The Children of Gods and Fighting Men by Shauna Lawless

Author:Shauna Lawless [Lawless, Shauna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781803282602
Publisher: Head of Zeus

KILLALOE, 998

Fódla

“More blackberries!” Broccan ran toward a large bramble bush and picked off the ripened fruit. Wiping away the morning frost, he shoved two between his lips.

“We’ll reach King Brian’s dun in Killaloe soon,” I said, popping an offered berry into my mouth. “We can eat something different then.”

I spoke with certainty, though I didn’t feel that way. Over the course of the last two years, not everyone we passed had welcomed us, and we were often only given food by those who needed help. What if we were turned away from the dun? The autumn berries were keeping our bellies full for now, but once the cold set in, there would be nothing to forage, and then what would we do? Last winter had been hard enough to endure with Broccan constantly cold and hungry. I didn’t think I could go another one, wandering from place to place, with his face drawn and pinched, pretending that he was happy, when I knew that he was far from it.

“Oh, but I like them,” Broccan said, chewing. “They’re delicious.”

“The purple stains on the tips of your fingers are proof of that.” I smiled. “Aoife loved them too.”

“Who is Aoife?” His eyes narrowed. “Do I know her?”

“No. She died before you were born.”

Broccan stopped picking the berries and stared at me. “She must live with the wind then.”

I rubbed his chin with my finger, caught off guard by the statement. “What an odd thing to believe, little one.”

“That’s what Ma told me before she died. That the dead lived on the wind, and if I needed to speak to her, the wind would pass on my message.”

The air emptied from my lungs. It was such a Rónnat thing to say, and yet strange, even for her. Broccan was not one of us, not a witch or a druid, not even a healer, and the wind would no sooner carry his voice than any other mortal.

Five small fingers wrapped around mine. “What’s wrong?”

I picked another berry with my free hand, threw it in the air and caught it with my mouth.

Broccan giggled, then attempted to do the same. The distraction gave me a chance to pull myself together. If Broccan, not-yet-seven years old, could read me so easily, I needed to work harder to hide my thoughts. Mentioning Aoife had been a mistake. My young nephew had an enquiring mind. There was no need for him to absorb my sadness by dwelling on a cousin he would never know.

“How about we race to the top of the hill?” I gave Broccan a sly smile. “I bet I’m the fastest.”

Broccan chuckled and bounced onto the balls of his feet. “Go!”

Broccan sprinted, his growing legs eating up the ground. Panting, I made it to the crest of the hill, my left side aching with the effort of not lagging too far behind. From the higher vantage point, the valley and river opened up, and I could see that over twenty ráths dotted the landscape. More than I had ever seen in one location before.

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