trust me,” said Damon.

Kyle nodded stiffly, knowing he had learned already not to distrust Damon. So he brought them down swiftly behind the Roman and let Damon down first. Damon slung his sword in one fluid motion through the Roman’s back. Kyle could see its bloody tip and the blood spraying out of his back as the Roman collapsed to his knees with a gross grunt and fell flat on his chest.

Damon walked up to the Roman and removed his sword.

Damon immediately began stripping the Roman of his clothes. He poured some water from his canteen onto the chain mail, glittering and red until he washed it clean. He took off the subarmalis, or padded clothing that Romans wore beneath their chain mail.

He grinned as he suited up in all the Roman’s armor. When he put the helmet on as the finishing touch, Kyle noticed that his hair still showed on his backside, and helped him put it up behind his head.

“Now,” said Kyle, when Damon had finished, “what’s this about?”

“I’m going to go free Gong,” said Damon with a smile, turning and walking off.

“But Damon-” Kyle and Alyssa began at once.

Turning around, Damon cut them both off with: “Trust me.”

And he continued down the path the Roman had taken.

Chapter IV

Gong’s Decision

Damon ran through the forest toward the smoke up ahead, his muscles quivering with excitement. There was some sort of joy in this task, it held such high honor. Surely this would make the God proud; surely this would win him a place by Queen Maeve; surely the fey would talk in wonder of his deed this day. Though it might be nothing compared to Kyle’s work, yet he knew warriors were second only to druids and kings. He had lived a life full of valor, though many of his friends, even his leader, of late, had died. He took comfort in knowing they would one day walk this plane again, or else that they did now. He wondered if he would meet them again; for he saw them in the tender glance of children he passed, heard them in the wails of an infant as he wondered, “Is that my old friend?” He knew one day he would join them, and prayed that he might be born to an old friend, or that the God might give him honors for his service. He knew one day the Goddess would supply him with a beautiful, charming wife, whether in this lifetime or the next. He knew She favored him, for he could feel Her breath whipping round his shoulders even now; he thought he heard her whisper, “You will save him. I am with you.”

Glancing up, he saw a wisp of green light, and then another. The fairy folk, or fey, had come to guide him this day. Blessed be the fey, blessed be their love for and allegiance to the Celts. Blessed be their carefree nature, may he ever be like them.

He was aware, as he neared the Roman encampment, that if he failed, both Gong and he would die. He would have to keep a low profile, and that would lead to the successful saving of Gong.

As he entered the encampment, a tall soldier in an officer’s uniform approached Damon. Damon knew very little Latin, but managed to make out, “Orders” and “Julius Disesarum.”

“He was captured,” he panted, kneeling down. He wasn’t sure he’d gotten the endings of his words right, but he hoped that the officer would think Damon was merely out of breath.

Quietly he sank to the ground, slicing himself across the chest with the sword of the Roman soldier he had killed.

The officer grabbed him, helping him to his feet. Damon left his sword lying there as the Roman helped him walk into the camp.

Damon shook his head.

“Exchange,” he panted, trying to make it sound as though his wound was far worse than it was. “Gong.”

The soldier looked him in the eye uncertainly, but Damon grabbed the soldier’s dark face and said, “Or Diesarum die!”

The soldier nodded, and led Damon into a white tent. Inside, Gong lay tied up.

The soldier said something, but Damon could not make out what. He wished, then, that he knew far more Latin. He should have been a druid.

Pretending not to hear, he untied Gong, who looked at him with a start as though about to say something before Damon brushed his forefinger by his lips, letting it stay there just long enough for Gong to realize what he was saying.

Gong was mostly bald, with a few strands of yellow hair going down his back. He was dark for a Celt, and had cheeks that remained somewhat chubby, even after what Damon could only conjecture had been near starvation under the Roman army’s captivity.

Damon led Gong out of the tent, searching for the word he was looking for.

He stopped, turned to the Roman and said, “Officer meeting.” He broke out into coughs, motioned that he had to go.

The Roman handed Damon a piece of rope, and Damon nodded his appreciation, tying Gong’s hands. When he turned back, he saw that the Roman was still standing there.

Damon broke out coughing again, falling to his knees. The Roman tried to help him, but Damon collapsed on his face, then rose to his knees again with evident strain.

“Vene!” said the Roman- “Come on!”

Damon shook his head, pointing to Gong, then motioned for the Roman to get help.

The Roman nodded, and ran off.

When the Roman had disappeared into a tent, Damon rose and, grabbing Gong’s hands, led him tearing off into the forest. Inside its thickness, he drew his dagger and cut Gong’s bonds. Then they continued.

***

Julius Diesarum lay his head down on his cot. He had had a busy morning, and wanted some sleep. He noticed distastefully that he smelled bad, grunted, and shut his eyes. It was not nearly dark enough.

There was a rustle behind him, and he turned to see a young officer, Gladius Fortus, coming in with a frantic look on his face.

And then he shouted, hardly aware of Julius:

“Help! An officer’s about to die!”

Julius sat up in rage at being woken up. “Do I look like a doctor young man?”

On seeing him and finally realizing, evidently, that Julius was the only person in the tent, the officer froze.

“What do you stand there for? Weren’t you after a doctor?” said Julius.

“Sir… the officer’s meeting… I apologize, sir… Is that you, Mr. Diesarum?”

“Of course it’s me! Now what’s this thing about an officer’s meeting?”

“Forgive me sir! I thought you were captured.” A dazed look passed over the man’s face. “Who’s the guy outside?”

“Guy outside? Captured? What’s going on?” said Julius, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks. Him, captured? Ha! Not a thousand Celts could take him, with their primitive huts and disorganized warfare. Hadn’t he taken a healthy portion of the mainland? Hadn’t the Roman ships destroyed a Celtic fleet- granted, it had been Celtic mercenary allies that had turned the tide of the battle, but the Romans- weren’t they proven indomitable in war after war? Who could withstand the might of the Roman legion? It was clear to him that to get behind their lines, whatever that might be for, was far beyond the skill levels of these simple superstitious folk.

As he came back to reality from his inner rant, he realized the officer was muttering something apologetically.

“What’s that? Speak up!”

“Uh... uh…” stammered the soldier.

Julius stood and whacked him across the face. Fortus cowered backward.

“What’s going on?”

“Please forgive me. A Roman soldier told me you were captured. He said we had to release Gong…”

Julius hit him several more times, despite the soldier’s apologies.

“Where’s Gong?” he shouted.

“He’s waiting outside, with the wounded man.”

Julius opened the tent flap, but could see no one. Fortus came to the flap and looked out himself.

“Where?” said Julius.

“Say, he was pretty fair of skin,” said Fortus.

Julius marched inside, and drew his dagger from its sheath. He put it to the soldier’s neck, saying, “I want these men captured and burned at one of their own temples. Do you understand me?”

***

Kyle waited in the woods, confident in Damon. The man was resilient; he had proven himself, and Kyle held great respect for him, and liked him very much. Yet there was so much hanging on this one mission. And he found that it was not merely his love of the druidic caste, nor of the Celtic people, nor even of Dimunay’s memory that had him tense as he waited. It was not merely Gong’s role as head druid, his role of head of state, nor his role as leader of the Celtic kings, nor of his role as possible liberator of the Gallic races, nor even of all these things: no, the thought that hit closest to home as he waited was simply that he was the father of the girl he loved.

Time passed by slowly, but eventually Kyle made out Damon running through the forest. At first he worried something had gone wrong, but then he saw Gong trailing behind.

Kyle’s first impression was that Gong looked disorderly. His clothes were ragged, especially for a head druid’s. Yet his aged head seemed to speak of wisdom, and he thought he could follow this man’s word. The falling locks of withered yellow hair were as a deposit of gold streaking down a black abyss of dirty rock, or perhaps a rainbow streaking through a murky mist. So it seemed to Kyle; for behind that ragged, aged head, Kyle could see years of experience and wisdom, battered, shaking like the rainbow that does not persist with a change of viewpoint- but, nonetheless, there.

Kyle would get this man and his daughter, Kyle’s love, to the North, where they might be safe, where they might form a more able resistance against the advancing Roman army via Gong’s influence.

Alyssa, Kyle realized, was just now realizing that Gong and Damon had returned. She gave a shrill shriek, something Kyle likened to a cross between that of the Morrigan and a girl turned young woman who had just gone through her coming-of-age ceremony and was hugging her friends.

As Alyssa wrapped her hands around her father, Kyle heard Gong say, “Damon and I have made an ingenious escape, Alyssa. The man has nearly as much wit as I do. He would make a great husband for you.”

“Your daughter and I are friends,” said Damon.

“Surely you would not pass up the opportunity to marry the head druid’s daughter, ha?”

“Father,” said Alyssa, wiping tears from her eyes as she looked at Kyle. “I have no desire to marry Damon. As he said, he is merely my friend.”

“Ah, well,” said Gong. “I understand. Now who is this man here?”

Alyssa smiled warmly at Kyle, and Kyle’s heart gave a flutter that grew into a passionate pounding at the sound of her voice in the words that followed her initial statement:

“This is Kyle.” She walked up to him, grabbing his hand and turning to face her father, beaming, as Kyle stared into those beautiful eyes he longed to meet.

“Kyle is a brave man,” she said; “as brave as Damon, and a more formidable warrior. He is kind, too; his heart is big, and he would do anything for your people. He saved my life because he recognized that I was your daughter; I was mad at him at first, and wanted nothing more than to die; but he has helped me overcome all that. He is always so supportive, so friendly; we have our fights, but he loves….” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced at Kyle. Kyle met her eye determinedly, struggling not to glance away. His heart was pounding, and he squeezed her hand before she turned back to her father and said in a less enthusiastic tone that sounded of defeat, “He loves everyone. He loves me. He is an awesome friend.” She said it quickly, and while Kyle could not tell how she felt, he was sure she knew how he felt. And he wanted desperately to believe that in her voice- aye, and he could swear he’d heard it there- there was a note of not just recognition, but appreciation. He yearned to kiss her as he stood there, summoned some courage, and decided to come out with it.

“I do….” He had meant to say, “I do love you,” but he faltered on “do” because Gong interrupted him.

“So tell me, valiant Kyle, how is it you saved my daughter’s life? For I am much indebted to you, I do believe.”

Kyle looked down, knowing what a head druid would think of his actions.

“You didn’t?” Gong said in a reprehensive tone.

Kyle tried to look up, but found such anger in those eyes, and such guilt in his heart, that he looked back down for shame. “I did,” he said firmly. “Forgive me.”

“Forgive you?”

Out of the tops of his eyes, he could see Gong advancing on him. He was sure Gong’s face told of rage, but he could only hear it in his voice, as he refused to look up. Then Gong grabbed his face and forced him to look up.

“Look into my eyes,” said Gong.

Kyle did as he was told, jaw set.

“Do you think one life matters in comparison to what the Romans could do to this world if they learned the truth?”

Kyle started to answer, but Gong cut him off again.

“I correct myself! Do you think that one life matters in comparison to what the Romans will do now that they have learned the truth?”

Again Kyle started to answer, and again Gong cut him off.

“It’s only a matter of time now. I hope they kill you first….”

“Father!” said Alyssa. “This man saved my life!”

“At the cost of the lives and sacrilege of our people!” roared Gong, spinning on her angrily, still loosely grasping Kyle’s face.

There was silence. It seemed to Kyle that it would go on forever as he glanced to a tree. Gong shook Kyle’s face again, and Kyle was forced to look into his eyes.

“I swear on the name of the God that if you do not fix this, I will sooner kill you with my own hands than let the Romans have that privilege.”

“Father!” said Alyssa. She was sobbing now as Gong released his hold on Kyle and turned his back.

“Father!” She clung at his back, trying to turn him around.

He did so willingly, and spat in her face.

“You should be dead,” he said. “All of you should be dead.”

“Sir,” said Damon. “I might mention you would be dead yourself, were it not for Kyle.”

“I would sooner be dead than have this happen,” said Gong.

“It is not yet too late to rectify it,” said Damon.

“Damon’s right,” said Alyssa. “There’s an island near here. If we go there, we can still get the help of the goddess who dwells there. She will make things right.”

“I hope you have chosen this goddess well,” said Gong, “for it is there that we go. Should this not work, may the fey dance in the empty eye sockets of your corpse, Kyle; for I will supply them with such a place, and would find it only fitting that you offer yourself in sacrifice to appease the gods.”

Kyle nodded, feeling as though he might cry himself with the weight of his shame. “Should this fail, Alyssa may do the sacrifice.”

Alyssa looked at him with a look of despair, and Kyle turned his back. He could not look her in the eyes. But he knew that if he were to be sacrificed, he would find it a comfort to look into those beautiful eyes, knowing he died not just by the will of the gods, but by hers as well, when he was slain.

Chapter V

The Message of the Goddess

Kyle felt disgust as he trudged through the forest. Gong, being old, demanded that they walk. Kyle was caught between the original respect he had had for Gong as head druid, his personal shame at what he had done, and the gnawing thought that Gong was not the person Kyle had made him out to be. He was foul-tempered and rash. Yet he should not think so. This man was not merely his elder; he was not even simply his leader, though that would be enough: this man was the leader of the Celts, the figurehead of everything they did. The man must be obeyed. Yet Kyle could not help but think that Dimunay had been a far better leader. Dimunay would have made a far better head druid. And yet better was not an adequate word, so Kyle found the need to find more open-minded words: Dimunay had been kinder, and would have shown more love to his followers; he would have accepted them more; he would have been more supportive; he would have inspired those below him to serve as he did. And he would have forgiven Kyle.

Or would he have? Kyle had well learned the lesson from Dimunay that magick was not something one shared with the world. It was fine to keep the mysterious “We do magick” mask to the outside world; it was fine to let a fellow Celt know of his true power, specifically just how much a druid wielded; but it was a serious no-no to do anything that could lead to an outside culture learning from them. Another of Dimunay’s students, Delilah, had predicted that their holidays would be stolen, that their culture would be warped, that a new religion would persecute them even worse than the Roman army would. She had said this would be by the ruling class of people on their homeland. Kyle knew she had said nothing of these people wielding their faith’s power in the same way they exploited their holidays and stole their culture, but he also knew that the future could be changed.

And it shamed him so much to think that he might lead to this change that he no longer wanted to go North. He wanted to finish this.

But there was something else he wanted. He could not deny it in his heart that he wanted more than life itself to marry Alyssa, for he would sooner die in her arms than live without her. The thought excited him; it seemed to redeem his very soul from the great error he had made. For love was the binding force of the Universe; through it, the Goddess’ truest womb, all things were made manifest. The stars were love; the Earth, the astral, the trees were all love; he, Alyssa- they were love, and he wished to unite the masculine and feminine principle; he wished to become one with her. He would ask her to marry him.

