Into the Fire (The Thin Veil) Page 7

  Eden nodded. “I think so,” she said.

  Finn leaned over and kissed them both. “I’m proud of you,” he said to Cedar. Then he looked down at Eden with a twinkle in his eye. “How would you like to go for a pony ride?” he asked.

  “Yeah!” Eden said, scrambling to her feet. “But where will we find a pony?”

  “Oh, I don’t think we’ll have to look very far,” he said, and then, with a swirl of sparks, he transformed into a child-sized pony that was pink from head to hoof. Cedar laughed as Eden ran over to the pony and hugged it. She helped lift her up onto her father’s back and watched as the two of them trotted away down the riverbank.

  “Well, that was touching,” came a voice from behind her. Cedar swiveled around to see Nuala standing just a few feet away, leaning against a slim tree, her arms crossed and a bored expression on her face. “The thing I like about you, Cedar, is that you can never hear me coming.”

  “What are you doing here?” Cedar asked, her eyes narrowed.

  “I realized that I haven’t welcomed you to your new home yet,” Nuala said. “You seem to have settled in nicely. Lovely pep talk you gave the little one. I suppose I should thank you for calling me a bully instead of a kidnapper and murderer.”

  “That’s because she already knows that’s what you are,” Cedar said through gritted teeth.

  Nuala ignored this. “I also came to tell you that you’re in way over your head. I’ve been planning this for a very long time. You don’t think I wasted all those years on Ériu, do you? Not like everyone else. Except for Finn, I suppose, who was off doing who-knows-what to try and mend his poor broken heart.” She pouted, and Cedar wanted to strangle her.

  “No, you don’t know what you’re up against,” Cedar said. “You think you can just bat your eyelashes and get whatever you want, but there are a lot of us who know the real story, and we’re going to stop you. You should be the one who’s afraid.”

  Nuala rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m terrified,” she said. She straightened up and started advancing on Cedar, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “You can’t stop me, Cedar. It’s foolish of you to even try. You’re only going to get hurt—you and the people you love—again. This is your last warning. Go and—”

  “Get away from her!”

  Cedar’s mind suddenly cleared of the fog that had begun to descend on her. Eden was running straight at Nuala, her little hands balled into fists. “You leave my mum alone!” she screamed, flailing at Nuala. “Go away! Go!”

  Finn was behind her, one foot still a pink hoof, his face pale.

  The expression on Nuala’s face was unreadable. Her eyes were wide wells of green and her mouth was slightly parted. For a second, Cedar could have sworn that she saw a flicker of sadness pass over the other woman’s features. Then Nuala took a step back and said calmly, “Hello, Eden.” She looked up at Cedar again. “Remember,” she said. “That was your last warning.” She turned and ran.

  Cedar shook her head to clear the last of the cobwebs and looked at her daughter in amazement. Eden’s fists were still clenched, and she was breathing heavily. “Was that brave, Mummy?” she asked.

  Cedar dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Eden. “Yes, baby,” she whispered. “That was very brave.”

  It was early evening when the Council sent for her. Riona found Cedar in Eden’s room, where she and Finn were listening as their daughter attempted to play a long, delicate wind instrument she had discovered on her music branch.

  “Cedar,” Riona said softly. “There’s a messenger here from the Council.”

  Cedar stood up quickly, her heart pounding. “Have they decided?”

  “I don’t know,” Riona said. “He just said that they need to see you. Only you,” she added with a glance at Finn, who had also gotten to his feet.

  Cedar turned back to Finn and took his hands in hers. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You stay here with Eden.” Then she kissed Eden and said, “Mummy’s got to go to a meeting now, but I’ll be back to tuck you in.”

  She said good-bye to Riona at the door and greeted the messenger politely. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” she asked as she followed him to the Hall.

