LIADAN X

  Liadan was amazed as she watched Esker casually push a block of stone through the door frame: she was stunned when Esker encased her hand in stone and used it to send the door flying into the hallway. As Liadan’s jaw dropped, Eógan darted past her and bounded onto the toppled door, eliciting further groans from the guards crushed beneath it.

  King Brian and his warriors fanned out on the other side of the doorway, defending the position and trying to clear an escape route. “Is she alright?” Liadan asked Guillaume, who steadied Esker after she had battered down the door.

  “I am fine,” Esker replied, leaning heavily on Guillaume, but still fully conscious.

  Blood curdling cries came from the hall and while Liadan was unable see over the crowd, Guillaume could. “We need to get as many Gaídel out of here as we can,” he said, concerned. Looking at the battered down door, he continued, “Once we are through, can we can seal off this exit?” He directed his question to Esker.

  “I… I can collapse the wall,” she replied with uncharacteristic doubt in her voice. “However, I do not wish to doom those who do not escape and am uncertain what state such an effort would leave me in.”

  There was fierce fighting in the hall and a steady stream of armed Gaídel guests were leaving the hall as reinforcements, armed with whatever they could retrieve from the High King’s guards.

  Liadan kept a close eye on the guards who had surrendered. Most of them had abandoned their oversized helms and had shuffled over towards the dais, which cleared room in the corner of the hall by the doorway. She watched them less out of concern that they might attack and instead to keep her word that they would be guaranteed safety. A few of the guests of the feast spat on the unarmed guards as they passed, yet none struck at them with their confiscated weapons.

  Meanwhile, the clash in the hallway had settled into more of a shouting match, with vicious barbs being traded between the guests of the feast and the guards fortifying a position further down the hallway.

  Liadan made her way through the doorway and saw a few bodies strewn on the floor, the majority of which were of guards. The hallway ran to the left and right, it was dotted with doors in both directions. The guards, which numbered a few dozen, had been pressed down to the left, all the way to a junction.

  Nearly sixty of the guests threatened the guards, angrily calling them cowards and traitors. There were a few more colorful insults suggesting impossible anatomical acts that Liadan wished she had not heard. Both forces were roughly fifteen paces apart. Liadan turned to look down the hallway to the right and saw the hostages milling about.

  King Brian and Eógan returned from the front lines. “We must get as many of our people out of the hall and find safety for them,” Brian said, his face splattered with blood, presumably belonging to his foes. Abruptly he stopped in his tracks and stared past Liadan. “My son...” he said as he brushed past towards the hostages. “What has he done to you?” Brian cupped the face of the hostage with the bloodied bandage over his eyes.

  “Murtaugh took my eyes before the feast,” the young man answered sadly. “He claimed I had plans of sedition and that you would attempt to overthrow his rule during the feast.”

  “What proof did he offer?” Brian asked, his jaw clenching in anger.

  “Two of the other hostages claimed I had petitioned the aid of their families in a coup.”

  Brian bristled and took a threatening step towards the other hostages. “Then they will pay a price for their lies. Which of them betrayed you?”

  “No father,” his son insisted. “They were likely threatened with further violence to their bodies and their kin. Only Murtaugh bears responsibility.”

  “I swear to you he will pay dearly,” Brian said as he took his sons hand in his own. “Liadan of miracles, do you have any recommendations of what we should do now? I fear were are trapped within the bowels of the beast.”

  A handful of the other petty kings who had survived the massacre in the hall had gathered and were sharing tear filled reunions with their heirs. Most of the hostages waited expectantly for their kin to come comfort them and that hope made them appear all the more devastated as fewer and fewer Gaídel made it safely through the doorway.

  “Is there any part of this fortress that is safe for us?” Liadan asked.

  “Tá, we could fortify a room,” one of the petty kings responded. “But we have no supplies. If they do not take our position by force, the horse fuckers would only have to wait.” He reddened and added, “Excuse my language my lady. We must leave these grounds before the Jotman or the High King’s men can corner us.”

  “I do not think they expected us to survive the hall, we should move quickly and take advantage of the opportunity,” Liadan replied and was a bit surprised when all of the petty kings nodded in agreement. Gaídel communities were not as male dominated as their Jotman counterparts, yet these were landed rulers and they were heeding the advice of a country girl. They began to move en masse away from the doorway and down the hallway to the right. The numbers of the High King’s guards fortifying the hallway to the left had been bolstered from a few dozen to more than Liadan could easily estimate. Fortunately, these reinforcements were only coming from one direction.

