Scions of the Tuatha Dé

To call it a pathway would be a kindness.

The area around Murrough’s house was so thick with grass it looked more a balding field than an untended yard. One row of grass between the front door and the bay road stooped below the rest, the result of only occasional trodding. No fields had been planted and there were no additional paths that led to outbuildings or other locations on his land save for a small flattened area the size of a wagon. Murrough did two things here: arrive and leave.

The mess outside faded into the back of Finn’s mind as he stepped through the door into his uncle’s home. It was smaller than his, Siobhan’s or Niall’s house. Not a single bit of trim or decoration was found around the windows or in the corners. The most impressive thing about Murrough’s house was the six shelves that held books and scrolls above a writing desk in the corner.

Finn went into the side room and tossed his bag up into the loft he shared with his brother during each visit and sat down in his usual chair. Donal and Murrough entered the house.

Donal said little on the walk back from Niall’s house. At one point Finn heard him mutter the word “eagerness” with a sneer. He threw his bag into the loft and joined Finn at the table, ignoring his bag’s bounce back to the main floor. His eyes stared at the table without a flutter; his brows twitched at random.

Murrough walked over to the table and placed his hands on the back of the empty chair. He looked at the brothers and dropped his head.

“Aren’t you two a pair?” he asked.

Finn looked at Murrough. Donal was unmoved.

“Donal here wants to run headfirst and fight everyone with only a loose grasp of who or why. Finn, you seem less inclined to believe all of this even after all you’ve seen over the past two days.”

He turned his head towards Donal.

“You’re both struggling. But only one of you wants to admit it. Before we pass the point of no return, I want to make sure your heads are on straight.”

Finn’s promise to Siobhan of open-mindedness never strayed far from his mind and he was reluctant to break it. In truth, his mind was still open but there was something else from today’s conversations that gnawed at him.

“All this effort to convince me that the Tuatha Dé were real was meaningless,” Finn said. “Niall said it himself: He doesn’t think we can do it. None of you do. Whether or not I believe all this is irrelevant because in the end we’re only here so you lot can protect us. We’re two more sacks to throw in the wagon.”

Finn looked at his brother and shook at his head in surprise at the expression that greeted him. Donal’s head was red from forehead to neck, his dark eyes focused on Finn. Finn wondered if Donal was attempting to stare a hole right through him.

Is this another one of ‘those’ moments? Finn asked himself.

Murrough pulled out the chair on which he leaned and sat down.

“You made your thoughts on this clear earlier,” he said. “But it doesn’t change what is true. Four years ago, we noticed some people behaving oddly around Tyrconnell. Nothing specific or outlandish. An odd meeting in a pub in Raphoe. Months later, a stream of hooded figures entered a house in Donegal. A month after that several boats sailed to Tory Island under the cover of night. We didn’t know what it meant, but that behavior stands out to most people. Eventually word would get to myself and other sílrad.”

“We lost track of their activity a month later because we were sent reeling after your parents’ passing. It was an utter surprise to us all. They were such good and brave people.”

Finn looked over at Donal. His eyes were glassy but he stuck with the conversation.

“They were the ones that told us about the movement toward Tory Island,” Murrough said. “Before that point they were reluctant to tell you boys about your ancestry. I assumed it was because neither of you had shown signs of having your own magic yet and they didn’t want to borrow trouble until they had no choice. But they were gone by that point, and you’d been through so much that I didn’t want to heap this on top of it. I was wrong, looking back at it.”

“You were not, uncle,” Donal said, his gaze never leaving Finn. “Wasn’t anyone’s fault but his! We’d be better prepared if he hadn’t locked me away and treated me like a child these past few years. You looked at him and knew he wasn’t ready, so surely his little brother wasn’t either. He kept me away when I could have been helping yourself, Niall and Siobhan!”

Finn’s head knew there was little truth behind what Donal was saying, but his heart was tired. The past two days were filled with assaults on his body and mind. He had little energy or desire to keep his shield arm high in front of him anymore.

His mind cycled through choices he made on Donal’s behalf over the past three years. He’d change the decision and envision the idyllic world that he passed up until it was too much to bear and then cycle to the next decision in queue to repeat the process.

“I could have helped you slow the blight’s spread—maybe even stopped it.”

He lifted his chin toward Finn.

“But you made me play farmer when you didn’t want to do it yourself. This is really all your fault, if you think about it!”

Murrough slammed the table with enough force to render yelling unnecessary.

“Donal Murchadh, that is quite enough.”

Murrough examined every inch of Finn’s face in the silence.

“You boys have been through some terrible things together, but it was together,” he said. “Donal, your brother is only a man—a young one at that—and he’s had his whole world flipped upside down, same as you. Not just three years ago, but these past few days as well.”

He raised his eyebrows to and stared at Donal, removed any curl from his lip and pointed a finger for effect. He dropped the pitch of his voice but removed all croak from his throat. His next words were deliberate and steady.

“Don’t you dare blame him for trying to protect the one bit o’ family he had left.”

“I did my best to help you,” Murrough said. “I thought that meant letting you two find your way together, only jumping in to help when you asked. That might have been the wrong way, and if so, all I can do is apologize and hope you can overcome my shortcomings knowing it wasn’t for a lack of love.”

“The fact is, I do think you both are ready. You’re raw and have a lot to learn in a short time, but I know you lads. You’ll get there. Together.”

Donal clenched his jaw. He dropped his head, hiding his leaking eyes from Finn and Murrough. He squeezed the blood out of his fists and pushed on them to raise himself out of his chair. He spun toward the side room without a word and slammed the thin interior door behind him. The ladder creaked from low to high, followed by muffled thumps upon a pillow.

Murrough looked upwards at the wall from where they heard the battered pillow. When the thrashing had ceased, he rested a hand on Finn’s shoulder, securing his attention.

“You and I know better than anyone that your brother has been fighting a war within himself for years,” he said. “Even when your parents were still here. It’ll be a cold comfort but I need you to remember that these fits, these moments, are about his fight and not about you. There aren’t many brothers that could have done what you have for him. He’s going to need that and more before this business is done.”

Murrough’s face turned downward as he allowed his last words to linger.

“I wonder, strange as this sounds, if this could help him in some ways,” he said.

“How do you come by that?” Finn said.

“The boy needs a purpose. This fog that surrounds your brother leaves him thrashing about. He needs a far shore towards which to swim.”

Finn scratched his forehead.

“How is he meant to see the far shore if he’s surrounded by fog?”

“I believe that’s a question Donal’s spent years trying to answer himself. And he likely will need your help to find that, too.”

The nightmares, Finn thought. We forgot to tell him while Donal was out here.

“Uncle,” Finn said.

“Nephew?”

“About that,” Finn said.

Finn looked at the door Donal slammed shut. This was his story to tell. If he and Murrough conferred about this without Donal, he’d see it as an ambush and shut down. Donal had to start the conversation, and dragging him back into the room wasn’t the way to go about it.

“Nevermind,” Finn said. “It was nothing.”

Murrough studied Finn’s face. The longer that he did so, the harder it was for Finn to hold back. His uncle’s head canted and nodded, his eyes remaining on Finn’s.

“Don’t hold onto that so long that it becomes something,” he said.