Then there was the one glitch: First, he had to get Gong’s permission to ask her.

Kyle woke to the sound of water sliding by their ship. It was a peaceful sound. There, on the flat bottom of the ship, he swore he could sense the marine life below him. He nearly fell asleep again, but he was determined, this time, to go with his intention. He stood groggily, taking a breath of fresh air and looking up into the stars. The leather sails were flapping every now and then; they weren’t getting much wind. But that was okay- Kyle needed time.

He walked along the boat, looking for Gong. He glanced over the edge once, could see a dolphin’s moonlit, shimmering flesh rising and falling in the ocean. Moonlight glimmered in a column from a full moon. He felt wistful; he wanted to do an Esbat ritual. Instead he propped himself up against the side of the ship, closed his eyes and prayed:

“Dear Goddess in Your fullness, let your light envelop me, enlighten me; let your smooth waves wash my heart clean; let your bounty keep me and mine without want tonight, and may your love guide me and my enemies to peace.”

He opened his eyes, looked into the beautiful stars. Only a wisp of cloud was there; for the most part, it was the epitome of serenity. Kyle, having spent his entire life with Dimunay near the southern coast, had never been on the ocean before. With the slight bobbing of the waves, with the soft light of the full moon glimmering off his flesh, with the dolphins’ gentle rise and fall as they followed their boat….

Kyle looked overboard. There should be no dolphins here. A strong light came from above, by the moon, and he found himself tumbling overboard. Yet over the side, the water was warm, and the sun rose swiftly, yet spreading no light.

A voice called out to him:

“As surely as the sun shall come, so shall your day rise and fall. It is coming, dear child, it is coming.”

He looked into the moon, saw a woman wrapped in white forming out of it; She seemed to walk down the sky toward him, and the moon was but a speck in her glory.

“Come, Child of the Moon,” She called to him as She grew bigger. “Do not be so amazed to see that which you worship every Esbat. Do you not know who I am?”

Kyle knelt, and found his knee standing on the water.

“I know you my Lady, for I have always known you.”

“Then do you not know yourself?”

Kyle grew confused, said, “Milady, sweet Goddess, I have meditated on myself many times…”

“And yet you do not know who you are.”

Almost unsure of where the words were coming from, he looked into the silver- blue eyes of the silver-gowned Goddess, tall and mature before him, as he said, “What is my name?”

“That is a worthwhile question,” She said. “Many have pondered such a question- even many druids, it is true- and never realized just who they are. Understand, my child, son of the gods, you are he who is to free this place. But your death is coming. Do not despair, however…. Milord, will you not come to he whose fate beckons your strength?”

And then the sun grew in strength, and Kyle tore his eyes from the Goddess to see a crowned giant of a youth with dark skin and bulging muscles, wrapped in a white tunic, form from the sun. A strong light shone from him on Kyle’s face, and Kyle shielded his eyes.

“You can never find that which you do not look for,” said the God.

Kyle parted his hand from his face, squinted, and then looked into the full force of the sun. A beam shone on him, and he glanced down, seeing his skin shining in its light. He looked back up, found the young man he had seen before, someone who commanded so much respect that Kyle dug his face into the man’s thigh, clutching him as he cried.

“Is it not joyful to be reunited with your whole, child?” said the God.

“It is every druid’s dream,” said Kyle.

“You will need strength,” said the God, and Kyle backed up from him, eyes drying. He bowed his head in reverence, and said softly, “Great God of the shining sun, great God of the brave heart, great God of honor, service and the woodland, understand that I love you, and that I will always ally myself to you.”

“Yet you break druidic code?” said the God.

Kyle looked down in shame.

“Tell me,” said the God, “where your heart lies.”

“With the two of you,” said Kyle.

“And does it not dwell with Alyssa and Damon, too?”

Kyle was confused, but he answered affirmatively.

“Do you not understand?” said the God.

“No. He does not remember who he is,” said the Goddess.

“None who part our realm ever do,” said the God.

“I don’t understand,” said Kyle. “Was I of your realm?”

The Goddess smiled down at him, took a lock of his hair and twiddled it in her fingers. “Child, you cannot recall who you are?”

Before Kyle could answer, the God said, “Then tell me, Kyle, why it is you should have felt so little shame in your decision before Gong told you how you should feel?”

Kyle still didn’t understand.

“Do you not remember why we sent you here?” said the God. “Why are you here, Kyle?”

“I wish to save our homeland from the Romans,” Kyle said.

She only looked at him sadly, as though he were missing the bigger picture. “Does that mission mean nothing to you?”

And then the old man Kyle had seen before in his dreams appeared, wearing a blue cloak and bearing a great staff. He struck Kyle over the head with it. Then Kyle found in his own hands this staff, and he understood at last.

“You are no son of man,” said the God.

And Kyle woke beneath a starry sky.

Kyle was trembling, there in the drizzling, cold rain. His blankets were soaked through. He stood, trembling still- yet was it from the rain, or was it from the dream? Or was it from the realization of who he was?

“Who am I?” he wondered aloud.

And the answer came to him again. He was no man.

He was no son of man.

He was the child of the gods, as no druid was.

He was a god.

He was Merlin.

And his destiny was to free the Celtic people of this terrible threat.

But that was not in this lifetime: he had left the world of the gods too late; now he must wait till opportunity showed its face again. For now, he must live and die as mortal man. Lifetimes from now, aye, lifetimes, years and years of living and dying later, he would become the god he was in this plane, and lead the Celts to peace.

But that would not be now.

And now, he desired to find Alyssa. He must have Gong’s consent. And he knew he would not have it, but he knew he had to ask anyway.

Merlin was a god of prophecy. Now that he knew his gift, he knew so much more.

Kyle walked through the ranks of sleeping people, then rose into the air. He glided aft, stopped at the exact spot where Gong lay. The sight of Gong reminded him of his guilt, and he wavered in his newfound belief for a minute. As he recovered it, he knew before Gong spoke exactly what he would say.

“What do you want?”

“Tell me, Gong,” said Kyle, “what you think of me?”

“I dislike you, naturally,” said Gong.

Kyle wavered again, but, with some effort, he recovered himself, determined. “What does Alyssa think of me?”

“Alyssa hates you. She tells me she knows how you feel, so she tries to act like she’s okay with it. But she never really got over the fact that you let her live. She wishes you had let her die.”

“My Goddess,” said Kyle gently, struggling not to fall to doubt again, his voice carrying over the slight breeze, rising through the salt air and traveling homeward to the moon where his Goddess lay. “Tell me if he speaks truth.”

And a voice came to him: “Do not seek to realize your full strength yet, Merlin. The time will come. It is not now, nor tomorrow, nor next year, nor next lifetime; but it will come, rest assured.”

Kyle bowed his head.

“Who are you talking to?” said Gong.

“Do you tell the truth?” said Kyle.

“Of course,” said Gong.

Kyle wandered back to his spot, unsure of whether or not to believe Gong. His mind wavered again. Then despair came; no druid would lie; much less would a head druid lie. For all his faults, yet Gong was honest. Kyle slumped into his blankets. Alyssa did not love him. And he did not even have Gong’s permission.

There truly was only one thing left to do in his life. He had to lay the foundation for the god that would come- the god that was he. He must ensure that the Romans would not take more power than he could fight off so many years from now; then he would live out a good life, and, in his highest hopes, come to stay by Alyssa’s side for life, as her friend, if not her lover. He could at least change her mind about him that much. But that was farther away in the future. For now, for now, he must fulfill his quest and learn of how to make the Romans forget the druidic ways that they had seen. For in his heart, there lingered his true nature; for in his heart, he knew it could be done.

Kyle went to the mast, looking out over the waters. A man was there already, but he had fallen asleep.

“Slacker,” Kyle muttered.

Looking up, Kyle could see another ship. It was not flat bottomed, as were the Celtic ships; no, it was rounded, with Roman colors glittering in the moonlight.

Kyle turned, running off down the length of the ship, feeling as though still in a dream.

“Captain!” he called. “Captain!”

At the helm, Kyle found an old man with a long salt-and-pepper beard, more salt than pepper, steering calmly.

“What can I do you for?” said the captain.

“There’s a Roman ship bound for us, sir,” said Kyle.

“Roman?” said the captain. “War vessel?”

“Aye,” said Kyle.

“Damn,” said the captain, his face going strict. “Where’s Johnny? That boy, he supposed to warn me these things, he is.”

The captain must have meant the man at the bowsprit, Kyle thought. “He’s asleep,” said Kyle.

“Drat him. Well, we can’t outrun them, and we definitely can’t fight….” The captain’s eyes glazed over a minute, then he said, slowly coming back to himself, “Yes, I suppose we could hide. We’ll try to leave their line of sight. Put up anything reflective.”

The captain turned the boat around 90 degrees, and Kyle sat down, chest taunt as he bit his lip.

“Tell Johnny to put more sail up,” whispered the captain to Kyle. “And tack.”

Glad for something to do other than wait to be destroyed, Kyle ran up the ship back to the bowsprit. He shook Johnny.

“What?” said Johnny, stirring as he came to, then sitting up quickly. “Sorry Cap,” he said, then looked at Kyle and said softly, “Oh, thank Avalon, it’s you.”

“Captain wants you to put up more sail,” said Kyle. “And tack.”

“Well he’ll have to wait,” said Johnny, lying back down. “I’m hungry, and I need to eat a bit.”

Kyle glared. “You’re not eating, you’re sleeping.”

“He don’t need to know that,” said Johnny.

“There’s a Roman ship headed for us!” said Kyle.

Johnny sat up again quickly, eyes much wider than before. “You ain’t pulling my leg, is you man?”

“No,” said Kyle.

Johnny stood, peering out over the water a minute, then rushed by Kyle so hard Kyle nearly fell overboard but wound up sitting on a wooden beam near the top of the rail instead. By now people had gotten the word, and wool coats were being flung over everything that could possibly reflect the moonlight, even parts of the railing.

As the sails came up and he walked back to his spot, Kyle could have sworn the noise was audible from a mile away. A few other hands were helping too, now, but as time wore on, it became clear that the Romans had seen them. They were following them.

A warm hand grabbed his suddenly, and, looking down, Kyle found Alyssa.

“What’s going on?” she said.

“We’re being overtaken,” said Kyle, looking into her eyes wistfully, wishing she’d be honest with him about how she felt, rather than leading him on with those soft eyes and her kind voice.

“By the Romans?”

“Yeah.”

She breathed in heavily. Kyle pulled down the hood from her sea cloak, which her father had talked a merchant into giving her at port, and leaned in. He wanted so badly to kiss her, and in the end, he could neither give in nor refuse. So he kissed her on the forehead, then stepped down from the plank, standing.

He watched her eyes linger on him for a moment, then shift across the sea. The Roman frigate was close to them now. It would only be a little longer.

“I could take you away from here,” he said softly.

“No,” she said, her eyes meeting his for a moment again. “I couldn’t do that. What of Daddy, what of Damon?”

“I could get all of us out of here,” said Kyle. “I could fly us to that island. We’re not so far away.”

Alyssa grabbed his hand, looking into his eyes. “And is it in you to abandon this ship full of people to the Romans?”

“It is,” said Kyle. “I love… all of you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her eyes were glistening now, and he knew it was not the moonlight. “I know,” she said, and held his hand to her cheek, tormenting Kyle with desire, as well as the inability to grasp what was here before him. What she did not want, he wanted more than life itself. Perhaps more so even than victory in this war. He would gladly become a man, eradicate every part of him that was divine, and take her as his wife for all eternity in exchange. Maybe even just for life.

He closed his eyes.

There was an ear-splitting crash near him, and shattered wood dug into his knee. Kyle fell in pain as Alyssa shrieked, catching him as best she could, and the whole boat fell to pandemonium as sleeping people were startled awake and fell to running about, some diving into the water to try their hands at swimming.

As Kyle rolled over onto his back, he sat up slightly, wrenching the huge wooden shard form his knee. Blood flowed from it, but he knew better than to heal it now.

Standing, he limped toward the gash in the hull where a wooden log had come crashing through. He could see the Roman vessel to his right, turned to face it. He saw a Roman warrior hacking a rope in two, and another log came crashing into their boat as screams pierced the night.

Kyle ran through the sinking ship’s length, looking for Alyssa. He found where she had been, but a Roman grabbed him, slung him overboard. He fell on a plank wrenched outward at an angle from the collision, rolled out into the sea with a splash. There he found Alyssa, floating, half dead. He healed her and himself quickly, put her on his back as he had once before, and started gliding through the water telekinetically.

Startling suddenly, she said, “Wait!”

Kyle stopped. “Alyssa, we’ve got to go.”

“What about Gong? What of Damon?”

Kyle frowned. “All right.”

He led the two of them back toward the two vessels. Theirs was now sinking rapidly into the water, and Romans were taking prisoners. Many more Celts drifted lifelessly in the sea, their bodies maimed.

Kyle found the ladder to the Roman vessel and climbed up it with Alyssa behind him.

“Hey there!” shouted a Roman soldier, dragging Kyle up the ladder. “What’s your name?”

“Brian,” said Kyle.

“And hers?” he said, looking at Alyssa below them.

“Scathach,” said Alyssa. She’d named herself after the goddess who’d trained Cuchulain at the Isle of Shadow. Fitting, for they were now directed toward an island.

“Aye,” said the Roman. He turned Kyle around forcefully, bound his wrists.

A few minutes later Kyle and Alyssa had been tied to a great wooden bar in the middle of the ship.

As they cut through the water, Kyle knew that he needed to get free; moreover, he knew that he needed to bring Alyssa with him. He needed to free everyone he was with- preferably the entire ship. But he would first need to get the advice of the goddess who dwelt at that island (Alyssa had not yet told him which goddess it was); and for that, he would need Alyssa’s help.

He would break free that night, and then the two of them would go to the shrine of this goddess, seek her wisdom, and do as she instructed.

After everyone was settled, a man came walking by them. It took Kyle a moment to recognize him, but there was no mistaking those hideous burns all over his face- the ones Kyle had given him.

“I would like to tell you all that I am aware you were harboring druids. Your captain told me. Amazing what a man will say with steel to his throat, isn’t it?”

He paused a minute, and Kyle swore the blessed night of the full moon had been cursed by this war.