  “No,” he said, “I’m just supposed to bring you to them.” He was young, and she was reminded with a pang of Oscar, who had shown her the hidden entrance to the Fox and Fey on the night Eden was taken by Nuala. They walked the rest of the way in silence, but she could feel the boy’s eyes on her. She tried to calm her breathing and slowed her pace by a fraction. She wanted to appear before them as a potential queen, not as a sweaty, nervous mess.

  When they reached the center court of the Hall, the messenger bowed and indicated that she should go in alone. She walked forward slowly and deliberately. This time, only the eight Council members were in the room. There was no audience, not even servants. Gorman was smiling at her, but she noticed he was twisting his hands in his lap. Deaglán was also smiling, though not in a way Cedar found reassuring. Sorcha looked bored and didn’t acknowledge Cedar’s presence in any way. The swarthy man with the big beard gave Cedar a stony glare, his arms crossed in front of him. Then there were two others in the Council who had remained completely silent during the meeting that morning. Cedar looked at them curiously, wondering where they stood. One was a short, pixie-like woman with hair the color of ivy that was done up in braids and wrapped around her head. She reminded Cedar of Nevan. The other was a man who could have been her brother, thin and lithe, with long fine hair so blond it was almost white. They returned Cedar’s curious glances with looks of their own, and then the man with the white hair stood up.

  “Greetings, Cedar,” he said. “We thank you for answering our summons.” Cedar said nothing but nodded and waited. “I fear you have not been properly introduced to the members of the Council since your arrival in Tír na nÓg. I am Amras,” he said, then rattled off the names of the other seven members of the Council. “Ruadhan has withdrawn his claim and has given you his unconditional support. And the Council has decided that Conchobhar is not the right person to lead us at this particular time. So that leaves us with Fionnghuala… and you.”

  Cedar tried to keep her expression neutral, while inside, her stomach was clenched and her heart raced. She willed herself to stand perfectly still and wait for their decision.

  “You are aware that some have reservations about the fact that you were raised as a human and have had the, er, ‘gift’ of humanity bestowed upon you,” Amras continued. “But there is also the matter of your parentage, which is unquestioned. There are many who believe someone with Brogan’s and Kier’s blood in her veins is not to be taken lightly. Your claim has a great deal of support among the people, who regard you as a hero. In destroying Lorcan you have proven yourself both brave and selfless, which are noble qualities in a leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”

  Cedar could feel the knot in her stomach lessening. Maybe they were going to choose her after all.

  “However,” he said, and then paused. She held her breath. “By your own admission, you know little of our people and our customs. And we know little of you. It is a difficult choice indeed. Two divergent paths have been laid out before us, and it saddens me to say that we have never been so divided as a Council, nor has the correct path ever seemed so unclear. Fionnghuala offers much. The return of the druids and the promise of Ériu are no small things. What do you offer your people, Cedar?”

  “Peace,” Cedar answered immediately. “Dignity. Freedom from tyranny—because tyranny is what you’re going to get if you choose her. As I recall, that didn’t work out so well for you last time.”

  “Words,” said Deaglán with a disdainful snort. “You offer nothing but words.”

  “She offers hope,” Gorman retorted.

  Amras raised his hands to quiet them both. “Your claim is strong,” he said to Cedar. “But you are untested, and it is uncertain how your rule would benefit our people. We have come to a decision, but it is an unorthod
ox one.” Cedar held her breath, waiting for him to continue. “We have a task for you, Cedar,” he said. “Complete it, and you will prove yourself worthy of our throne, just as your father did many times over. Fail, and we will choose Fionnghuala as our queen.”

  Cedar was stunned, but she recovered quickly. This was completely unexpected. A task to prove herself worthy? She struggled against the voice in her head that automatically shouted, You’re only a human!

  No, she told herself, remembering Finn’s words from the previous night. I have a strength they do not yet see.

  “And what is this task?” she asked, surprised by how calm she sounded.

  Amras sat down and nodded at the pixie-like woman next to him. “I am Maran,” she reminded Cedar gently as she stood. “Are you familiar with the Lia Fáil?”

