Marg laid a hand on Breen’s cheek. “You felt him, as I did.”
“I heard him, Nan.”
“As I did. Such a strong spirit, he is. Such love he has for you.” Now she kissed Breen’s cheeks, one, then the other. “We were blessed this night. Now, in Fey tradition, we share treats with the children.”
“But in the south—it’s starting, must be—in the south.”
“We have faith.”
They needed more than faith, Breen thought. Her father had said strength—to have strength to face what he died fighting.
So she would use her strength and face it. And look.
Even as the children gobbled sugar biscuits and candied fruit, she stepped to the Samhain fire.
Drawing up her power, she looked deep into the flames.
Other fires burned on the beaches in the south as they burned here. And in the hills, as here. In the fields and dooryards.
Circles cast, rings of seven.
Harken stepped beside her.
“I only see the rite, and peace. Maybe the vision was wrong. I was wrong.”
He took her hand, and the jolt of new power shot through her.
“We’ll watch. And if the vision proves true, send our light.”
Marg took her other hand, and more gathered.
“I can’t see anything but a big fire,” Marco said from behind her.
“Do you want to see?” Harken asked him.
“I … Yeah. I’ve got friends there. I don’t have anything to send, but—”
“Oh, there’s light in you, brother. As in all living things. A hand on Breen’s shoulder, and one on mine. We’ll show you what we see.”
With hope, with strength, and with faith, those gathered around the fire saw all.
* * *
Deep in the round tower, one of the Pious unlocked the door of the small cell where a child slept. As he approached the girl, three elves slid out of the stone walls.
One held a knife, and her hand trembled with the wish to use the blade. Instead, she used the hilt to knock the robed man to the floor.
“Bind him up, lock him in. He’ll face his judgment. Then take your places for the battle that comes.”
She sheathed the knife, slid her arms under the child to lift her. “I have you, bláth beag,” she whispered, and cuddling the child close, shot out of the cell in a blur.
On the rise above the beach while the elf whisked the girl to safety, Old Father stood.
“So many Samhains I have known in this life. How bright the ritual fire shines against the dark of the sky and sea.” He turned to Toric with a quiet smile. “I understand your faith doesn’t observe this night, or ask to reunite so briefly with loved ones lost.”
“We do not question the gods who ended those lives, nor wish to disturb the peace or punishment given them in the next. We thank you for honoring our faith while you stay with us.”
“All faith that lifts up good works, that harms none and accepts others should be honored.” Keegan, as Old Father, leaned heavily on his cane. “I once visited a world where its people professed their world rested on a golden plate lifted from a great sea by a giant fish who held it balanced upon his tail. Not even a starving man would feed upon a fish in this world, as they were sacred. But most there lived good lives, loved their young, had kindness toward neighbor and stranger alike.”
“You’ve traveled many places, Old Father. Will you come inside now, sit, and, over a cup of wine, tell me some of your travels?”
“With pleasure.”
Two others stood in the nave, hands inside their sleeves.
What courage, Keegan thought. Three against one old man.
“You have lighted all the candles, I see, though you don’t observe Samhain.”
“We do not, as it is an unholy night for pagans and heretics. We are the pathway for the true god, the dark god.”
Old Father took a stumbling step back. “My son—”
“Not yours, never yours. We are sons of Odran. And you are our sacrifice to him.” The hand Toric took out of his sleeve held a knife, and its blade shined keen and black in the candlelight. “We will drink your blood this night, and throw your body on the pyre.”
Old Father lifted the cane as if to defend himself. As Toric laughed at the gesture, Keegan lowered what was now his sword, and put the tip against Toric’s throat.
“Shall I slit yours as you would an old man’s? It would pleasure me to do so.”
Instead, he gripped Toric’s knife hand, twisted it so that man dropped to his knees. He punched power at one of the two who charged him, short swords gleaming, planted a boot in the belly of the other as elves slid out of the walls.