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know, your lives are therefore going to be cut short.” He began walking down the ranks; Kyle put his head down just enough that his face was covered by shadow, but little enough to not be obvious, as Julius Diesarum walked past.

Stopping just to his right, Julius Diesarum continued, “I guess that can be read the wrong way, however, so I correct myself. I am not going to kill you, let me make that much clear. No, as Celts harboring the druidic caste, I will have you all sworn into Roman service.” He laughed. “But you won’t be carrying a tower shield, don’t you worry- no, you’ll be carrying wine and goat for the rest of your life, if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky, you might be digging up rock or fighting to the death for our viewing pleasure.” He chuckled. “Yes, now it should be clear. You’ll simply be slaves. Run, of course, and then you really will be dead. We’re stopping up ahead at the island of Scathach, as you call it.” Then, mockingly, he added, “Blessed be!” and laughed.

He walked by Kyle again, and went to the helm.

A few hours passed. Kyle couldn’t sleep. Eventually he heard the boat slowing down, heard men bringing the sails down and switching to oars.

He felt groggy- he must have slept after all- but he woke himself up as water ceased sliding by the ship.

Most of the hands went to their places to sleep, but Kyle kept awake. He watched each of the guards. They looked tired- something he could use to his advantage.

Putting his palms outward, he sent them blue healing energy, making it deep. Blue energy had the power to put people to sleep; this is what he needed now.

They were obviously fighting it and doing a good job at doing so, but as time wore on, their yawns became more frequent. One of them went to get help, but Kyle focused on his foot and tripped him telekinetically. The fall knocked him out. It wasn’t much longer before all the guards had fallen asleep.

Kyle looked at the wooden bar his hands were bound to, focused on it, and began to strain with his mind. There was a cracking sound, and then the sound of wood splintering. He broke free, wood shards digging into his wrists and his lower arms. He whipped around quickly, untying Alyssa.

As Alyssa stood beside him, rubbing her eyes as he put an arm around her and began walking, there was a shout from somewhere on the water between here and land. Kyle now heard the oars moving through the water.

Quickly Kyle grabbed Alyssa and flew over the water. An arrow flew by him, then another; but then there were only a few whizzes and splashes far away from him, after which whoever had shot at them gave up.

The two of them landed on the island, forested beyond the sandy beach, and followed a trail Alyssa pointed out to Kyle. The thin layer of snow that crept up toward the shore, slush at first as they passed it, crunched beneath their feet, made all the louder by the leaves that had not yet disintegrated. They ran quickly, quietly, too cautious to speak to each other. The tree limbs hung slightly with the weight of the snow and dripping ice, icicles growing off their thinner bare boughs. There was a slight fog in the air.

Alyssa slowed him down as they traveled inland further.

“It’s up ahead,” she said.

Kyle nodded, and they walked forward until they came to a clearing with a shrine in it and a gray forest visible on all sides, veiled by the white mist.

Four stone pillars surrounded a raised stone platform with a hole in the middle. Eight women slept around it.

A woman came out toward them. Kyle took a good look at her, for she was more beautiful, it seemed, than any other woman he had seen in his lifetime. A siren would pale in comparison to this priestess. She was fair-skinned, full-breasted, in a beautiful white silk gown. Her long blond hair was plastered from rain, falling down her shoulders and across her chest, which was wet. Goosebumps prickled her sensuous flesh. Kyle swallowed.

She motioned toward the women sleeping on the platform with a convulsive shiver.

“How might my sisters aid you, friends?” she said, folding her arms below the rim of her chest and bouncing on the balls of her feet. Kyle swallowed again, avoiding Alyssa’s distasteful glance at him.

“I need to seek Scathach’s guidance,” said Alyssa, parting from Kyle and walking toward the woman, stopping between them. Kyle stayed behind, but shifted to the left a little, unable to take his eyes off the priestess.

“I know,” said the woman. “Scathach has told me of your coming. May the gods protect you, my friends.”

Alyssa nodded. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome here. What brings you, friend Kyle?”

“We agreed on it, because I have disgraced the druids,” said Kyle, unsure of how she had known his name, but not thinking clearly enough to be impressed.

“How so?”

“I used my skills against the Roman army, in order to save Alyssa’s life….”

“Love is never a disgrace, know it well, child,” said the priestess.

Kyle looked away, making certain he didn’t meet Alyssa’s careful stare.

“Alyssa’s father said it was, and he’s the head druid.”

The priestess looked sharply at Alyssa. “In your dreams, you did not tell me it was your father who was the head druid.” She shivered again, rubbing her hands over her arms, belly, chest and legs to keep herself warm, Kyle’s eyes riveted on her.

Alyssa looked down. “I didn’t want you judging me based on his reputation.”

The priestess nodded, chewing on what Alyssa had said, from her expression. “His reputation does precede him. It is honorable that you wish to earn your way, rather than live off your father’s greatness.”

Alyssa gave an uneasy smile and said, “Thank you.”

The priestess stopped rubbing and hugged herself with her arms, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her hair swaying back and forth across her chest. Kyle’s eyes began to wander across the priestess’ gown, which he could see through. Could the Maiden Goddess herself be more beautiful?

“Kyle!” said Alyssa. “Are you ready?”

“I have not yet said that you may use my temple,” said the priestess.

“May we?” said Kyle.

“Aye,” she said. “You may.”

Kyle nodded. Alyssa motioned, and he followed her to the altar.

“Do you have anything to be sacrificed?” said Alyssa.

The priestess nodded. “I do.”

She disappeared, her gown swishing and tearing from her legs with a wet sound as she walked. Kyle struggled not to stare after her, and after some effort managed to rip his gaze elsewhere.

A few minutes later, the sound of a cow mooing could be heard, and then a great red cow came out from behind a screen of gray trees and white fog, the priestess leading. She brought the cow to the altar, and walked off down the path.

“You two have been meeting in your dreams?” said Kyle.

“Astral,” said Alyssa. “We agreed we should start veiling our faith behind other terms.”

Kyle nodded.

“You ready?” said Alyssa.

Kyle nodded again, putting his hand on the cow’s head.

Alyssa drew an athame, and slit the cow’s throat. It looked at Kyle, buckled, and bit Kyle’s leg as it fell.

Alyssa guided it into the pit, giving a prayer to the gods.

“Scathach,” said Alyssa, “says you must die in order to undo what you have done. Die, and you shall erase the memories of your magick. Fail to die within a month, and the faith of the druids will be exploited for its magick, warped, and made to serve the Romans.”

Kyle sank backward, eyeing the dead cow’s blood. It seemed to resemble his life: dead. Nothing mattered anymore. He’d hurt the druids, not helped them. Even Alyssa’s father said it; even Alyssa now divined it from the gods. He had failed his faith. He had failed his people. He had failed Dimunay.

Yet how was it that the gods still favored him? They had said, simply last night, that he was a god. He. Kyle. How? It was hard to say.

Perhaps he was a sacrificial god. Perhaps that was the nature of his role for this life. He wanted to win the war. Even though he did not want to die seeing only the loss of his homeland, unsure of how it would turn out, he would lay his life down gladly if it meant saving his people.

What did he have to lose? Alyssa didn’t love him; Dimunay was dead; the only person he had to stick around for was Damon. But Alyssa- he loved her. He loved her more than he had ever loved anyone else in his entire life. Even now, knowing she hated him, knowing she was the one who had told him he must die or bring ruin to his people, yet still he could only love her more. He wanted to die with her by his side. It was a lot to ask of her, but he knew he wanted it. It was rapidly replacing his desire to marry her, for he had nearly lost hope of that. No, he had not lost hope; he merely faced reality. Yet in his heart, he still ached to hold that sweet face and kiss it, to stare into those ocean-blue eyes, watch them sparkle with laughter at a good joke… but none of this could ever be.

He put those thoughts behind him. He could not ask this girl to be by his side when he died. She would then surely be required to die as well. In another life, they might have met again, same age, gotten together, that way. It could not be, because his request could not be. It was selfish, and it was foolish. Had they been meant for one another, had it been the will of his patron gods, and of hers, it would have happened.

But there was another way, a way he could have his final wish. He knew it in his heart, in a way he could not say, save that it was prophecy, save that it was the inner voice of his soul. He knew it would not work out, but that it would give him what he wanted- how he could not say. He would have Alyssa help in his death. Aye, and that would bring him what he wanted.

“Kyle,” said Alyssa. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” said Kyle. He could begin getting Alyssa to see him die by saving her father and Damon. This he knew. And he knew that he could know more when he was ready- but he knew he was not. He did not want to know. In truth, many a seer had told of being blocked from knowledge by an inner true will against knowing the truth- that because of that, divinations you truly could not stand to not have done because you were too emotionally involved were the most difficult to do.

“I told you I would be the cause of your death,” she said. She sounded distraught. “I’m sorry.”

She leaned her head against his chest. For an instant he thought maybe Gong had lied, but then she whispered, “I hate…” and stopped.

Kyle should know better than to doubt Gong.

“Come on,” said Kyle.

He shoved her away from him, seeing pain in her eyes and not fully understanding why; he took one last glance at the cow’s blood glistening in the moonlight and the darkness of the shaft beside it, and ran off, holding Alyssa’s hand in his. She was everything he had ever wanted, and he was going to have to let her go. A harder thing he had never done.

Near the beach, Kyle turned quickly and grabbed Alyssa by the shoulders, her right hand still clinging to his. She looked into his eyes, and he wanted to kiss her. He shoved that thought out of his head, saying, “Listen. I want you to stay here. When the guards are gone, go in their boat and row out to the main ship. I’ll be there, waiting for you. All right?”

Alyssa nodded, looking at him in a way he could not explain. He wasn’t sure what was going through his head, but he didn’t want to know. Not yet.

He tore off down the beach, singing the ballad of the Battle of the Trees as loudly as he possibly could as he ran.

Reaching the shore, Kyle walked up to the Roman guard standing there by the boat.

“Hi,” said Kyle.

The man’s boy-like face looked at him stiffly from underneath his helmet.

“What do you want, Celt?”

“I’m looking for Julius Diesarum,” said Kyle.

“I’m sorry, I can’t promise you….”

“Oh no,” said Kyle, “it’s very important.”

“And why are you looking for my general, Celt?”

“Oh, what am I thinking? I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. What’s your name, sir?”

“That’s irrelevant. Get lost.”

“Nice to meet you Get Lost. My name’s Kyle. I’m the guy that gave Mr. Diesarum all those gorgeous burn marks all over his body. I need to see him so I can put on the finishing touches-” the Roman drew his sword- “because I really think he’d look better nice and pale, say, in the hue of a corpse, don’t you think?”

Kyle sent the soldier flying backward some twenty feet into the water with a single thought. A guttural scream began, but Kyle sank him deeply into the ocean water and flew toward the ship.

A minute later, he was there. A lamp hung from one of the still-sleeping guard’s chairs. Kyle broke it telekinetically, then landed on the ship.

In complete darkness, save for the lantern hung from the bow, Kyle walked around the ship, lifting Romans and sending them overboard telekinetically. He went to the stairs leading below and tied the door shut with the line.

“Early morning everyone!” he crowed.

There were moans, and people looked up at him from their bonds. As he started untying them, he heard a start from below. The door rattled as someone tried to open it, and Kyle heard Diesarum’s voice cry out, “Who did this?”

“I did,” said Kyle. “You really should check your passengers a little more carefully before you tie them up, don’t you think?”

There was a pause, and then Diesarum said, “Kyle?”

“Aye,” said Kyle.

“I’m going to kill you someday,” said Diesarum.

“And you will,” said Kyle. “But not before I kill you.”

And in his heart he knew it was true.

As he untied Gong, Kyle said, “I need to talk to you, Gong.”

“So talk!”

“All right. Alyssa said I have to be killed in order to save druidism.”

“So why are you still alive?” said Gong.

“I want to die by Alyssa’s side,” said Kyle.

“No,” said Gong. “You will take my daughter up North, and then you are free to get killed.”

“But that might take more time than we have! This must be done in a month!”

“Then the responsibility of your actions still lies with you.”

“I can’t do this,” said Kyle.

“Do you want her to die?”

Kyle didn’t answer.

“Think about it, and when you’ve decided you are ready to submit to my authority, come see me.”

Kyle tossed Gong’s bonds in his face angrily, and kept untying everyone else in what would have been complete silence, were it not for Diesarum’s wails and bashings from below.

Kyle was caught between anger and submission, anguish and love. Alyssa had been mad at him from the beginning; she never loved him, and now he would not have his heart’s desire when he died. But if he truly loved her, then he could work to save her.

After Kyle finished untying everyone, he went back to Gong and said, “I’ve decided I agree with you. I’ll bring Alyssa up North to safety after all.”

Alyssa boarded later, and the ship parted.

Chapter VI

Sea Battle

The sea churned below the plunging prow as Kyle watched the gray sea shoot up in white jets, spray chilling his face as salt touched his tongue and nostrils. The dawn was beautiful; the sun rose over the sea a bright red disc, early light shimmering its romantic hues of pink and orange.

The sun rose fast, but Kyle found it offered time to dwell on its beauty. He could look into it, at first, without harming his eyes. The wind whipped around his shoulders, and there was a bit of snow falling now; but in the East, the sky was clear, and the sun shone through the snowflakes.

Frost was biting Kyle’s nose and cheeks, but his sea cloak, a gift offered from a passenger aboard in thanksgiving for Kyle’s gift of freedom, kept him warm. It seemed Greek in origin; great, heavy wool, gray-green. Kyle indulged in its warmth even as he indulged in the beauty of the snowflakes, even as he indulged in the beauty of the waking dawn.

He was groggy; there was a fog about his mind. Yet something primal stirred within him as he watched the dawn open before him, watched the world turn from gray to light so quickly. As the sun rose over the brim of the ocean and the land now coming into view to its left, Kyle felt the stirring of the power within; it was as though, there in the dawn, he could see the gods beckoning; as though, there in the sea-cloak beneath the snow, he could feel their arms wrapped round him, the Goddess’ great cauldron birthing his happiness as she blessed him from overhead. The moon still shone above, hanging in the sky far in the West on the opposite side of the clouds, where night still clung to the sky; he could hardly see it, for the snow, but he felt a link to his Mother, the Mother of all druids and of all man, penetrating deep inside him.

“Blessed be the Goddess,” he murmured.

“Blessed be She of the Moon and Earth,” said a voice behind him; “blessed be She of the bounty of life and the happiness of man.” Kyle recognized Alyssa’s voice, and turned, surprised, to see her.

