Scions of the Tuatha Dé

“You missed your turn,” Donal said.

Murrough’s house slid past them on the right. It stood half of a mile across the bay from the town of Dunfanaghy, but the distance around the bay was three times that length. Compared to Ballyness back home, this bay had much more sand than it did water. Donal used to joke it would be quicker to walk across it into town during times of drought.

“I missed nothing,” Murrough said. “We’re going to Niall’s.”

“What for?”

“I’ve been gone and I don’t want to spend much time cleaning.”

Donal swung his head back to reexamine his uncle’s house before distance obscured it. The flora impinged on his yard and neared the cottage itself.

“Here we are,” said Murrough, slowing the horse to a walk. They turned right down Niall’s private road.

Niall was Murrough’s neighbor and closest friend. Murrough would bring the boys to his house once a month in the years following their parents’ death. Niall would join them for at least one meal. Today would be the second time the boys stepped foot in Niall’s house.

Niall’s home was smaller than the MacSweeney home but he had little need for the space. His wife died less than a year after their marriage and he never courted another—at least to Donal’s knowledge. To the left, stables housed his three horses with an empty stall on the end. A line of three wagons of differing sizes waited between the stables and the house. Donal didn’t recognize the fourth horse tied to a post near the front door.

The wagon rolled to a stop. Donal couldn’t get out fast enough. Finn and Siobhan fought, but he was the one that suffered. Two hours of quiet was more than enough time for the Shadow to chip away at him.

Finn’s right, it had told him. You’re a couple of nothings from nowhere. Even if the land needs saving it won’t be you two that do it. Murrough and Niall likely brought you here to tend to their homes while they’re off being heroes.

Fortunately for Donal, the rolling countryside offered enough distraction when his heart started to drop.

Finn jogged after Siobhan as they climbed out of their respective ends of the wagon.

“Come here to me,” he said. “It wasn’t right what I said. I didn’t mean it. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“You hope so?” Siobhan said. “It was over the line. What’s more, I think you meant a little of it.”

She turned toward the house and narrowed her eyes at Donal for stopping to listen.

“Siobhan, please stop,” Finn said.

Siobhan halted but remained silent. She kept the two grooves above the bridge of her nose and her mouth turned down, even if Finn couldn’t see it.

“What can I do? How can I fix this?”

Siobhan locked eyes with Donal and gave him a wink. Her face now labored to maintain her frown. Letting out a sigh that shrugged her shoulders, she turned back to Finn.

“You can ‘fix’ it by pulling the twig out of yer arse and listening to what we’re saying,” she said. “We haven’t been there for you these past few years just to make fools of you now. Keep an open mind, will you?”

“That’s fair,” he said.

He put a hand on her shoulder as she turned away.

“Wait.”

“What now?”

“Thank you,” he said. “For what you’ve done for us. And I’m sorry that it took this long to say it.”

“Oh. N-not at all.”

Finn walked to Murrough, who was tying the horse to an empty post. Siobhan turned back toward the house. Her eyes grinned and a small bit of color returned to her face. Donal spun on his heel behind her.

“Hang on,” Donal said. “Were you not mad at him? Was this whole thing a play?”

“I was furious with him at first. And for a while.”

“But what was that about, just now?”

“I thought letting him understand the state of things on his own time would be faster than the series of arguments it would take for him to work past his pride and realize that, in this case, I was right.”

“Did you worry that he wouldn’t come around?”

“A little,” she said. “But it was a safe bet.”

“And where did you learn a trick like that?” Donal asked.

“Dealing with you,” she said.

She ruffled his hair and hastened toward the house. Donal caught up to Siobhan in time to hear voices through an open window. Niall’s stone-scuffed voice alternated with a woman’s voice he could not place.

“Who is that?” Donal asked Siobhan.

The voices inside fell silent. Heavy footsteps neared the front door and it opened with a flourish, drawing their eyes to Niall’s wide smirk.

“Finally,” he said to Siobhan. “Murrough still drives a wagon like it’s laden with eggs.”

“Good to see you too, Niall,” she said.

She stepped inside and was ambushed by Niall’s dog before she could greet his guest. His eyes shifted to Donal.

