Emily's House: Book 1 of the Akasha Chronicles

Chapter 5: Cathaír's Bad News

Chapter 5: Cathaír’s Bad News

A full twelve moons after the ban-feis, Cathaír rode hard and fast to the Sacred Grove to meet with my mistress. In those months, Saorla’s vision had proven true. Invaders entered upon the Emerald Isle. The army was large and their fighting tactics fierce. The King’s own armies and even the fearsome rogue bands of mercenaries had been unable to protect Ireland’s borders. Soon an army had surrounded the High King himself.

Cathaír rode through the night from the Hill of Tara to the Sacred Grove and brought with him unwelcome news. As was custom, Saorla met with Cathaír in the Great Hall.

“Saorla, it is with a heavy heart that I bring you news of a march coming toward your Sacred Grove as we speak. Their numbers are many, Saorla.”

“I know, Cathaír, I know.”

“You have seen the army coming?” asked Cathaír.

“Yes, dear friend, remember I foresaw this over twelve moons ago.”

“That is right. I tried to forget it.”

“The visions are strong and keep me awake at night.”

“Your priestesses are well trained and well armed. You have Madame Wong, an army in her own right. And of course there are the Fair Sídhe and Lianhan Sídhe to assist you. Your women warriors are fierce, Saorla, but I fear that even the famed women warriors of the Order of Brighid will not be able to fend off so many a number.”

Saorla said nothing to this. Instead, she poured herself more tea. She so loved hot tea. I will miss tea and the company of my friends, Saorla thought.

“Saorla, you look so sad suddenly.”

“A moment of weakness.”

“It is not weakness to feel. To be human. You know what is coming. Much blood will be shed. Many lives will be lost.”

“Yes, Cathaír, and that is why I have no time for the human frailty of my emotions. My Order must be able to rely on my steady leadership.”

“You are a strong leader, Saorla.”

Saorla poured Cathaír a cup of tea as well.

“There is more news too. This you may not know. There has been a great betrayal.”

“A betrayal? Of whom?” asked Saorla.

“Of High King Ruaidrí,” replied Cathaír.

“Ah yes, the plot against him that I saw so many moons ago. But I have not seen a vision of this happening recently. How have I not seen this?” wondered Saorla aloud.

“I suspect that magick is involved. It is Cormac, son of King Brion.”

“Cormac. Yes, he has an axe to grind. He has always blamed Ruaidrí for his father’s death. So he is after revenge, is he?”

“There is more. As you told me many months ago, the leader of this invasion is different from the ones before. He calls himself Dughall, and he is after more than just the typical spoils of war.”

Saorla suddenly felt as though she would vomit. All at once a terrible vision came into her sight. It was a vision of a dark haired man with blazing brown eyes riding hard and fast right to the Sacred Grove.

“He is on his way,” was all that she could whisper.

“Then we do not have much time,” replied Cathaír.

“But how does he know? How did he learn of our order and of the portal?”

“That is what I was telling you. Cormac has betrayed King Ruaidrí and the Order. He saw his opportunity and sold us out to Dughall.”

It was just as Cathaír said. Cormac’s father had lost the crown to Ruaidrí in a fierce battle. To assuage Cormac and his district, Ruaidrí had given Cormac a post as his second in command. Being so high placed within the kingdom, Cormac knew much – or had the opportunity to spy on much – of what happened in the King’s court, both public and private.

Cormac, always intent on revenge, saw opportunity. He arranged a meeting with Dughall, as sadistic and power hungry of a human as ever there was. Cormac offered his services to Dughall.

“I have no need of a spy,” replied Dughall in a low growl.

“Then perhaps you require an assassin. I am extremely close to the High King,” offered Cormac in desperation.

“What makes you think that I need you to take out Ruaidrí?”

“There must be some assistance I can offer my liege.”

“What do you know of the secret order of women guarding a well?”

“Ah, it is women you are after sire,” laughed Cormac.

When he looked at Dughall though he stopped laughing. Dughall’s jaw was set hard, and his dark eyes were unsmiling.

“If you have no information about this secret order, I have no use for you,” Dughall said. He motioned for his guards to take Cormac.

Cormac saw the writing on the wall. He thought fast.

“I have information about the women of the well. I have information. I thought that you were in jest, my liege,” he stammered.

“I do not jest,” Dughall replied.

Dughall motioned his guards to halt. “You will tell me what you know and if you provide anything useful, I will spare your sorry life. For now.”

Cormac told Dughall all that he knew. He told a tale of a secret order of all women, Priestesses, who lived in a walled compound surrounded by a grove of thick ash, thorn and oak. He told of how once a girl entered, she never left and inside learned the arts of magick and of war. Cormac told of the legend of a fierce woman warrior from China who taught the women in the Grove the ancient arts of eastern warfare but who was rumored to be over a thousand years old. Cormac told Dughall that legend had it that these Women of the Well were formidable warriors and much feared.

“What of the Well?” hissed Dughall.

“Yes, well, it is said that they guard a sacred well. It is said that the spring there has healing waters in it, maybe even the secret to everlasting life. Legend says that it is because of these waters that the old Chinese woman lives to this day.”

“Healing waters? I have no need of elixirs or potions. Nothing else?” asked Dughall.

Cormac remained silent as he searched his mind for any other legends he knew about the witches of the grove. Dughall let out a tired yawn. At last, Cormac blurted out, “Some say that inside the grove is a door to another world, a place some call Anwaan, the Netherworld. And it is said that the High Priestess wears a magickal torc and that with it, she alone can open the door between worlds. But this is all legend my liege. No one believes in magick or sacred groves anymore,” Cormac said.

Dughall sat back in his chair and smiled. Cormac could see a twinkle in Dughall’s eyes. Cormac was relieved that he said something that appeared to please Dughall. He may live to see another day.

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