“Alyssa!” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

Her eyes were beautiful, even prettier than the blueness of the deep sea, now long gone. He stared into them a moment, entranced in their depth as something deeper, he felt, stared into the abyss that was his soul. Then, remembering Gong’s words, he glanced away, saying, “Your old man wants me to take you up North.”

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see her nodding as he turned; then he heard her say, “I know.”

Kyle ached inside for a more meaningful conversation, something like the moment she’d looked into his eyes, and he into hers, what was hardly a minute ago. She gave it to him.

“I want you to know, Kyle,” she said, “I think you’re a great guy.”

Kyle stiffened. Was Gong lying? Aye, in his heart he’d known it all along; but he might yet be trying to protect his daughter, to save her from something he disapproved of. For this, Kyle could not indulge himself in a relationship with this beauty of a soul.

“You know I think the world of you,” he said.

She was on her knees; he could hear her behind him, as she crept up beside him, snuggling because there wasn’t enough room on the prow. For an instant, Kyle thought she was going to knock him overboard; but in that instant, everything felt so right, he really didn’t care.

“What are you going to do after you take me up north, Kyle?” she asked him.

Kyle looked into her eyes, yearning, aching to think that she wanted it as badly as he did.

He spread the sea cloak over her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said gently.

She put a hand to his face, and his face jerked so that his eyes were, once more, entranced in the depths of hers.

“I want you to know, Kyle,” she said in a voice as full of warmth as the dawn now passing, “that if I could die in your place, I would do so.”

“I know you would,” he said.

Kyle’s lips were trembling now, and not from cold. It was hard to say what it was from. It was not fear, or pain, much less cold; it was not love, on the opposite spectrum, nor was it desire; perhaps the answer could be found in a cross between the two.

He wanted to kiss her. That was the best way of putting it.

But it was more than that. He wanted to kiss her, and know that when he finished, she’d still be there; he wanted to kiss her, and, when he finished, know that she would be there in a year; he wanted to kiss her, and, when he finished, not have to feel guilty for offering his heart when he didn’t have much of a lifetime to give to her.

And, truth be told, he wished he did.

They sat there for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes; then a tear began to glisten in hers, and she stood quickly, too quickly, nearly falling off the prow. She walked off down the deck, her footsteps heavy, moody.

Kyle watched the land approach, feeling down and not sure why. Julius Diesarum hadn’t quit banging on the hatch yet, but he wasn’t worried. The man was as a mosquito biting Kyle’s hand; only problem was, he was not just a mosquito, but also a hoard of them.

Kyle huddled the sea cloak closer, felt his mind drifting off. Something warm spread over him, and he smiled to himself as darkness overtook him.

“Kyle!”

Kyle started, the sea cloak falling off him and into the sea. He nearly followed it himself, but recovered himself by grabbing a hold of the sail, currently still furled. He levitated the sea cloak out of the water quickly, water sliding off it into the ocean with a pouring sound as he lay it at the base of the prow.

In the distance, he could see a ship. It wasn’t all that far off; it was clearly a ship, and it was clearly a Roman ship.

The snow had stopped, and the clouds had moved toward that ship in the West; the sun was halfway up to the middle of the sky. There was a strong wind whipping at his back as he stood.

Looking toward the back of the ship, he saw Alyssa standing there. She was the one who had called him. She had a look of concern on her face.

Looking around on the other side, Kyle saw land that spread below the entire horizon. He could make out the trees, even; they stood in a line that blurred where it met the sky.

Looking back toward the ship aft, he understood the problem.

“Well Alyssa,” he said, stumbling toward her as wind whipped her hair out to his left, “we’d best put up another sail, don’t you think?”

“That’s what Damon said,” she said.

Kyle nodded. “He was right.”

Kyle went to the wench, where there was already a host of other people bustling and shivering, to help put the sail up. Damon called from the wheel:

“Heave!”

Kyle didn’t look up; he just began pulling on the line. It whipped through his hands at first, then began to resist. Eventually they had to wind it around the wench, and together they pulled from there.

“Stop!” called Damon.

As one being, the seven of them there stopped, and Kyle helped wrap the line around the wench. When they had finished, the boat was tilting to the extent that the rail was near the water.

They were making very good progress now.

Looking behind them, Kyle could see the Roman vessel falling off slightly.

“I thought for a second there that we were going to have a battle,” said Kyle, laughing as he looked around to Damon and stumbled in that direction, clinging to various objects in order to keep from falling over.

“We are,” said Damon. “The port we’re going into has been taken.”

Kyle gawked. “What? Why are we going there then? Can’t we go somewhere else?”

Damon chuckled. “Alyssa’s looked into it. It’s only got two Roman ships there.”

“Two?”

“Aye,” said Damon. “Two.”

Suspecting more, Kyle said, “What else has she seen?”

“That we’ll win,” Alyssa’s voice came from behind him.

Kyle was laughing now. “Alyssa, blessed be you.”

“Aye, and blessed the most daring guy I’ve ever known.”

Kyle turned to look her in the face, his eyes hungering over her shoulders, bare in her sleeveless gown. She had changed. Kyle didn’t know why, but he thought she looked gorgeous in her gown.

Wait… was she trying to attract him?

Kyle stuffed that thought out of his head as ridiculous.

Or was it?

It was freezing outside, after all. And hadn’t she said she thought he was a great guy? She couldn’t possibly hate him as much as Gong said she did.

But she was the head druid’s daughter.

And he did not have her father’s permission.

That meant he could do nothing.

Kyle looked around for a glass of ale but, not finding one, went to the hatch.

“A free drink to he who gives me a drink of ale first,” said Kyle.

“Drink?” said an excited man below. “What sort of drink? A druidic drink?”

Kyle winced. So now they knew of elixirs. It wouldn’t be long before it was too late to reverse what he’d done.

“A drink,” said Kyle. “We’re at sea. It involves a short trip. I think a drink should be obvious. There’s only one big drink….”

“Why, you,” said the man below.

Kyle turned to Alyssa, eyes laughing. “They may have us outgunned, maybe out-manned,” he said, raising his hand as though about to make a toast, “but they seriously don’t have us outsmarted. Here’s to an honorable woman I wish I’d known all my life.” He raised his hand, and pretended to drink it.

Out of the bottoms of his eyes, he saw Alyssa pretending to drink as well, and a chuckle ran through the little audience assembled there.

They cut over the waves briskly, bouncing up and down as water sprayed over the deck, foam licking Kyle’s face. When he stood nearer starboard, he would frequently get soaked in a jet of cold water spewed up from the sea. When he stood nearer port, the ship seemed to be at an even steeper tilt than it was. It was difficult to keep his footing, but he clung onto the hatch to balance himself.

Slowly the land stretching their horizon grew into a bay, and that bay stretched inward, narrowing, until they found a port. Kyle could see the two Roman vessels Alyssa had mentioned before now, loaded down with weaponry and armor. They were transport ships, and their soldiers could be found in a camp out on the coastal plain, not, evidently, worried about attack. Doubtlessly they had scouts. Doubtlessly their scouts had failed them.

Damon was now barking at the men to be ready.

“Sails down!”

Men, women and children, most seemingly used to this process, wound up the sails. Someone knocked into Kyle as the sail nearer him (two were up; the third was down, as the wind was whipping hard) began flapping; Kyle started to fall, then righted himself telekinetically, getting a firmer footing before he released his own body from his hold.

A few minutes later both the sails were down.

“Man oars!” shouted Dimunay.

People scurried to the oars, and Kyle took a seat at one bench. He grabbed hold of an oar, put it near the water, and waited for the command.

“Row!”

Kyle brought the oar through the water in unison with everyone else.

“Row!”

They fell into a rhythm, and Damon assigned an old sea hand from the original crew of the ship that had been sunk to the task of counting their rhythm.

“Row, two, three, four, row, two, three, four….”

A small herd of Romans was approaching now, standing by their ship. The huddled mass seemed confused, from the way they were motioning toward each other. As they drew closer, Kyle could hear their voices, though he could not distinguish their words.

The command was given to turn, and they wheeled about, heading directly for one of the Roman ships. Then, again:

“Row, two, three, four, row, two, three, four….”

The beat slowed as they sped up; one did not want to go too fast into an enemy ship, Kyle knew, because if one did, one would get stuck in the ship one was ramming. That would make one’s ship a sitting duck.

On the other hand, too slow would not sink the ship.

Kyle trusted Damon and the shipmate to make the right judgments regarding speed.

The ship neared; Kyle had never been in a naval battle before, and watching their ship ram another ship seemed to violate the senses. Then there was the ear-splitting crack, and the iron prow struck through the enemy ship.

“Reverse!” came the call.

They rowed backward.

“Row, two, three, four….”

The beat was much faster now. The Romans were running for their remaining ship like a herd of animals.

“Bring us alongside!” shouted Damon.

The order was given for Kyle’s side on port to keep going forward, while starboard steered backward. They turned slightly; then the order was given for both sides to go forward, and the water churned beneath their oars as they glided alongside the enemy vessel.

Planks were lowered, and people began running onto the Roman ship and taking Roman weapons.

Many of the Romans were on the dock climbing onto the ship. A little later, and all of the Celts, Kyle knew, would have been dead.

Kyle thought the Romans looked less formidable outside their armor; they looked like people he could get along with, except for the blaze in their eyes as they took up arms and tried to assemble a formation opposing the Celts.

Kyle had dropped his oars, hardly aware of what he was doing, and was standing in the shuffle on one of the planks to get to the other side.

There was a plunk, and Kyle heard a chain rattling as the anchor went down. A second went down as well a minute later. They were immobilized now.

The front line of the Romans had shields up; if the Celts could get through that, Kyle knew it would be a slaughter. Weapons were being passed back to Romans behind the front line as the Celts themselves armed themselves- but for the most part, the Romans remained unarmed.

Damon raised a cry, and Kyle joined in, letting his heart and mouth join in a violent fury. As the Celts rushed forward, Kyle picked up a sword and flew above the fray to the Romans on the other side. Seeing a sword changing hands, he sent himself downward and struck his sword in a clean blow through the hand holding the sword. There was a shriek and a spray of blood, and the man’s hand fell to the ground as he grasped his stub with his other hand. The sight was sickening, but Kyle knew there was no room for sympathy in battle.

He saw the blade coming before it finished its path as a sword swept for his leg. Kyle flew into the air, but it still grazed his foot, spraying blood down below. Kyle did not halt to heal himself, but flipped upside down and let go of his blade, directing it telekinetically into the throat of his opponent, a particularly dark Roman soldier nearly as tall as a Celt with a shaved head. The soldier stumbled backward as the blade slashed his throat, and he fell to the water on the opposite side.

Suddenly a white flag went up, and a captain cried, “We surrender!”

There was a commotion as the battle stopped and the Romans surrendered their weapons. There were a few taunting remarks, but the Celts were as nice as could be expected of a people being invaded. Someone cut some of the lines and used them to bind some of the Romans, after which more line was found in compartments here and there and used to tie up the rest of the Romans.

After all that had been taken care of, Kyle asked Damon how they were supposed to keep the Romans prisoner.

“I’ll handle that,” said the old captain of the original boat Kyle had departed the mainland on, his voice coming from behind.

Kyle turned to face him. He looked like a mess. His hair was soaked in blood, his scalp sliced open from a wound still dribbling blood; his shoulder and chest torn open from a second wound, now sealed to white, though the blood still lay there, caked on.

“Thank you,” said Kyle.

Kyle heard footsteps from the direction he had been facing, and turned to see Alyssa stopping in front of him from a run.

“The other Roman ship is approaching,” she said. “We’ve got to move.”

“What about Julius Diesarum?” said Kyle.

Damon looked uneasy. “What about him?”

“I think we should kill him,” said Kyle.

Alyssa shook her head. “They’d send a large force to find and kill everyone here, and you’ll get him soon. I promise you, Kyle, it will be less than a week. However, I hope you realize, when you kill him, it will be your death as well.”

Kyle nodded.

“If you’d like to go,” said the old captain, “we can fend for ourselves. There’s a village near here- my brother lives there, and my best friend. I’d bet anything they’d help out if that measly little galley tries to get here.”

“Thank you,” said Kyle.

They started off.

Chapter VII

Kyle and Alyssa

Kyle sat behind the tree beneath the night sky. Somehow the moon, now waning, seemed to lack its grandeur, its beauty, this night. How could it be? She was beyond him now. Gong had made sure of that.

A spell. All he’d wanted was to do a spell. Gong must be psychic, seer or no. It seemed that Gong could see straight through to his heart, to exactly what he wanted: that he might die by Alyssa’s side, in her arms.

Kyle hadn’t lied completely. He did intend to include something about getting Alyssa to safety. That much should have been obvious.

Kyle honestly wondered if he should not kill himself now, get it over with- walk up to Julius, taunt him, and let him kill him. The idea was not so very repulsing now.

It was easy, and yet hard, to say what was bothering him. He knew Gong’s words, echoing the words he had given so many times before, were getting to him. He knew Alyssa’s growing distance, the way she stared off into space whenever he tried to talk to her, was also getting to him. But it was more than this. What was it, then, that made him feel like the Morrigan were licking his bones clean?

He didn’t know.

Moreover, he didn’t care.

Not anymore.

He was sick of life. He was sick at the heart. The moon’s cool beauty, its light reflecting on the snow around him- these things were not beautiful. They were hideous. For they reflected everything that was not in his heart. How indeed could he be a god, a seer god at that? Prophecy had never been so beyond him. Premonitions told him only of his oncoming death. True, they were more frequent than they had ever been before; but time and time again they dwelled on little negative things, and though they often came true, he doubted their validity. He doubted his own faith. He doubted he was a god. He doubted he’d had a dream in which the Goddess had come to him. He doubted She even existed.

Alyssa seemed upset herself. He couldn’t help but think there was something she was not telling him. Something that would make him feel better. He pushed that thought out of his head. He didn’t want to be happy. He was perfectly satisfied being miserable.

He drew his dagger, dragged it gently along his bare arm without cutting himself. It looked as pale as death. He could do this. He could stop the Roman persecution before it happened. No. He could do better. He could stop them from exploiting his faith for its magickal interests. He could undo the beast he had set in motion when he’d saved Alyssa’s life.

Yet he could not regret it. She was the single most beautiful thing he had ever known. She was the girl of his dreams- the only woman he had ever loved. He regretted everything now- Dimunay’s death, getting Alyssa’s brother’s village to help, the Roman invasion, meeting Gong, asking him to let him marry Alyssa, even his own life. But he did not regret meeting Alyssa; he could not regret the time he’d spent with her. For though every second brought him pain, yet there was something beautiful about her. She was truly a great expression of the Goddess. Whatever he might be, yet she was all he wanted.

