Tír na nÓg Trilogy, Book II: The Rising Dark

A Walnut

What happened next was a series of rushed and frantic actions. Tess was so shaken by what she'd seen that Cathbad had to come draw her to her feet, as Emery had no luck doing so. The druid gave something to Tess, a medicine of some kind that put her into a daze, and then he was able to lead her away somewhere. Emery just stood there, almost as if unsure where she was, night fast falling and casting its shadow across a tumultuous landscape. Fires were burning somewhere--whether they were torches or buildings burning or bonfires, she couldn't tell; everything was blurring around her. Someone grabbed hold of her arms, startling her, but when she realized who it was, she screamed at him to get away from her. Cullen was covered in blood--he smelled of blood and, backlit by the growing flames, resembled some demon straight out of hell. She tried desperately to wrench free of his grip. He held a sack at his side, dripping dark liquid, and when she saw it, she yelled louder, but with his free arm, he picked her up as easily as if she were another head in a bag, slung her over his shoulder, and hauled her away toward a dark mob of gathering people and horses.

No matter Emery's terror or humiliation at his treatment of her, he wouldn't let her go until they reached a spinning wheel of light, so bright that it lit everything around it. Cullen pushed her up onto a horse (she realized with great relief that it was Liath Macha), and ordered her to "ride him through."

Emery had at first been confused, but then she'd realized the ring of light was in fact a giant portal, as tall as her roundhouse and as wide as it, too. It was limned in crackling flames, and at its side stood Tlactha, the giant druidess, her eyes like glowing coals in her head and her pointed teeth glinting. Her long-nailed hands were at work operating the portal, controlling it, and through it moved a hustling train of the Red Branch Knights and other warriors who were still alive, the carts they'd brought (now laden with treasures), and all the horses. So, as confused and angry and disturbed as she was, Emery had enough sense to follow them through, and on the other side of it was the road that led to Dun-Dealgan. She'd never been so happy to see their hillfort on the horizon.

Eventually, Emery ended up back in her own dwelling with Tess and Oonagh. Whatever spell Cathbad had put on Tess, it had knocked her out, and she lay sleeping on her bed. Oonagh had a million questions but could see after asking about three of them that Emery was in no mood to talk. But Emery couldn't sleep, either. In fact, she couldn't even sit still. Despite it being late, Oonagh filled her a bath with heated well water, and Emery at least managed to get out of her wet, dirty clothing and, after bathing, get into a clean tunic. Even so, though Oonagh tried to convince her to rest, Emery couldn't. She paced the roundhouse, gazed at Lugh's Spear in its patiently burning blue flame, sat by the fire in the pit and just stared. Sleep wouldn't come.

She wondered what was happening beyond her roundhouse. The minute she'd ridden Liath Macha through the gate, Edan, the hostler, had taken him to be fed and wiped down and brushed. Without waiting for anyone to tell her what to do, she'd set off for her house; she certainly hadn't wanted Cullen to find her, to try to talk to her. And now, only a couple of hours later, as Emery sat in the strange lighting of her dwelling, her friends asleep behind her, she listened to the faint noises in the distance. No doubt their arrival had caused a stir. There were horses to care for and wounded to tend and treasures to be sorted . . . and at least one head to be stuck on a pike or hung from the gate.

Emery had replayed the scene in her mind since she'd witnessed it and wished she could delete it from her brain. It was one thing to have stabbed Cú Roí; it was another to go the extra step of cleaving his head from his body. In her old fake life, she'd seen movies and television shows with knights and ancient peoples battling, but her limited knowledge of violence was nothing compared to the reality of it. Emery had heard Cullen was brutal; Cathbad and his own knights had mentioned their fear of him more than once, but she'd never seen him do anything to confirm their fears. He'd only reprimanded those knights that had allowed her to escape on Samhain, after all, and even when she'd seen what he'd done to Forgall, she'd known that'd been a necessity to get his weapon back. But the way he'd punched that sword out the back of Cú Roí's neck--the barbarism of going that extra step and taking his head off--and the blood and other matter, and the sound of it--