Page 44 of Shaw

The two lads eyed each other before the taller one trotted off toward the old dwelling. The other regarded him with slightly less suspicion.

“Why guard me when you ken two scythes shall never stop my beast?” Shaw asked idly.

“We might do you some harm, Chieftain, but ’twasnae our intent,” the young druid said. “If you shattered our shielding spells, we’d use the scythes to dispatch the DayBridge to the Well of Stars.”

Even the magic folk didn’t wish to be slain by his beast. “Why butcher the whole of your tribe when some of you might survive such?”

“The Pritani spirit that dwells in you, ’tis the end of all things, as you must ken,” the lad said, and when Shaw nodded he added, “’Tis the final and absolute end. A druid slain by the dark one doesnae reach the Well of Stars, nor return so they may live again.”

Now Shaw understood why many of the Pritani and druids attacked by the NightRiver had ended themselves rather than face him. “Why should your bastart brothers place such a curse on a beardless lad?”

Sorrow flickered across the druid’s young face. “Why reckon you we cast them out? They murdered three of our finest ovates, attempting summon the dark one to possess them.”

“So you set them free to become slavers who took me from my clan and made me their weapon.” Shaw would have punched him, but the lad could not be blamed for what happened a thousand years past. “How happy for your tribe.”

“’Twasnae happiness that compelled us sacrifice ourselves,” a low, soft voice said. “In all my former lives I’ve served as headman here. After casting out the NightRiver as a mercy I sent to the Well of Stars every bairn too young to end themselves before we turned our blades on ourselves.”

He turned to see the taller lad had returned with a thin, elderly druid. The headman walked with two canes in his hands, thanks to his withered, twisted legs, and had some of the same symbols on Shaw’s arm inked down one side of his face.

The other druid lad bowed to the old one. “Forgive us, Master Engus. The Chieftain wished speak with you of the NightRiver, may they never incarnate again.”

“May they rot for eternity,” his companion muttered.

Engus made a quieting gesture. “Take your ease, lads. I reckon the MacMar and I must speak, else he continue thinking the only sacrifice made, ’twas his.”

He would not offer any sympathy for the old man’s obvious pain, for he well knew druids were never what they appeared to be. “Why should you slay your own kind?”

“We couldnae prevail over the NightRiver, for in secret they had wielded black magics that made them more powerful than any other druid,” the headman said. “The council at the time refused our entreaties to stop them from harming more innocents. We offered ourselves so we might gather in the Well and beg punishment for the outcasts.” His gaze drifted to Shaw’s ink. “I reckon you served as part of the answer sent by the gods, Chieftain.”

“I dinnae believe in druid Gods,” he said. “Yet if they chose visit such a curse on a young lad, then mayhap you all deserved death.”

The old druid’s mouth twisted into an odd smile. “’Tis why we became outcasts as well, son of Mar. Since the first offering, ever we die together as a tribe from sickness or attack. None wish join us and share in our punishment for releasing the NightRiver. Each time we incarnate, we remain scattered across Scotland until we reach an age where we may travel. We all come together here so we may live as a tribe until the time arrives for our end.”

“You shall die together for eternity?” Shaw glanced at the two younger druids, who nodded. “My apologies. I spoke out of ignorance.”

“’Tisnae as wretched as you may reckon. We’ve come to accept our strange manner of incarnation, as well as returning to the Well as a tribe.” The old man sighed. “I’d hoped we’d meet someday, but I didnae ken you’d already found your love. The portents tell us you shall end together as well, as ’tis ever your fate.”

“Why should we die? So we may appease your bloodthirsty gods?” Shaw made a contemptuous sound. “We shall live on with great pleasure and happiness. You’ve but to remove the curse visited upon me by your blood-kin.”

Engus chuckled. “Och, lad, you dinnae ken of what you speak. You’ve lived with the darkness for near ten centuries. Over such a great time ’tis changed. ’Tis become melded with your flesh and blood and bone. You’re as much the darkness now as ’tis you.”

“I’ve fought the facking thing ever since it came into me,” Shaw said, snarling the words. “I never accepted the curse, never—and you dare say ’tis part of me, and I shall never rid myself of the facking thing?” He snatched a scythe from one of the younger druids. “The skinwork, ’tis what binds us. Indeed, I reckon living without an arm, ’tis better than the wretched torment of my life.”

He raised the blade, but before he could swing it down and cut off his marked arm someone wrenched it from his grasp and tossed it to the druid.

“Not going to happen, my man,” Julianne said as she came around and faced him, her eyes filled with amber and bronze light. “Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Twelve

As soon as the Cait Sith dropped anchor off the shore of Insii Orc, Speal scanned the shoreline for the rotting bodies of mortals or her sisters, but saw none. Smoke rose from some chimneys in the tiny town just beyond the empty docks, and she could smell chicken roasting in the air.

“’Tis a good sign, aye?” Mace asked as she joined her in the skiff before their sisters lowered them over the side. “If our sovereign lost her temper, ’twould be carnage strewn everywhere.”

“Carry you a blade?” Speal asked, and when the other shifter produced a long dagger she sighed. “Leave that in the boat. Say naught when we’re in her presence. You recall how Fia taught you?”

Mace paled but nodded. “Make no sound, and admire the ground. Only if the enchantress slays you, what then?”

“Should our sovereign be that angry, ’twill take but a moment for you come join me in oblivion,” she assured her, taking up the oars to row.