And he couldn’t have her.

But that was neither here nor there. He looked down at the glimmering steel dagger, felt its coolness prick at his flesh without penetrating it as he dragged it down the bottom of his forearm. He could do this. He could stop any more suffering. He could join the Goddess; he could leave Alyssa to the good life she deserved up north. He could let her know how he’d done, so that she wouldn’t have to wonder what ever happened to him years down the road. The dagger was sharp. He could end it now.

He closed his eyes, tears running down his cheeks.

“Alyssa!” he whimpered.

“Yes?”

He started, put the dagger back in its sheath quickly. Where was she? Had she seen him? Suddenly he was ashamed.

“What’s wrong Kyle?”

“Nothing,” he answered quickly. “Nightmares.”

He heard her stirring from behind him, heard her approaching, leaves and snow crunching beneath her feet. She’d had her father buy them all new boots for the trip. His heart ached at her footsteps’ sound; in what he knew was a pitiful obsession, he wished she could walk toward him forever.

And then she was in front of him, tall and beautiful. Oh, those lips- he ached to touch them. He’d almost kissed her once, and now he wanted to kiss her for real. He wanted to take her in his arms- no, he wanted not just to take her in his arms, but to hold her there, and hold her there forever.

“Why is your sleeve up?” she said.

“Thought I had a rash,” he replied.

She had that distant look in her eyes again, then she knelt down and took his arm. Kyle drew back.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “Couldn’t you heal it?”

“I did,” he said, putting his sleeve back.

For a moment her eyes were gone again, looking wistfully into some faraway place Kyle was not. Then she started, looking into his eyes suspiciously. She glanced down a minute, and for a moment, Kyle feared she would see the dagger and understand what he had been doing.

Then she looked up again, and that fear was confirmed.

“Kyle!” Her lip was trembling. “Don’t you do that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kyle said, his throat dry.

“I think you do.”

“What, then?”

“You were cutting yourself.”

This was preferable to her knowing the truth. Cutting himself, while he had not done it yet, seemed pretty minor at this point. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Look,” she said, her face full of motherhood as she leant closer to him, “I’ve been there before.”

“You have?” Kyle hadn’t wanted to know that.

“Yes. You remember all those times I used to wander off by myself? Behind trees?”

Kyle nodded, uneasy.

She pulled up her skirt, and Kyle glanced away at first for fear of lust he didn’t want to have, then stared. Her legs were covered in scars, though they were all old now.

“It gets better, I promise you,” she said.

Kyle looked into her eyes, then down again, unable to hold her gaze. He could sense her far-away look again, then she grabbed his chin, and he looked into her face as she winked at him, making what seemed to be an attempt to smile.

Then she pulled up her sleeve. There was blood on the bottom of her forearm, smeared around with a thin red line in the middle, near the bone.

“It gets worse too.”

Shaking, Kyle grabbed her arm, instinctively healing it.

“What did you ask my father, Kyle?” she said, drawing it back before he could be sure he’d finished.

“What?”

“My father said something that made me think you’d asked him something. Said he was glad you and him were clear now. He said it was nothing when I asked, even when I pressed, but I know my father, I know he’s not always honest with me or anyone else, and he had that look in his eye. What did you ask him?”

Kyle faltered on words he couldn’t identify.

“What did you ask him, Kyle?”

Suddenly he looked at her. It killed him to lie, to deny the only thing in his life that was clear at this point, but he did not want to alienate himself from her. He did not want to complicate her already complex life. Nor did he want to make her pity him more than she already did. And if she was interested, he could not let himself ruin her life. So he had to lie.

“I don’t remember asking him anything,” Kyle said. “It’s like he said: it was nothing.”

“All right, Kyle,” she said slowly, standing. “You’re just so distant recently.”

“So are you.”

Her face quivered, and then she walked off. Looking at the hems of her dress, he could see her scars. And as she pulled her sleeve down and disappeared behind the tree, he leaned back against it, closing his eyes as tears dripped down his cheeks.

He hadn’t wanted to know that she was like that.

He couldn’t ask her to stay with him. She couldn’t handle the stress she was under. She was cutting herself. She was depressed. She was fading from this world mentally. Not being cut out for this life, she needed peace.

He had to leave her up North. He’d been selfish, blind.

But he still could not regret a single moment he had spent with her, for he loved her more than he’d ever loved any being, man, woman, fairy, goddess or god, in all his life, if not all his existence.

Thinking of her brought him peace for once, and he fell asleep.

He was now staring at the moon through closed eyes, unable to move. Then he rose up out of his body, felt the freedom of astral projection, the joy he had been denied these past three days. He felt the intensity of these things shooting through him as he shot up bodily into the sky, flying through the starry field there, looking down as he sailed over rivers and trees. And it was beautiful.

Then he felt the need to slow down, calming himself reverently, and, finding himself before a pool of water in a small clearing in the trees, he knelt, looking across the pool. It rippled as a breeze he could not feel swept across it, and moonlight shimmered all over it beautifully as its beacon of love shone from above, coming out from behind a cloud.

The light began to fade, and he looked up into the moon. He saw it wane quickly, till it was in its first quarter.

Her voice came from behind him without warning, but it did not startle him at all. Instead, it sent love, joy, and serenity shooting through him.

“You are growing weak in your faith, Merlin.”

He bowed his head, and heard her soft footsteps in the snow as she walked around him, standing a few inches above the pool of water without falling in, as he could tell from her wrinkly, darkened feet.

“As my servant, you should look me in the eye, my Child.” Her voice was old and wise.

Kyle looked her in the eye. It shone less than it had in her youth, but it was nonetheless beautiful. She seemed to bask in an aura of wisdom, from her white gown that hung loosely about her drooping breasts, her fully defined hips and her weak-looking legs. Two knobby knees poked out as she sat down there atop the water. It rippled again.

In an odd way, though she was old, Kyle found her beautiful.

Her face was kind and warm, with a few thin white wisps of hair around her face, the rest in a long line behind her back.

“Tell me, is it all so bad?”

“Not here with you, Milady,” said Kyle.

“But?”

“But… I miss Alyssa.”

She smiled, and her smile seemed to speak of wisdom and understanding, as though she knew everything about his problems, even how to solve them.

“I understand you are making a very big sacrifice in my name very soon,” she said.

“It’s not really a big sacrifice,” said Kyle. “I no longer want to live.”

Her face looked grave a minute, as she said, “No druid should ever be unhappy. When his life is in shambles, yet the wisdom of his Lady should keep him from such misery.”

Kyle suddenly felt ashamed. “I know. I’m so sorry, Milady. I’m sorry I dishonored you, I’m sorry I almost cost our faith its exclusiveness, and I’m sorry I’m not happy. It’s just, every day that goes by, I want to be with Alyssa, and my love for her makes me miserable, because I know I can never be with her.”

“Do you want me to help?”

“I’m not sure I deserve it,” said Kyle.

“You have honored me all your life, my child,” she said, as her face took on its grandmotherly look again, “and, indeed, all of your existence.” Her voice was sweet, melodic. “Do not be so quick to think so little of yourself, for that is the source of your unhappiness. Is not my reed, ‘As it harm none, do what ye will’?”

“Aye, Milady,” said Kyle. His eyes had wandered to the pool below her.

“Look me in the eye, Merlin,” she said in a voice both stern and soft, and he looked up at her before she said, “And do you really think that by killing yourself, or even by being unhappy or so doggedly determined to hate yourself, you are upholding my reed in the least?”

“No, Milady,” said Kyle, and his heart was suddenly lighter- not just for the moment, but on a deeper level, that somehow he knew would extend beyond this realm.

“Good,” she said, and stood. “I love all my children, Merlin. I hope you know that. Anyone who deserves my love surely deserves his own. And you are loved by many, Merlin. You were worshipped, on a minor level, before your incarnation as god of prophecy.”

Kyle smiled, and she smiled back at him.

“I was hoping you would not ask.”

And suddenly Kyle’s shame was replaced by pride, for the Lady Herself was here beside him, comforting him, and no man could be miserable in Her presence. Kyle looked into her eyes, courage and comfort in his veins. He suddenly felt very much at home, as though he were at a hearth fire with Dimunay or his parents… but no, even such a feeling could not compare to this feeling of now. For the Crone Goddess’ wisdom was far greater than he had ever imagined, and Her love was balanced by this wisdom.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “I love you, too, Merlin. Understand, I would prefer you to love yourself, than to love me. I find it difficult to imagine bearing an existence in which I hated myself but loved my Creators, much less using that existence to put positive things out on the Wheel of Existence. But to hate your Creators, and love yourself? So long as you hate not the world, such self-love will get you much further in life, my Child.”

Kyle nodded. “I am ever in need of your wisdom, Milady.”

Her eyes were suddenly full of warmth and love far beyond anything she’d shown before, as hard as that might have been to imagine.

“Blessed be, Merlin.”

“Blessed be, Milady.”

Kyle bowed as She rose into the sky.

As She ascended slowly, She said, “Even as my life wanes to its end, so shall yours; and even as my life waxes to a new life, so shall yours. So shall it always be. Fear not, in me. So mote it be.”

Kyle straightened, watching her ascend.

Kyle thought briefly on her statement, “I was hoping you would not ask.” She had been proud of his comprehension. He had served her well. Indeed, she had even said so.

Kyle had understood that his incarnation as god of prophecy was in the future- but that all time happened at once, a tenet of his faith.

“Blessed be,” he whispered, and then awoke to rain falling on his face, a beautiful sound on the trees.

He lay there, happy, as the rain wetted his hair, dribbled down his face and soaked his clothes. Somehow, he wasn’t cold. It was as though something hot burned inside him. He was sure it was the love of the Goddess whom he had just left.

And then, there above him, he saw a shape in the clouds. At first he thought it was his imagination; then he thought it was the Triple Goddess, for it was clearly three women; then he saw its battle armor, its weaponry; heard their shriek in the wind as it picked up and howled.

It was-they were- the Morrigan, the goddesses of battle and death, showing themselves to him, letting him know that soon he would be claimed.

It had struck fear in the hearts of many men, that sight; for every one of them had died shortly afterward. But in Kyle’s chest there beat the love of his Goddess, and the strength of the god he would one day become, the god he was. And he was not afraid.

He made a promise to himself in that moment to always be strong in his faith, from that day onward. And he knew, as god of prophecy, that he would keep it, just as he had every day of his life until meeting Gong.

Suddenly there was a war cry, and Kyle flew to his feet, putting his right hand on a dagger Damon had given him along the way as he glanced around, trying to figure out where it was coming from. On the upside, they were clearly Celtic warriors, not Romans.

The cry was amplified in what must have been a few dozen voices. Then Kyle saw a man charging from a distance.

Kyle heard Damon draw his sword, and turned to face him, saying quickly, “No! Damon, put that away. They mean no harm.”

Damon gave him an I-think-you’re-crazy look, saying, “Don’t you hear them raising the battle cry?”

“No, he’s right,” said Alyssa. “When they see that we’re not Romans, they’ll stop. But Kyle, how did you know that?”

Kyle looked firmly at the men, several of them, now approaching. Then he smiled. “Do you not recognize me for who I am, Alyssa?”

“What are you talking about?”

Kyle sighed. “I’ll tell you later.”

Now there were horse hooves beating, and an armored man passed the Celtic warriors by, carrying a long javelin. He raised it over his head, and Kyle knelt, motioning for the others to do the same. They did.

The man stopped short of them, his horse whinnying and rearing up for a moment.

“Steady boy,” the man said. He took off his helmet and dismounted, his long, wet hair blowing in the wind. He turned to his warriors and shouted, “They bring peace. They are not to be harmed.”

He turned back to Kyle, asked him, “Who are you, and who are your companions?”

“We are all of us, save this brave warrior to my right,” said Kyle, nodding and motioning toward Damon, who still had his sword drawn, “druids. We seek safe passage North.”

As the four of them rose, the man’s facial expression changed to a shriveled look of distrust. “Perhaps you are unaware, this is the North,” said the armored man. “The traitors to the High King are mostly in the south, and the Romans have no intention of going past this point, we have firm reason to believe. We have just finished patrolling the outskirts of our lands to be sure, but I did not expect to find anyone until I stumbled on you. And by the Lady the only refugees we’ve seen have been in far larger groups. Curious, don’t you agree?”

“We’re not traitors, sir.”

As the armored man chewed on this, Kyle saw the warriors gathering, still ten feet away at their front.

The armored man looked at Gong a second, his eyes blazing. “So you’re not. Nevertheless, I am a king, and you will address me as a king, son.”

“Aye, milord,” said Kyle. “And what would be your name?”

“Hold on,” said Gong. “What do you mean, telling him to call you Lord when he is a druid? Do you know who I am?”

“My name is King Edwin. You may address me, however, as milord.”

“I said, do you know who I am?” repeated Gong.

Kyle looked at him sharply. Alyssa grabbed Gong’s wrist.

“You are a druid. That is all I need to know.”

“Aye,” said Gong, “but I am no ordinary druid. I am the head druid.”

King Edwin looked at him coldly. “And I suppose as head druid, you have no place in remembering old acquaintances?”

“A head druid needs not remember every person he meets,” said Gong.

“A head druid leads the people!” shouted King Edwin, eyes blazing as he waved his javelin in the air. “You are a disgrace to the druidic race!” He plunged his javelin into the ground skillfully and threw his helmet at Gong. Gong ducked, but it still hit him in the head, and he was knocked backward onto his back.

Gong rose quickly, standing now in anger. He levitated the javelin out of the ground.

Instantly five or six of King Edwin’s warriors who bore javelins and bows near the front aimed their weapons at Gong.

“Kill me if you wish,” said King Edwin coldly. “I would find it an honor to die being the cause of your death.”

“Please, milord,” said Kyle, rising. “Do not kill him.”

“And why not? The man deserves to die.”

Kyle could feel Gong’s scowl.

“No, milord, he deserves no such thing. Every man deserves the Goddess’ love, and every person who deserves Her love surely deserves his own and ours. Love is Her creed. Every man deserves equally, under Her guidance. Don’t fall into the trap of making the easy mistake of assuming yourself superior to those around you.”

King Edwin smiled, bowing his head, his face and voice suddenly kind. “You, my friend, are the voice of wisdom itself. I will greatly anticipate hearing what you do with those left under the control of the druids in the future. I wish I could be a part of it.” He knelt before Kyle.

Gong started to say something, but then stopped. Glancing sideways, Kyle saw that Alyssa had grabbed his hand.