  As Liadan passed the doorway leading back into the hall, she saw that the Jotman knights and a small contingent of the High King’s guards were battling brave Gaídel, who sought to delay their advance into the corner of the chamber the other survivors had escaped through. Liadan silently thanked them for their noble sacrifice.

  Eógan seemed to pick up on her internal thoughts, “They are inspiring warriors and I am grateful for the stand they are making.”

  Liadan felt sorrow, knowing that none of them would survive and wanted to make sure their memory was kept alive. As they hurried down the long hallway, her mind visualized the beautiful illuminated manuscripts she had been shown at the Abbey. The Gaídel dying at this feast and fighting for their kin deserved to be immortalized in such an artful fashion.

  King Brian led their escape from the feast, stopping at an intersection: long hallways branched in either direction. “What now?” he asked and the question hung in the air. It was clear none of the petty kings were familiar with the labyrinthian layout of the High King’s fortress.

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  An unfamiliar voice spoke from the middle of the crowd of survivors, it was one of the hostages, “Our chambers are two hundred paces to the left. The larder is one hundred and fifty paces to the right, and the kitchen is another ten past that door.” The precision was shocking and at once Liadan felt a flood of emotions, understanding how quickly the hostages had been forced to adjust to being blinded.

  “I could eat, yet I may pass on a meal,” one of the petty kings called in response, lightening the tone with laughter. “How do we escape boyo?”

  The hostage shook his head sadly. “I have not left these grounds since I arrived.” He had his arm along the near wall, as did all of the hostages. He gestured back to where the guards were swarming in pursuit. “The barracks are in the opposite direction and many of the servant quarters are past the kitchen. The nicer quarters are past our rooms, along with the older parts of the fortress.”

  “Any way out besides the main gates?” a petty king asked and the hostage only shrugged.

  “Shall we proceed to the left, or try to seize the food stocks in the kitchen?” Brian called from the front.

  “Left means loot!” Eógan answered back in Pechtish. Liadan was uncertain the overwhelming confusion was due to his statement, or the language in which it was spoken. Brian put his palm to his face, yet Liadan could tell he was smiling beneath his hand.

  ———

  A contingent of Gaídel guests waited in ambush at the junction, in the event that any of the High King’s guards or the Jotman aggressively pursued. For now, everything was eerily quiet. The rest of the group of survivors of the feast had passed the quarters of the hostages, dragging away a few who insisted on being left behind so that they could obediently wait in their chambers for the High King.

  “I have read that captives often come to love their captors, especially after suffering horrible torture by their hands,” Guillaume commented. That stirred uncomfortable feelings in Liadan, highlighting the injustice of the treatment of hostages and on a deeper level how unsuited Murtaugh was to lead the Gaídel.

  Her experiences in the Abbey and now at the Coronation Stone had shaken Liadan’s faith in the beneficence of rulers: given the opportunity, power seemed to corrupt those who wielded it. She wondered how to safeguard against what seemed as an inevitability. Her own powers scared her, could she bear such a responsibility? Already Liadan noticed the difference in how people treated her: the awe in their eyes and the fear. “Esker,” she asked as they reached a four-way junction and stopped to ponder which direction to take. “Do you ever worry about controlling your abilities, or that you might misuse them?”

  Esker studied Liadan for a moment with her large eyes. “All the time.” She flexed her massive hand, opening and closing it into a fist. “I have seen horrible visions of the consequences of losing control. I wish that there was someone to guide me, someone to teach me the limits of this gift.”

  “I feel very much the same way,” Liadan replied, thinking of when the Broken Man and the Holy Mother Miriam appeared to her in the spectral projection of the finished cathedral. She had felt some guidance from them, but so much was up to her own discretion.

  “We must maintain our values and stand by our judgement,” Esker continued. “Holding ourselves accountable if and when we misstep.”

  Liadan smiled at her. “I second that sentiment and I will be there for you in whatever support you need.” The Tengu’s eyes crinkled in delight.

  A voice called out in alarm, shrieking, “A spy! An agent of the High King!” As spears were readied and the Gaídel began to shout threats, Eógan bounded towards the commotion.

  “Wait!” Eógan pleaded. “May not be what it seem,” he said in broken Gaídel.

  Liadan, with Esker’s help, parted the bristling Gaídel to see what caused the commotion. As the crowd backed up, she saw a strange sight: a panel in the wall, only a few feet high, had opened, and peering out of it was Bauchan.