“How’s your head, boyo?” he asked Donal. “Is it spinning yet?”

“Happy to still have one,” Donal said.

Niall twisted his head and doubled the wrinkles spanning his forehead, the latter a feat Donal thought impossible. He was told Niall was the same age as his parents, but he didn’t believe it. His brown eyes glinted through two slits in a leather mask. His coarse hands could debark a tree with a single twist. Donal leaned in for a hug. Niall shook off his puzzled expression and wrapped Donal in his free arm.

Donal slid past Niall and entered the house. The main room was clean and organized with very few frills. It had no open hearth, only one proper and wide fireplace with a chimney climbing the far wall. Swords and spears leaned against the right wall, inclined at similar angles and evenly spaced. Several cutting utensils laid in order of length on a bloodstained counter along the left wall. A lute laid across some stools in the corner.

The sheep dog abandoned Siobhan for Donal. It reared back and rested its front paws on Donal’s stomach, all the easier for him to stroke the dog’s black-and-white spotted coat.

Niall’s guest sat at the table in the middle of the room. She had angled her seat away from the table to make room for the longbow that rested in her lap. Black waves cascaded from the top of her head in several directions. Her greeting to Siobhan was deep, breathy and curt. Donal guessed she was a few years older than Siobhan.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Murrough asked as he followed Finn through the door.

“Just a little small talk,” Niall said.

He threw a thumb in his guest’s direction.

“This one was talking my leg off.”

The woman rolled her eyes and turned her attention towards Finn as he grabbed a stool from the corner to join the rest at the table.

“Let’s introduce everyone before riling the well-armed lady,” said Murrough. “Finn and Donal MacLaughlin, meet Maeve O’Connor.”

Maeve dipped her chin briefly in Donal’s general direction.

“How much do they know?” Niall asked Murrough.

“Little more than the basics,” Murrough said. “Some of us are a bit more skeptical than others.”

Murrough turned his hand in Finn’s direction. Niall’s lower jaw opened, pulling away his grin.

“You?” Niall said. “I would have sworn you were a bard in the making. What’s wrong?”

“The stories are fun, but they’re just that—stories,” Finn said.

Finn caught Siobhan’s eyes, her brows raised. Donal would have missed the expression had he not heard the conversation outside. Finn took a breath and slowed his delivery.

“I simply cannot see how a couple of random lads grasping to keep their farm afloat have a part to play in some ancient battle between godlike forces.”

Finn checked back with Siobhan. She pushed up her bottom lip, gave her shoulders a slight shrug and nodded.

Niall chuckled.

“‘A couple of random farmers,’ he says.”

He looked at Murrough and received a nod in reply.

“One moment, if you please.”

Niall pushed away from the table, walked across the floor and passed through a door on the right. A wooden drawer slid open and then shut. A key rattled in a padlock. The hinges of a chest creaked. Niall’s shoes stepped toward the door.

Niall returned into the room holding a piece of linen in both hands. He gestured to an open space in the room three feet from where he stood.

“Stand over there,” he said. “Is Muiride tied up out front, Murrough?”

Murrough nodded.

“Then here you go.”

Niall dropped his hands to toss the contents of his hands underhanded toward Finn, but the linen remained in his hands. Instead, a stone the size of a child’s fist flew at Finn, who caught it out of reflex.

Donal’s chair shook. The table shook. Spears and swords clattered to the ground. Knives slid off the dressing table. The lute fell off the remaining stools, sounding a dissonant chord as it hit the floor.

Siobhan’s face showed signs of curiosity but little panic. Maeve displayed the tops and bottoms of her brown irises and grabbed her chair bottom for bracing. The dog ran to the door and tried to claw it open. The five horses outside squealed and roared. Several interrupted hoofbeats sounded from the front yard; some of them were bucking.

Finn looked to every corner of the room as if it had an answer. When it seemed he had run out of ideas or reasoning, he flung the stone back at Niall, who made a great effort to catch it in the linen. The shaking stopped and the sounds of unsettled horses outside the only clue remaining that this area had been disturbed.

“It would be easier on you and everyone if you would trust us,” Niall said to Finn. “The things that others have set into motion will happen whether you believe them or not.”