“Why can’t you be?” said Kyle.

“Gong excommunicated me,” said King Edwin, “for refusing to honor a treaty with a dishonest tribe.”

“Could you not give us safe passage in return for revoking the excommunication?”

“Not till the Morrigan take my soul!” fumed Gong.

“Young friend,” said King Edwin, “what is your name?”

“Kyle,” Kyle replied.

“How would you like to take the place of your elder here? Is it not the way, in much druidic lore, for the sacrificial god to give way to the better warrior, as did Cuchulain to Queen Maeve?”

“I am not a god,” said Kyle carefully.

“It seems to me you were born to become as much,” said King Edwin.

The javelin Gong had raised finally fell to the ground, and King Edwin’s warriors relaxed.

“Perhaps one day I will be one,” said Kyle, “but for now, as far as any of you know, I am simply a druid.” It seemed that he had steered clear of a catastrophe, but then he knew, instinctively, that he had not, even before King Edwin continued.

“But, would not a future god do well as head druid?”

“How dare you?” said Gong, and began advancing. The spear flung into the air and rushed by King Edwin, who spun to the side to evade it as it collided with the shoulder of one of his warriors.

Almost instantaneously three arrows had embedded themselves in Gong, who began ripping them out as he sank to his knees, and a split second later a muscular youth had his dagger to Gong’s neck from behind, Gong’s neck tilted up by the youth’s left hand underneath his chin.

“Give me the order, milord,” said the youth. “Blood calls for blood!”

“Please, I can heal your warrior!” said Kyle, looking from Gong to the youth to King Edwin to Alyssa back to Gong, and then in a loop again that varied from loop to loop.

“I don’t doubt you can,” said King Edwin, “if your leader will let you.”

“Blood calls for blood, milord!” said the youth.

“Aye, it does,” said King Edwin.

“Wait,” said Alyssa, as Kyle watched her advance and take his hand in her own.

“Speak, child,” said King Edwin, his voice telling of great impatience.

“The man you would kill is my father,” she said.

“And how does this change the fact that he attempted to kill me? The fact that,” said King Edwin, gesturing wildly as his voice began to rise, “he kicked me out of his service, simply because I returned a raid, when he refused-” he brought his hand down emphatically- “to have a divination done to see whether or not his old friend from my enemy’s tribe had indeed done a raid and raped my wife, as I swore on my honor? How does it change-” he again brought his hand down with emphasis, then returned to his gesturing- “the fact that he-” he pointed at Gong- “almost killed my son?” He ended on a note much louder than he had begun on, even much louder than the notes of a few words back had been. Then he spun around and pointed at the man who had been wounded in the shoulder. “That,” he said, looking back at them with rage in his eyes, “is my son. Did you know that?”

“Please,” Alyssa began.

“I said, did you know that?”

“No I didn’t,” said Alyssa.

“And what does his being your father change about the fact that he tried to kill my son?”

“I was trying to kill you, actually,” coughed Gong bitterly, and the youth tightened his grip.

“You see? This man has no honor. Can you tell me he does?”

“I can tell you he loves me,” said Alyssa.

“Your cattle love you too,” said King Edwin. “I imagine they’re about as much to me as that man, more, really: at least I can eat a cow.”

“Blood calls for…”

“I believe Alyssa has something to tell you,” Kyle interrupted. His gaze had locked on King Edwin during the speech. “If you will let her tell you….”

Kyle winced as King Edwin replied.

“Nothing could change my mind!” he roared. “Blood calls for….”

As he finished the word “blood,” Alyssa shouted over him, “Kyle and I are getting married!”

Instantly King Edwin whipped a hand up in a stop signal. Kyle turned to see Gong reeling to the ground. For a second, Kyle thought he was dead; then he heard him gasp, cough, and continue gasping. Gong reared up, glaring at Kyle even in his discomfiture, the arrows out of his belly, and a hand at his throat. He coughed again, and as he reeled forward, his hand hit the ground. He coughed some, and then as he came up again, Kyle could see blood on his neck. Blood was on the ground from his coughing. It was difficult to imagine that Gong had lived through that.

“This is your decision, milord?” said the youth.

“Aye, child, that it is.”

“So mote it be,” said the youth, clamping a hand to his chest. He picked up King Edwin’s helmet and walked back to his place beside King Edwin’s son, where he returned the helmet to King Edwin.

“You will attend to my son, Kyle,” said King Edwin; “for if he dies, I care not should you be a god, I care not should that man be your fiancé’s father, I will kill him.”

Kyle nodded. “Aye, milord.”

He ran to the king’s son, whom another warrior was watching over. The javelin had been removed. Kyle closed his eyes as he laid his hands over the prince’s gaping wound. He sent blue energy into the wound, heard the prince’s breathing slow. Then he used green energy. Opening his eyes, he saw that there was only a scar.

“You are a real talent,” Kyle heard the king say from behind him as King Edwin’s hand clamped on Kyle’s shoulder.

“Thank you, milord,” said Kyle.

Kyle shifted to look at Gong as King Edwin’s hand left his shoulder. Gong was better now, and standing. There were no wounds to speak of left anywhere on his body, though red scars could be seen through the holes in his bloody cloak.

King Edwin’s footsteps continued, and Kyle first heard and second saw, turning, the whole body of warriors follow King Edwin off, the prince, looking distastefully at the javelin on the ground, settling himself on King Edwin’s horse.

Then something surprising happened.

“Milord!” called Gong.

King Edwin turned, helmet banging against his leg, eyes shrunk at Gong.

“I apologize,” said Gong. “My age and position swell my head, at times. I’m sorry.”

King Edwin nodded, then loosened his facial expression and turned around, putting his helmet back on as he continued.

Kyle started to follow King Edwin, but a hand at his shoulder turned him gently. He did not resist, because he thought it was Alyssa, but to his surprise, it was Gong.

“I owe you an apology, too,” said Gong, and his expression was very different from any Kyle had ever seen on him before now. His eyes glistened like Alyssa’s; they were now moist, and there was a friendly, apologetic air about him. Kyle could feel a very much more positive aura coming from him. He wondered what Alyssa must see when she looked at him, supposing she had gotten far enough in her training to learn to see auras. And then Kyle knew she had. He didn’t know how- he just knew.

“I have always been a total jerk to you,” said Gong, “and if it were not for you, my daughter would be dead. Were it not for you, so would I.”

Kyle looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Gong.”

He turned to go, and Gong walked alongside him.

“Alyssa,” he called, “walk with Damon, if you will.”

“What’s on your mind?” said Kyle. Suddenly, it was much easier to talk to this man. Suddenly, life was much easier.

“I owe you an apology for more than I said,” said Gong, and as Kyle looked at him, he did not look back at Kyle. A tear fell to the ground, and Kyle felt a leap of joy as he understood what Gong was about to say. “Alyssa told me she loves you. She never hated you. When she saw you coming up to her,” Gong continued, looking into Kyle’s eyes now, his own full of tears that strode down his cheeks rapidly, “she thought you were a god.”

Kyle looked away, but Gong, not understanding, continued.

“She said when she first met you, she knew she’d be the cause of your death. She wanted to get as far away from you as she could. At first she thought she resented you, but then she realized she resented you because of what she was bringing to you. She realized she loved you.”

Kyle was choking on tears now.

“I lied to you, Kyle, because I did not want a marriage for my daughter that would not secure a peace with the Romans. But after what you two did for me… it changed me. You don’t have to believe me. I want to earn the trust you never should have given me. Friends?”

He extended a hand, and Kyle turned, stopping. He took Gong’s hand. “Friends,” he said, and shook it, his tears falling on their hands and his arm, even as one of Gong’s fell on Kyle’s own hand. The moment was bittersweet; and then Gong bowed, and Kyle bowed back as they stepped slowly away from each other.

“I’ve got to set things right with my daughter,” said Gong. “I will see you later.”

“Aye, milord,” said Kyle.

Gong looked at him sadly. “I never earned that title, Kyle.”

Kyle smiled through his tears. “You just did.”

Gong bowed again, and turned, walking off to his daughter and Damon. Damon started walking toward Kyle.

Kyle turned back to face the backs of King Edwin’s warriors, knowing that Damon would catch up to him soon.

As Damon reached him, Damon said, “Gong told me to wish you a happy marriage.”

Damon extended a hand, and Kyle shook it.

“Same from me bro,” Damon continued. “It’s been a long time coming, but some things are better late than never.”

Kyle grinned, and Damon grinned back. Then they turned to face the way they were walking.

There were horse hoofs again, and then the prince came up to them.

“My father, milord, says he shall see you and your fiancée married tomorrow. He offers his blessings on a successful marriage.”

Kyle was crying again. “Thank you,” he whispered.

The prince nodded, turned his horse, and rode back off to the front of the warriors. As Kyle watched his back dancing through the trees, he thought he could see a clear expression of the God there, in that brave stride after a bitter blow, as he had been able to see a moment ago in that honest face after a bitter conflict.

“Blessed be,” whispered Kyle.

“Blessed be, indeed,” whispered Damon, and they looked at each other one more time, then joined the troops in a run.

Chapter VIII

Handfasting

Kyle could swear, as he stared into Alyssa’s eyes in the border between the forest and the village clearing, beneath the clear blue sky and surprisingly warm sun, that he looked not into Alyssa’s eyes, but into those of a goddess.

But no. It was clearly Alyssa- for Alyssa, then, was a goddess.

Gong stood in front of them, a table with chairs on either side of him, as well as a table of food behind him, with King Edwin, his son, King Edwin’s warriors, and the entire village, huddled in a crowd in the gayest of dress. Their colors were vibrant, as they always were in Celtic lands; but even an average Celt in better than average Celtic dress could boast no finer than what was here: most of it was purple, with designs of dragons and unicorns and fairies.

But Kyle’s eyes were not here. They were bent on Alyssa. Below her beautiful eyes, somewhere he was hardly aware of, he could see her flowing silk gown, courtesy of King Edwin. It had been his wife’s, before she had died; Gong had given Kyle the ring Alyssa’s mother had given him in disgust after she’d tried to be wedded to him. Kyle did not know if Alyssa had a ring, but he could have cared less, for on that day, he knew only joy.

What was death, what was bloodshed, what were cruel steel and Roman legions when he had here beside him this day everything he wanted? For death seemed more like a distant dream, or perhaps a king’s son telling him taxes were due- could you please give them to me?- than a monster waiting to devour him. He knew he would stay behind in the astral when he died; there, he would wait for Alyssa, that this handfasting might mean more than a week.

Alyssa’s eyes seemed to dance more than ever before, and at last he spoke.

“Alyssa, it would not be enough to be with you for the rest of my life, because it’s way too short. That’s not what I think I’m getting here today. Alyssa, it would not be enough to know I would never be parted from you, because I could never be satisfied gazing at a pot of gold if the Leprechaun never gave it to me, especially when that pot of gold’s bigger than I’ve ever seen before.” She gave a look as though she were deeply touched as he said this. Evidently it had not been too odd for her. Encouraged, Kyle went on with what he had written and memorized the night before. “Alyssa, neither of those things are what I’m after today. No, I guess what I’m really after is something I’ve always known I’d always have- that I would love you for all eternity. I want you to know that. I want you to know that, and I want you to know that the other thing I’m after is to know that I will never give up on you. I never really have. I want you to know that knowing you loved me all along is, above all else, the single happiest, most joyful, most beloved thought I have ever had. And to my deathbed, I carry the vow to love you forever, for I never had any intention of letting this handfasting be for the week remaining in my life, for whatever years I might cheat from death, or even for two lives. I like to think of this handfasting as a bond that will last for all eternity. I am after your heart, after your soul, after your existence, in its entirety, for as long as long can possibly be. I love you, Alyssa. That is, and always has been, my intention for this handfasting.”

Alyssa looked almost as in love as Kyle felt. He listened, nothing in his heart but joy, love, and rapture, as she said:

“Kyle, I saw you coming into my life before you came, though I’m not sure I ever told you. I remember thinking you were the most admirable man I’d ever met, there, in my dreams. I dreamed of today. I just never thought it could possibly happen.

“When I saw you for the first time, I wanted to die, because something so beautiful, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect- I knew I could not live with myself if I were the cause of your death. I love you, Kyle. I always have.”

Kyle started to extend his hand to be bound to hers, but she went on:

“I wanted to make sure you were gone away from me as quickly as possible. I wanted to make sure you never saw me again. But I have never been so happy to fail so miserably. I still dream about you every night. It’s like, being with you during the day isn’t enough. I have to see you when I go to sleep. Tonight, I don’t want that to be a dream. I want to be by your side, to be with you for the entire night.” She paused. “Tonight, I want to know that not just for now, but for all time, I am your love, your one and only love. May you hold me in your arms forever, and may light shine on a happy union for us till the end of time. I love you, Kyle. Blessed be.”

Now she extended her hand, and Kyle put his next to hers, looking up at Gong.

Gong stepped forward, giving a slight bow to Kyle, then to Alyssa, and tied their left hands together with a piece of ribbon. As the ribbon looped around their hands and drew tight, Kyle closed his eyes, heart racing. Never, in all his years, had he been nearly so happy as he felt now.

“I love you, Alyssa,” he whispered.

As he opened his eyes, he saw her staring into them.

“I love you, too, Kyle,” she said. “I loved you before I met you.”

Kyle couldn’t wait, and took her in his arm passionately and kissed her, their left hands rising into the air, his arm looped around his head. There was a ripple of laughter from the warriors, and Gong himself laughed.

He had never kissed her before, and as he did, he remembered that time a month or so ago when he had felt like kissing her as they flew into her brother’s village; and he made sure he did everything he would have done then. More importantly, he made sure he did everything he was going to want to have done when he said goodbye. One night was too short a marriage; aye, but wait but a few short years, and he would see her again. And perhaps he would be able to go straight to her when he died; that was probable, as there was no time in the astral. It was she who must wait, not he.

So Kyle took her hair in his right hand, grasped her neck as he kissed her, let his tongue grope over teeth, play with her tongue, and taste her passion as she tasted his. He thought this was the culmination of their relationship; and somehow, he knew their relationship was forever changed.

Kyle had lost track of time, but at some point, he realized the warriors were laughing, and, realizing he had been kissing her for a really long time, he drew back.

The instant he had, someone struck up a tune on a flute, and he began to dance with Alyssa. She beamed up at him as he stared adoringly into her eyes, and they twirled as best they could with their hands tied, laughing every time it stopped them from completing a maneuver.

As they passed Damon by, Damon said, “Congratulations,” and bowed toward them very low.