  “Help explain to them that Bauchan means no harm,” Eógan asked her with uncharacteristic earnestness.

  “Are your certain Bauchan can be trusted?” Liadan asked.

  “Look at it!” Eógan said as if confused that she would dare ask such a question. Bauchan put on a coy face and sheepishly scuffed at the floor with its fine leather shoes.

  Liadan could not help but be charmed by Bauchan’s antics. “Before we assume Bauchan’s intent, let us at least find out why it is here,” she beseeched the crowd; while there was some grumbling, none found her request unreasonable enough to challenge.

  Bauchan smiled sweetly, looking adorable in its fine clothes. It pulled out the pouch from its waist and tugged at the mouth of the bag, making it wider and wider. Setting the pouch on the floor, Bauchan rummaged about, reaching far deeper with its little arms than possible for such a small container. Its eyes lit up and out came its arm, Bauchan shook its head, dropping a candlestick to clatter on the floor. By this point, the crowd of Gaídel was captivated and began to jostle for a vantage point to see what would happen next.

  Bauchan, ever the performer, reached to the left, reached to the right, and retrieved from the pouch Guillaume’s lodestone, which the Jotling gratefully took. Next, Bauchan fully plunged its upper body into the pouch, which was now nearly the size of a sack, kicking its tiny legs and grunting with muffled effort. As the purple creature slowly climbed out of the bag, it held in both hands Esker’s insect weapon.

  Gaídel burst out laughing as Bauchan menaced Esker as she stooped to pick up the insect’s barbed limb. Bauchan was barely able to lift its tiny arms that were holding a weapon much taller than it. After a series of miscellaneous items were discarded from the bag: an embroidered handkerchief, a tea cup, and a bouquet of flowers, Bauchan flourished Eógan’s spear like a magician: drawing it slowly out of the pouch so that it gave the illusion of never ending.

  Some of the tension of the situation had been alleviated by Bauchan’s shenanigans, yet Brian and the other petty kings remained agitated. “That creature may not be a spy,” Brian said addressing the assembled Gaídel, “But can it help us escape from the danger we are in?” All eyes turned to Bauchan.

  “Is there a way out of here?” Eógan asked and Bauchan nodded. “Is there a SAFE way out of here?” he clarified and the tiny purple creature smiled mischievously before nodding again. Bauchan went over and fully opened the door of the secret passage, then pointed in turn to Eógan, Esker, Guillaume, and Liadan.

  “I do not think I will fit,” Esker rumbled in her baritone voice. Bauchan crossed its arms and tapped its foot impatiently. “Fine, I will try.” The Tengu lowered herself to the floor and began to squirm through the opening of the hidden passage. “It opens into a larger passageway,” Esker called back, her voice muted and echoing.

  When some of the Gaídel neared the small doorway, Bauchan furrowed its brow and held out a tiny purple hand to halt them.

  “Why would they not join us Bauchan? We need to save as many lives as we can,” Liadan asked as Guillaume climbed through the small opening after Esker.

  Bauchan looked at her sympathetically and nodded. It then pantomimed walking in place, pivoted left, walked some more, pivoted right, walked a bit further and pivoted left one last time. It then held its hands together, opening them like a double door and then emphatically shook its head while scowling. Turning to the left, away from its hands mimicking doors, Bauchan excitedly pointed and used its other hand to represent a smaller door opening and closing.

  “The creature has given us directions,” King Brian surmised. “Left, right, left, and take the smaller door to the left of the double doors?” Bauchan beamed at Brian and clapped its hands in praise. “And we will be safe if we take that path?” he asked tentatively. Bauchan looked offended. “Thank you for your help, we owe you and your friends our lives,” Brian said as he turned towards to Liadan.

  “I look forward to seeing you again King Brian, take good care of your son,” Liadan answered. As other petty kings and Gaídel gathered to wish her well and receive her blessing, Eógan and Brian shared a moment.

  Grasping Brian’s arm affectionately, Eógan said in Pechtish, “You fight better than you look.” As the greying Gaídel shook his head at the flippant remark, he continued, “It was a pleasure standing at your side in battle Brian, I hope we meet again.”

  “We will,” Brian replied with a smile and Eógan slipped into the tunnel.

  “Make it home, all of you,” Liadan said, addressing the assembled Gaídel. She then stooped into the small passageway. Bauchan entered behind her and shut the secret panel. Not even a sliver of light emanated from the frame of the hidden door, Liadan sat there in complete darkness before a small, presumably purple hand, pushed her forward.