  The Lia Fáil. Cedar knew she had heard those words before. She frowned, struggling to remember. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sorcha smirking. Suddenly, the memory rushed back. Yesterday—had it only been yesterday?—Eden had mentioned it at breakfast, back in their apartment on Earth. “It’s a stone,” she replied. “One of the four treasures brought from the Four Cities. It’s called the Stone of Destiny, and it… roars,” she finished lamely, hoping she wasn’t making a complete idiot of herself.

  The pixie woman nodded. “It does,” she said. “And do you know why it roars?”

  “No,” Cedar admitted.

  “It roars when a true king or queen stands on it. It was once used as our coronation stone, and then, during the time of friendship between our peoples, we loaned it to the kings of Ireland for use in their coronations. Over the centuries it fell out of use and would roar no more. We do not know the reason—whether there were no worthy leaders left or the magic of the stone wore out. It has since been lost to history and myth. Your task is this: Find the Lia Fáil and bring it back to us. We have the other three treasures—the cauldron, the spear, and the sword. To have the lost Stone of Destiny would be a great gift.”

  Cedar’s mind was racing. “How will I know it’s the right stone?” she asked.

  “As every child could tell you, the Lia Fáil grows warm at the touch of one of the Tuatha Dé Danann,” Sorcha said. “But it should be obvious, shouldn’t it? If you are truly destined for the throne, the Lia Fáil will let us know.”

  “Unless the magic has ended,” Cedar pointed out.

  Deaglán waved his hand impatiently. “I, for one, have confidence in the Lia Fáil’s ability to prove who is worthy to be the ruler of our land and people.” He gave Cedar a withering look. “No one is expecting you to succeed. But some believe we owe it to your parents to give you a chance to prove yourself. You have one week.”

  “One week?” Cedar asked, aghast. “To find a stone that has been lost for centuries?”

  No one answered. They all watched her silently, awaiting her answer. She lifted her chin. “All right,” she said. “I found my daughter against impossible odds. Now I will find the Lia Fáil.”

  Finn was waiting for her outside the Hall. He swept her up into a tight hug as soon as he saw her. “You were amazing,” he said. She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Were you eavesdropping?” she asked, and he nodded sheepishly.

  “Butterfly,” he said. “Yellow wings. Behind Deaglán’s left shoulder. I was tempted to leave a few droppings on his robe but was worried that he might crush me.”

  Cedar laughed. “I’m glad you were there; you can help me make sense of all this.”

  Finn’s eyes were glowing. “You should be proud of yourself. They threw you a real curveball, and you handled it beautifully. I think Sorcha and Deaglán were hoping you’d just give up right then and there.”

  “What do they have against me anyway?” Cedar asked as they walked back toward their home.

  “They seem to have something against pretty much everyone,” he answered. “I’m sure they’d both love to rule, but members of the Council aren’t allowed to put themselves forward. My father says that Sorcha was a big Lorcan apologist in the early days. Of course, now she’s claiming that he threatened her into submission, but I doubt that’s what really happened. Deaglán’s always played his cards close to his chest, and I’m not sure what his game is here. Maybe it’s simple prejudice. It’s hard for them to accept that you’re one of them and that you killed Lorcan when no one else could.”

  “Do you think I can do it?”

  “I told you, I think you’d be an excellent queen. And if you have what it takes to be queen, you definitely have what it takes to find the Lia Fáil.”

  Feeling heartened by his words, Cedar picked up the pace. She had expected to find the common room empty when she arrived back home. But her friends and family had gathered to hear what the Council had had to say. Rohan and Felix stood in a corner of the room, talking in low voices. Molly was reading a book to Eden on a long chaise longue draped in velvet while Riona looked on, and Nevan and Seisyll were chatting animatedly while sipping steaming mugs of tea. Seisyll was the first to see them enter, and she rushed over to Cedar.