Kyle felt joyous energy building inside him as he danced. He was taken over by the spirit of the dance, and grew wild. He slapped his thigh, twirled, dipped toward the ground, stood, hopped on one leg, twirled till they were back to back, then rose into the air, bringing her with him, brought her back to the ground as he twirled back to face her and grabbed her other hand. There, hovering over the ground, he kissed her again, and she burst out in joyous laughter, unable to contain herself.

“The ring, Kyle,” she said. “You forgot the ring. You kissed me before you were supposed to!”

“Aye, but who cares?” said Kyle, knowing his voice would be considered obnoxiously loud under any other circumstances.

“I don’t!”

Then she leant her head upward to kiss him, but Kyle brought them to their feet in an arc, and she burst out laughing again.

And again they danced.

Kyle clasped her to him and jumped on top of the table to his left facing the village, continuing his dance there. She shook her head wildly, hair flying every which way, and then the song ended.

They hopped off the table.

“Something slow, if you will,” Kyle called to the musician, who was standing alone from the dancing warriors now.

A slower air was taken up with a nod from the warrior, and then a woman started playing a harp from somewhere in the back. Looking through the dancing couples, Kyle could see her- she was an old woman, a widow, from the look on her face as she caught his eye. Kyle thought she must be a wise woman.

“Who are you looking at?” said Alyssa, as a bard began to sing the Battle of the Trees.

Kyle looked into Alyssa’s eyes, suddenly grave. “I don’t want to leave you.”

She looked away a second, then looked back up, smiling gently as she squeezed the hand that was tied to hers, her fingers closing between his. “I don’t want you to leave either, Kyle. But some things have to pass. But let’s talk about that later. For now, I don’t want to have a care in the world.”

Kyle smiled again. “Aye. I don’t think I could let the future weigh me down now.”

They kissed briefly. Kyle wrapped his right hand around her waist, putting their left hands in the air, and began to dance with her. Their bodies, so close, was an intimacy he had not often experienced in any of his life up till this point. She was warm, sensual, and attractive. His lips quivered as he took his hand up her back and tucked her head against his shoulder. He could almost see the smile he knew she was giving.

Suddenly his shoulder was wet. At first he was alarmed, but then she said:

“Kyle, I’m so happy,” and he breathed a sigh of relief, chuckled, and stroked her head.

“I wish it could last forever,” he said.

“It will.”

“Aye. That’s what I asked for, isn’t it?”

“No,” she said. “That’s what you got.”

That night, as they separated physically, Alyssa laughing with joy, reality slowly began to catch up with Kyle. He took a deep breath, hidden in his other, nearly as deep breaths, and said, “Alyssa, when you saw what I had to do- when did you see I had to leave, again?”

She giggled, turning over to face him. They were in a cottage, with their gifts stacked in a corner, as well as a few food items they’d taken with them. The bed they lay on was in the middle at the back wall, and a small fire burned in the front center of the room, a few feet away from the bed.

“Do you care?”

She was beautiful- even more so now. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I love you, Alyssa,” he murmured. He felt himself drifting off to sleep.

“I love you, too, Kyle.”

He smiled, listened to his own sigh- so distant. “I’ll never grow tired of hearing that, you know.”

“Then let me say it a few more times, and maybe you’ll get used to it. I love you, Kyle, I love you. I love you. I love you, Kyle, I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I always will….”

Her repetitions were interrupted by the laughter of both of them.

“I love you, Alyssa, I love you,” Kyle said. “I love you, Alyssa, I love you. I love….” They were laughing again, but he managed to finish, “I love you.”

She put a hand on his face, and they looked into each other’s eyes. This was bliss. How could it ever end?

“I love you, Alyssa,” he repeated. “And I’m not tired of hearing it yet.”

She propped herself up. “I love you, Ky…”

Kyle cut her off, moving up and kissing her quickly. She wrapped her arms around him, and he put his left hand around her waist, closing his eyes as their lips parted slightly.

“I’m still not tired of hearing it,” he whispered.

She laughed. “Well maybe you should let me say it a few more times then, rather than stopping me.”

He smiled. “Aye, but then I couldn’t kiss you. And I’m not tired of that yet either.”

“It has to be one or the other, Kyle.”

“Does it?”

She smiled, kissed him gently. Her lips felt so good.

“No,” she said, and kissed him more fully.

When they had drawn back, and both of them had returned to their own sides of the bed, Kyle said, “Alyssa?”

“Yes, Kyle?”

“When do I have to leave?”

She propped herself up again, and he glanced into her eyes.

“Tomorrow.”

Kyle swore gently, tears in his eyes. “I wish you were coming with me.”

“Do you?” she said, and, before he could answer, she added nervously, “I intend to, Kyle.”

Kyle sat up, suddenly awake. Firelight danced on her cheeks and shoulders as she drew the blanket up around her, covering them more.

“Alyssa, you can’t,” he said.

“You said a minute ago….”

“Alyssa.” He put a hand to her cheek. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I love you.”

“If you love me,” she said, “understand that the single greatest thing you can do for me is to let me die with you. You know you don’t have to wait to see me when you die. I do. And I don’t want to.”

“Alyssa.”

“No Alyssa about it. I’m not waiting. And maybe you can drag me to my father,” she said, smiling at him, “but you can’t keep me here.”

“King Edwin and….”

“Oh, I already talked to King Edwin and my dad. They both agree. I should go south with you.”

Kyle was panicking. “I don’t want you to die, Alyssa.”

“It’s too late for you to decide,” she said, leaning over him and smiling. She leaned down further and kissed him.

He looked into her eyes as she drew back. “You said I’m going to get to kill Julius Diesarum?”

Her smile broadened, and tears shone in her eyes in the firelight. “I did.”

Kyle eased himself down. “So mote it be, Alyssa. So mote it be.”

“You’ll kiss me goodbye?”

“Aye, Alyssa- and then I’ll go kill Julius Diesarum.” He looked up at her and said, “I love you,” for what must have been the five hundredth time that day, and yet what seemed the first- and then he fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter IX

Death

Kyle awoke to find Alyssa still asleep. Moonlight shone on the fringes of her hair and her beaming face. Kyle felt so at peace, it seemed impossible to believe that he would die that day. Yet he knew it must be so.

He stared at her, satisfied to do nothing else, for quite a while before he got up from bed. It was cold, and he shivered as he pulled on his clothes. He warmed himself up pyrokinetically and pulled on the sea cloak the captain had given him. Now he felt warm.

Kyle looked at Alyssa, thinking she would surely be cold when she woke up. He went to the fire, saw that all that remained of the wood was charred bits and pieces and gray ashes. Touching them with his finger, he could tell that they were cold. Yet he had known that beforehand. And he had not taken a day of training in the prophetic arts in all his life.

He cast a glance to Alyssa. Did she know?

Perhaps it was better if she did not.

And yet he could not help but know he would share it with her, eventually. If not today, then whenever they met again, in whatever life that might be. For he knew they were more than a married couple; their handfasting had not bound them together for a year and a day, nor had it bound them together for nine years, nor even life; it had bound them together for eternity.

Aye. That was an awesome thought. Blessed be indeed.

Kyle pulled his sea cloak around him tighter and opened the door. An instant chill penetrated him, but he sent warmth shooting through his flesh. Alyssa stirred behind him, called out his name as someone does when she’s just waking up.

“Kyle!”

Kyle shut the door and walked back to Alyssa. Oh, she was even more beautiful awake.

“I love you, Alyssa,” Kyle said.

She smiled, grabbed his hand as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I love you, too, Kyle.”

It seemed to Kyle as though, in his desperation to cling to her as long as possible, he had to tell her he loved her over and over again. And he found no greater satisfaction in anything at that moment than to notice that she did not tire of this; to know that she felt the same way.

“There’s something you wanted to tell me, Kyle,” she said. “I saw it in my dreams.”

Kyle took a deep breath.

Suddenly there was a whinny of a horse outside, and then the conjoined whinnies of two, one of them the same as the first.

“I’ll be back,” Kyle said. He squeezed her hand and walked outside.

Again a cold blast greeted him. The wind was howling.

Outside, snow was whipping around a cloaked figure leading two white, black-speckled horses to a tree. Kyle knew before the man turned around that he was King Edwin. And he knew he would apologize.

“I apologize, Kyle,” he said. “I had no intention of waking you yet. A man should not have to get up early the morning after the day of his handfasting.”

Had Alyssa been going through this process her entire life?

“You didn’t wake me,” said Kyle.

“Oh, good,” said King Edwin. He smiled, bowing. “When you are ready, these horses will serve you well.” He led the horses past Kyle. Kyle turned to let his eyes follow King Edwin’s movements as King Edwin tied the horses to one of the logs projecting from the corner of Kyle’s new cabin.

“Thank you, King Edwin,” Kyle said. “But I have one more request.”

“You have but to ask it.”

Kyle walked to his door, snow crunching under his feet. Opening the door slightly, he took his pack out, and removed the paper Dimunay had given him. He shut the door, pack and paper in hand, and turned back to King Edwin.

“My teacher and my father gave me this,” he said softly, and tears strained at his eyes as he remembered Dimunay. “I want you to have this. I’d like you to hang it in your hall. Dimunay once asked me to hang it up if I ever worked at a temple; I have no temple. I will not live much longer. But please, keep this somewhere safe, somewhere sacred, for me.”

King Edwin said simply, “So mote it be,” and took the paper lightly with a slight bow.

“And this,” said Kyle. He took out Dimunay’s rotted skull to the stench of rotting flesh. “It’s the skull of my teacher. I took it with me for guidance.” The skull was chill and wet to his touch. He handed it over to King Edwin.

“Thank you,” said King Edwin. “It has been a long time since I have received such a worthy gift, if I ever have.”

They hugged, and Kyle thought he could hear Dimunay’s voice carrying from the Land of the Ever Young in the winter winds: “… you have earned something far greater than any Roman will ever know.”

Aye. He had earned love. He had earned wisdom. He had earned true friends. He had earned honor and valor.

Was it remotely possible that he was that same kid who had shown such silliness and naiveté, who had had not a care in the world, and who could not imagine the world outside of his father and himself?

No. But if it was anything he had ever learned, it was that the theoretically impossible happened every single day.

“Listen, King Edwin,” said Kyle, drawing back. “I am grateful for what you have done for me, and for your courtesy. You have truly honored me as more than a guest here. If I were going to have children, I would have gladly and freely given them to the service of you and your kingdom.”

“I would take them even as freely as you would give them,” said King Edwin. “Perhaps with their guidance, I would not be excommunicated.”

Kyle grinned, and King Edwin went on.

“As to your being my guest, you are more than a guest, and always will be in my eyes. I will tell my grandchildren, when they are born, of the man who went to fight the entire Roman army alone. May they find as great of honor in their lives one day as you live in yours.” King Edwin bowed again, and Kyle bowed back with oral thanks before King Edwin turned and left.

Kyle went inside.

“Alyssa.”

She was dressed now, smoothing her dress down. “I’m coming.”

“We don’t have to go yet.”

She looked him in the eye. “I want to. I want to get it over with.”

“You don’t have to go, Alyssa.”

“You’re not leaving me here alone.”

“You have your father, you have Damon.”

“My father will be killed within a year, and Damon will join us on the road. Surely you’ve seen this?”

Kyle was shocked. He hadn’t seen it, and this news was a shock to him; but he was more shocked by the notion that she knew… did she know?

She walked up to him, wrapped her arms around him. “I didn’t tell you. I know even more than you do. In my dream last night, the Goddess came to me.”

She glanced away and then looked into his eyes. “The Goddess told me who you are. She told me I am not only to bring your death in this life, but I am to betray you in another. My true name is Vivienne, as yours is Merlin. Damon’s meeting us was no chance. In the life many lifetimes from now, you shall be his guide in life, and he shall win greater glory than even you.”

Kyle was shocked. “What shall be his name?”

Alyssa smiled. “King Arthur.”

“King?”

“Aye. You’re to be the instructor of a king. He will free us of these wicked Romans.”

“But… you’d never betray me.”

Alyssa’s face grew somber. “Kyle, the thing you should understand… until we know the entire picture, though I know you’re new to this, we can never know exactly why we will act the way we will. One day I’ll betray you. Afterward, I’m too ashamed to seek to know what will happen. But I know this: till the end of time, though our actions might be bizarre, you and I will love one another. I could never believe differently, not with my love, my heart, beating for you. Could you?”

Kyle smiled. “No. Never.”

He kissed her, wrapped his arm around her, and led her outside.

They untied their horses, mounted them in silence, and began to trot off into the forest down the trail leading south from which they had come.

The snow stopped coming through the trees as the forest thickened. Eventually no snow seeped through at all, although occasionally the weight of it caused it to crash to the ground here and there. Kyle’s heart would have been stern, but by the side of his one true love, he could not fear.

The ground below their horses’ hooves was covered in snow pretty thickly, and even on the trail, though Kyle was sure many had been there in the last month or two, it was fairly thick. The trail opened some, and the snow began to fall heavily across his face, biting his cheeks. It was hard to see very far ahead, and he and Alyssa slowed down some.

Eventually there were trotting hooves. Kyle and Alyssa reared around. It was hard to tell where they were coming from, but Kyle willed himself to know, and knew that it was Damon, coming from the north.

As the hooves drew nearer, Kyle called out, “Slow down, old friend! You’ll hit us.”

The hooves slowed as a horse whinnied, and then Damon came into view, slowing to a walk.

“Aren’t you worried you’re going to hit something?” said Alyssa.

“And what? Die? I came here to die,” said Damon. “And I have never feared the Morrigan’s shrieks.”

“Aye,” said Kyle, smiling grimly at Damon. “Did you happen to bring something for me to fight with?”

“Aye,” said Damon. He dismounted, taking off a saddlebag. He undid the strap, and took out a bow, a quiver of arrows, an axe, and a sword.

“Take your pick,” said Damon.

“A bow and one arrow.”

“A bow and one arrow?” said Damon. “One?”

“Aye,” said Kyle. “I only need one. I have one man I want to kill. That is all.”

Damon took the sword, the bow, and the quiver of arrows in his arms. “You’ll be needing all of this. After everything you’ve done, I’d hate to see you go down fighting one man.” He tried to hand them to Kyle, and Kyle dismounted to take them.

“Do you have a belt?” said Kyle.

“Aye,” said Damon. He handed what was in his hand to Kyle, and then took out a belt and a sheath.

Kyle strung the bow while Damon waited, and then he put it around his shoulder with the quiver on his left shoulder. He took the belt from Damon, and put it around his waist. It was a bit large, but Kyle liked it all the same. He sheathed his sword, and nodded at Damon.

