“What else would you call it?” he snaps back. “You clearly weren’t in control of your body.”
“There were too many of them and it... I was overwhelmed.”
“Nothing should make you feel so out of control. That’s not right, Lugh. It’s not right.” His voice breaks a little on the emphatic statement. His hand presses on his shirt, just on the edge of the berserkir belt.
“They weren’t trying to control me, I promise. They had information they needed to share. Memories.”
“Of what?”
“Their deaths.” He swears, but I press on, needing to tell him what I saw. “Something’s gone wrong out here. The same man appeared in every memory. He’s the one who kept murdering them. The shades couldn’t show me his face, but it was him, Keir. Again and again. Whoever he is, whatever his reasons for doing all of this, we need to find him.”
“Lugh, there isn’t time—”
“Then we make time. They want him stopped. I want him stopped.”
A long, heavy silence. Keiran rises slowly, never looking at me directly, and I know he’s turning this statement over and over in his head.
“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” he finally says. “I—I’m too tired now.”
At least the darkness hides my guilty wince. Keiran’s a bit older than me. Living in Faerie has slowed the aging process, but he still doesn’t heal as quickly as me, and violent magickal attacks leave him exhausted for days. If he’s admitting his limitations now, it means interrupting the shades tonight took a heavy toll on him. In the morning, he’ll be in worse shape than me.
“To bed then?” I ask.
He collects his father’s axe and checks the edge. Must still be sharp, because his shoulders drop in relief, and he adjusts his grip to a more relaxed hold. He still hasn’t turned toward me, but he nods and agrees, “To bed.”
We limp back into camp together, silently supporting each other and knowing the morning will be filled with quiet complaints about our new injuries. It isn’t until we’re tucked into our bedrolls beside a rebuilt fire that Keiran speaks. “Lugh?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for telling me,” he whispers before drawing the furs up around our shoulders like nothing has changed.
I close my eyes and fall asleep knowing it’s not true.
Chapter Ten
Lugh
Dawn comes too soon. As the year slips on, the sun’s light waits longer and longer to breach the horizon, but so many early starts in a row mean Liath and Dubh wake early despite the darkness. Their movements and soft greetings eventually coax me to open my eyes. Keiran’s already awake, though he hasn’t moved from the bedroll. He lies on his back, staring up at the sky overhead.
“Did you sleep?” I ask him, and immediately regret speaking. My throat’s still raw, a reminder of last night’s horrible experience.
“Eventually,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
I copy him and roll to my back, wincing from the pull on my muscles. There may be no visible wounds, but every phantom cut I suffered last night pulses and burns.
“Oh, I am not going to enjoy today’s ride,” I groan, and sit up.
If I don’t move, I know the pain will settle deeper. Better to get going now and warm up the stiff muscles before jumping into a full day of punishing riding. Once I’ve familiarized myself with the worst of the aches, I risk glancing at Keiran. “What about you?”
“Sore. Aching head. It should fade once we’ve eaten.” He frees himself from the pile of furs and scrubs at his face with his hands. “The men will be waiting for us.”
“It’s early. They’re probably still asleep. If we’re lucky, they’ll be awake when we get into town.”
“You talk like the ride won’t take us long.”
“Not if we get moving. Come on. No reason to linger here.”
He shivers at those words and risks a look back at the burial mounds. In this predawn light, they look like bumps on the landscape, no more dangerous than the curve of a stream or the gentle slope of a meadow. Nevertheless, their image is tarnished by the memory of last night, and I know Keiran’s reliving our battle when he forces his gaze away and turns his attention to the bedding. “Agreed,” he finally says. “Let’s get out of here.”