  “Cedar,” she said, grabbing at her hands. “I am so very sorry about what happened this morning. One minute she was there, and the next she was gone. She closed the sidh the second she was through, or I would have followed her. I accept full responsibility—I should have been more vigilant when entrusted with the care of a sidh-child.”

  Cedar smiled wanly. “It’s okay,” she said. “Nothing bad happened. It’s not the first time she’s pulled something like that.”

  Seisyll smiled at her gratefully and then asked the question on everyone’s lips. “So? What did the Council want?”

  Cedar breathed out and looked around at all the expectant faces that were turned toward her like flowers to the sun. “They want me to find the Lia Fáil.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then Nevan said, “You’ve got to be kidding.” She looked at Finn. “She’s kidding, right?”

  Finn shook his head. “I’m afraid not. They said she needs to prove herself worthy of the throne by finding the Lia Fáil and bringing it back. If she fails, they will give Nuala the crown.”

  “And I only have a week to do it. So… anyone know where it is?” Cedar asked, not expecting an answer. She was starting to feel slightly panicked, but she pushed the feelings down. Panic would not help her find the stone.

  “There are several theories, of course…,” Nevan said, trailing off. “But I don’t think anyone’s even looked for it in, well, centuries. We’ve all just assumed it was lost forever.”

  “Well, what are some of the theories? Where was it last seen?” Cedar asked.

  They all looked at one another, and then Riona said tentatively, “I heard that the human warrior Conn found it after it had been missing for quite a long time. He stepped on it by accident, and it roared.”

  “But didn’t he break it in two when it failed to roar for Lugiad?” Nevan said.

  “No, that was Cúchulainn, Lug’s boy, way before Conn’s time. And I don’t think it broke—I think it just stopped working,” Felix said. “They say it never roared again, except that once for Conn, which happened hundreds of years later. I assume that’s why it got lost. It could no longer identify the true king, so it was just treated like any other ceremonial stone.”

  “When did all of this happen?” Cedar asked. “How long ago?”

  There was another uncomfortable silence. “Um… I think it was before your race—the humans, I mean—started recording history,” Nevan said, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry, Cedar. It’s just been so long since any of us have even thought about the Lia Fáil. The druids were always obsessive about history, not us. I’m afraid we’re not going to be very helpful.”

  Then Finn spoke up. “The humans have some more recent stories about it. I did some research on it while we were on Ériu. I was curious to find out what the humans knew about our race. Some of it is… interesting, to say the least. Humans have a way of creating th
eir own version of history based on their beliefs about the world.

  “Some scholars believe the stone was used as a pillow by a man named Jacob, who was a great leader of a race called the Israelites. They say it gave him a vision, and he went on to found a new religion. Some believe it was taken and hidden in the monastery at Iona. Another theory states that it’s the standing stone that still crowns the Hill of Tara.”

  “Where’s that?” Cedar asked.

  Finn shook his head. “County Meath in Ireland. It’s the coronation site for the ancient Irish kings. But I’ve been to Tara in recent years and have touched the stone. If it was the real Lia Fáil, it would have grown warm at my touch.

  “Then there is the Stone of Scone, which rings of truth, but seems… too easy.”

  Cedar waited for him to elaborated, and noticed that Eden was hanging on Finn’s every word. A historian in the making, she thought.

  “The story goes that the Lia Fáil was last used for the coronation of Murtagh mac Erc, the High King of Ireland, about fifteen hundred years ago,” Finn continued. “Then he loaned it to his brother, Fergus the Great, who was being crowned King of Alba, or Scotland as it’s now known. But shortly after his coronation, Fergus and all of his inner circle were killed in a storm off the coast of Antrim. So the stone was never returned. Instead, it stayed in Scone, which was the seat of the High Kings of Scotland at that time. It was used there in coronations until King Edward I of England conquered Scotland in 1296 and took the stone back with him to Westminster Abbey, where it has been used in coronations ever since.”