“You look like a natural warrior,” said Damon as Kyle re-mounted his horse.

“Do I?” said Kyle.

“Aye, you do,” said Damon. Then he looked aside a moment and added, looking back with a wry smile, “But, next time, take weapons with you. You can’t always count on friends for bailing you out, for future reference.”

“For future reference.” Kyle winked, turned his horse, and started walking as Alyssa followed, and Damon, his horse whinnying, mounted and followed her.

“Gong told me where Julius Diesarum’s camp is,” said Damon. “He’s south of Brunner, just south- he’s building a new town there. More like a prison camp, if you ask me.”

Kyle smiled. “And he’s alone.”

“No,” said Damon.

Kyle was surprised.

“What made you think that?” said Damon.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Not everything you see will be correct,” said Alyssa.

“Wait,” said Damon. “Kyle’s into magick- he’s not a seer, is he?”

“It’s a long story,” said Alyssa and Kyle at the same time. Together, the two of them laughed.

“Aye, I’ll bet it is,” mumbled Damon.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, and then Damon said, “You know Kyle, Alyssa, I always thought you two would wind up married.”

Kyle stood straighter, grinning. “I never did.”

“Really?” said Alyssa.

“Nope,” said Kyle. “One of those thing’s that’s too good to come true, you know?” He meant it.

There was a pause, and then Alyssa said, “Kyle, are you sure you should be glad we met?”

“How can you say that, Alyssa?” said Kyle. “I love you. You’re my life.”

“Kyle, but I’ve brought you more pain than joy….”

“No, Alyssa. Last night alone, even after we’d been married- heck, even just falling asleep beside you- there was enough joy in those moments to make up for all the pain I’ve felt because of what your father told me, much less… I’m not actually sure there was any pain caused directly by you, but if there was, its totality could not compare to just one moment’s joy when I was with you all yesterday and all last night. Even talking to you, even now… it’s the happiest times of my life, you know?”

“I do know,” Alyssa whispered, and her hushed voice was nearly drowned out in the noise of a sudden gust of wind. Then the gust of wind died, almost for her, and she said, “I never knew more joy than I did yesterday.”

“And now?”

Kyle heard Alyssa take a deep breath, heard her and Damon’s horses’ hooves stop. He drew his reins in, turning his own horse.

“I’ve never known such deep sorrow,” she said; “because now, Kyle, we have to part. Look.” She motioned behind her.

Over the tops of the trees, Kyle could see a towering human wicker. He knew what it was for.

He looked back at Alyssa, his heart aching.

“I’ll see you soon, love,” he whispered, and bowed his torso forward slightly from his horse.

Then, not waiting for her to answer, he turned his horse sharply and kicked it hard. Instantly the world began to bob up and down, rattling him as he leaned close to his horse’s white, brown-speckled mane. Snow whipped at his face, hardened in that moment by that very moment, the moment he had dreaded since he’d met Alyssa, in the time his mentor and instructor had dreaded for as long as Kyle could remember.

Kyle did not turn around till well after the sound of Alyssa sobbing had faded, till he heard motion up ahead, till it became clear that the aching in his heart was not going to subside till his life subsided.

He tugged gently on the reins, slowing his horse to a trot.

Then he took his bow down from his shoulder, took out an arrow, and dismounted.

He turned to his horse. “Get!” he whispered, slapping it on the side. It pivoted and rode back down the trail. He knew Alyssa would find it later.

Kyle turned back around, pivoting on his heel, and walked slowly forward, notching the arrow as snow crunched underneath his feet. The wind had begun to howl.

It was the time of the rebirth of the God. Soon the God would be reborn; soon, with him, Kyle. But first, he must die.

Kyle saw a tent through the whirling mist, and snuck by it, staying just out of view.

He let his instincts guide him in his quest to find Julius Diesarum. And then, though he knew he did not want to wait, he knew that that was what he must do.

Time passed, and he struggled vainly not to miss Alyssa. He ached to be with her- and then he knew he would be soon.

That’s when he heard crunching footsteps, and heard Julius Diesarum’s voice.

“What do you mean we aren’t to push further north? They’re on the run! I don’t care what my commander said.”

Kyle raised his bow and drew back the string in one fluid motion, his fingers on the arrow in the correct way. His muscles quivered slightly as he pointed at the voice.

One arrow. One life.

Kyle let go.

There was a zing, and then a thud. Kyle heard Julius Diesarum give a cry, but it was not a cry of pain. Kyle had shot the man he’d been talking to, not him.

There was a slight ring, and Julius came running through the snow, sword drawn.

Kyle notched another arrow quickly, drew back, aimed in the split second he had, and let go.

Diesarum gave a cry of pain, and sank to his knees.

“Milord!” came a cry from outside Kyle’s ken.

Two men wielding swords came at him from the mist.

Kyle dropped his bow and unclipped his sword, then let it fall.

“May the Goddess embrace me,” he whispered, and let himself sink to his knees in the snow. Wetness penetrated him. As the swordsmen came at him, he closed his eyes, thinking of Alyssa, Dimunay, and the Goddess, knowing he would be with them all very soon.

“So mote it be!” he shouted.

And then the last thing he heard was his own voice gurgling with blood.

As he stood, he saw the Morrigan standing over his corpse. But one of the three stood apart. She stood over the gasping Julius Diesarum as well.

There was no cold.

And he looked into the eyes of his Lord and Lady, and pride swelled through him.

“You bring us honor, Merlin,” came the Goddess’ thoughts to him.

Kyle knelt as she continued.

“Welcome home.”

Chapter X

Mass Sacrifice

Alyssa heard a horse galloping through the snow. Her heart leapt; perhaps Kyle had come back for one final kiss.

She ran toward the sound.

“Alyssa, wait,” shouted Damon after her, but Alyssa’s tear stricken eyes searched for her husband as she ran for the horse.

The horse ran past her, and she had made a full pivot and a few steps after it before she realized it had no rider. It stopped in front of Damon.

She sank to her knees, crying.

“It’s all right,” said Damon, leading the horse to her. She felt his hand on the top of her head. “You and I both know, we’ll all be together soon. Supposing you’re not a total failure as a seer.”

Alyssa laughed slightly through her tears. Then she fell back to sobbing.

“Here,” said Damon.

Alyssa felt leather in her hands and looked up to see the horse, its reins in her hands.

“He’s a good horse. He’ll do you well. Maybe that would comfort you- to ride on the same horse Kyle did.”

Alyssa tried to say, “Yes,” but choked on tears. She checked herself and stood. She had to be strong.

Swallowing, she swung herself onto the horse, putting both legs to the left.

Looking at Damon, she said softly, “Thank you, Damon. I’ll be back shortly. Hide, and be ready to light the sacrifice.”

“Aye, milady,” said Damon. “Your father will be proud.” Then he added, “Kyle, wherever he is, will be proud. And the gods that accompany him- they’ll be prouder still.”

As Alyssa started off, she heard him add more still: “Make Kyle proud, Alyssa. Blessed be.”

“May the gods be with us both,” Alyssa whispered, and kicked her horse sharply.

She sped through the snow as quickly as she could going side-saddle, wind whipping freezing ice against her face, now numbing, her horse’s hooves shooting snow in jets into the air, till another pair of hooves beat the ground behind her.

She slowed to a trot, then turned around and waited. She had nearly fallen off.

Through the snow she saw another horse and a tall Roman soldier- tall for a Roman, that was. He was short for a Celt.

He slowed to a walk, his horse’s armored, spiked head bobbing as his mane and body glistened with snow. The horse was brown, with white hair on his feet, though his feet were engulfed in snow most of the time as he walked, taking high steps. The soldier stopped in front of her, waving a spear at her.

“What do you mean, coming here?” he said in her own language.

“How do you know my tongue?” she asked.

“I’m an interpreter,” he said. “I’m also a scout. What do you want?”

“I’m….”

“Well?”

“I’m a druid, on the side of the Romans,” said Alyssa.

“Does Julius know you?”

“No,” said Alyssa.

“Which king are you a subject of?”

“I am not a subject,” said Alyssa. “I am a druid who has been expelled from the Order for treachery. Please, I ask safe passage to your camp, because if I am caught by my fellow Celts, or, worse, my fellow druids, they will kill me.”

The scout motioned with his spear. “Follow me then. We could use a druid now. Our leader’s life is in peril. What can you do for that?” he said as he circled around Alyssa and started off, Alyssa following.

“I can do a divination,” said Alyssa. “I’ve got it set up right now. I’ll need a lot of volunteers, though.”

“What does it involve?” said the scout.

“It involves marching up a huge wooden figure of a man,” said Alyssa. “I divine how to heal from whatever accidents happen on the way. I have to warn you, I’ll expect at least one injury, that’s how the divination’s done, but it’s mostly safe.”

The scout nodded up ahead. “Julius Diesarum has been in our service for some time. We would give a lot to keep him around a little longer. I’m sure they’ll accept.”

The snow let up suddenly, and Alyssa could see further ahead, where the Roman encampment was. As they reached it, an officer galloped toward them.

“Vergilli,” said the officer in Latin, “who is this?”

“A druid,” said Vergillius. “She wishes to help with Julius.”

“Oh no,” said Alyssa suddenly, letting her face droop as her eyes looked off into the distance. She kept her expression blank.

“What’s wrong?” said the officer and Vergillius at the same time.

“He doesn’t have long,” she replied. “But if he marches up there with me and 300 soldiers, we can save his life and the cause.”

“Hag,” said the officer, “we’ve got half of Britain. Don’t tell me you think we’re going to lose it?”

“No,” said Alyssa, “but we can gain the North. An order will come from the high command soon. But if we don’t save Julius, all attempts to gain the North will fail.”

“She sounds like she knows what she’s talking about to me,” said the officer. “Vergillius, go round up the legion. We’ll take 300 to this healing thing of this stupid Witch.”

Vergillius nodded and left.

The wind whipped suddenly.

“I’m cold,” said Alyssa.

“Hag, no one gives a dip,” said the officer.

Alyssa took a deep breath, and decided it was most auspicious to not say anything else.

She sat there, her breath venting from her mouth.

A few minutes later, there was a drum, and men came running to form into a legion. It was impressive.

In a matter of moments, they were assembled.

“Do as she tells you,” boomed the officer’s voice in the swirling snow. “She comes to save Julius and put an end to these evil druidic freaks.”

Alyssa contained herself and turned her horse, beginning the march. And as she rode forward, tears streamed down her cheeks, for there she saw her one true love, mutilated, lying in the snow. Men came and bore him off, and she wanted to go with him, see him wrap those arms around her again… she turned from the sight.

Alyssa cried the whole way to the wicker man. The snow fell thickly around her. She was damp now, shivering. Soon she’d be convulsing. It didn’t matter. There wouldn’t be a “soon.” Not for this body.

The wicker image came into view.

She galloped to the wicker man, saw its thick branches and logs leading upward. Branches spanned the long framework, which was designed to near perfect image of a human being. She opened the doorway and stepped inside.

They brought Julius Diesarum’s convulsing body up the stairwell first. Alyssa was careful to hide her face from him.

Then the men started marching upward, among a host of complaints. The wind picked up, and a blizzard started again.

“Don’t do this!” Julius Diesarum wailed as he ascended, above.

“You could die, sir,” said the officer.

“I’m not going to die!” shouted Julius angrily. “This is insane. No druid can kill me. My sword will kill them all!”

When the last man was inside, Alyssa started to walk off, but the officer grabbed her. “You wouldn’t be trying to fool us, would you, girl?” he said.

“No, of course not,” she said.

“Then why aren’t you going inside?”

“I’m letting you in first,” she said.

It was as she’d seen. And nothing had changed.

The officer drew his sword, put it to her throat. “I don’t know you. You go in first.”

Alyssa nodded and entered the wicker person. The officer, still outside, shut the door.

“Now tell me,” he said, “what you’re doing?”

“She’s waiting to join the husband you killed!” came a voice through the snow; and then Damon’s face came through the blizzard, fire blazing in his hand by a torch.

The officer drew his sword, and Damon drew his.

They stood there, staring at each other for a moment; then someone shouted, “Kill the druid!”

Alyssa panicked.

The officer approached Damon. “Drop the fire, or my men kill your friend.”

Damon shook his head.

“Drop your sword, then,” said the officer.

Damon grinned suddenly. “You don’t understand. We didn’t come here to lengthen our lives.”

He threw the torch for the wicker image, but the Roman soldier knocked it from its path with his sword. It stood burning in the snow.

Damon began to circle around the officer, but the officer slashed at him with his sword. Damon blocked it, running forward. He shoved the Roman against the edge of the door, their blades inches from their flesh.

“I’ve conquered your homeland,” said the Roman. “What can you possibly do to me that will bring it back? You think you can take on an entire Roman legion on your own?”

Damon smiled. “I don’t have to. I just have to take you.”

So saying, he pressed harder against the door.

Seizing her opportunity, Alyssa drew her athame and plunged it into the Roman’s back. He slid down the door with a breathless groan, and died.

“Thank you, Alyssa,” said Damon.

Suddenly there was a whistling sound, and a dagger shot into Damon’s head. A blank look passed over his face as Alyssa gasped in horror, and he sank to his knees as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and then he fell face down into the snow, hitting the door on his way down, dead.

Tears were in Alyssa’s eyes as she gasped. She drew an invoking pentagram over her body, muttering an incantation.

“Kill the druid!” someone shouted.

No. She had to get the flame.

Then suddenly she saw a faint outline of a person ahead of her. It grew more distinct. Then the fire leapt from the torch to the wood, burning the officer’s corpse on the way.

And as Alyssa felt fire singe her flesh, she saw Kyle opening his arms toward her.

She collapsed, and fell, free of her body, into his arms.

He caught her, and she looked into his eyes. They were on a raft, crossing a river. An old, cloaked woman stood at its single oar.

“Welcome home, my child,” she said, turning to face Alyssa.

“Milady,” whispered Alyssa, kneeling.

Looking around, she saw Damon on the other end of the raft.

As the river ended, Alyssa found themselves stopping on the side of a sunny bank.

The Crone Goddess turned to them. “Welcome to the Summerland. May it ever find you in bliss. Welcome, Kyle, Merlin. Welcome Alyssa, Vivienne. Welcome Damon- King Arthur.”

And Alyssa grabbed Kyle’s hand with a smile, and the three of them stepped off to join the legions of the dead, to return again, and again, until the Celts were freed of the Roman invaders, and Alyssa’s prophecies were all fulfilled.