Scions of the Tuatha Dé

This was the moment Donal had dreaded since last night. Niall and Murrough were in one room, the host opting for the floor after offering Murrough the bed. Niall gave his other sleeping area to the ladies, leaving the main room floor to Finn and Donal.

Donal regretted last night’s outburst the moment he reached Murrough’s loft. Fights between brothers aren’t unusual, but last night was different. Finn didn’t argue, leave, or even take a swing at Donal. He merely… took it. How much longer would he have sat still if Murrough hadn’t stepped in?

Worse yet, Finn avoided every opportunity to interact with Donal today. Most days Finn would annoy Donal with constant glances and check-ins, watching his little brother’s face for mood changes like a farmer studying clouds on the horizon. These moments were too rare today for it to be coincidence.

The brothers finished their final preparations of the night and climbed under their respective blankets. It was too much for Donal. His stomach could not endure two straight nights of this tension, a tension he provoked.

“What can I do, Finn?”

Finn turned his head and studied Donal’s face for a long minute.

“Are you asking me in earnest, or because you’re uncomfortable?”

“You’ve never been this quiet to me.”

“You can apologize,” Finn said. “With words.”

“You know I’m sorry. Clearly, I’m sorry. I’m showing you that I’m sorry.”

“Normally, actions are better than words,” Finn said. “But you do need to say the words as well. Especially you. I understand that it’s harder for you to say it than it is for most. I’ve gathered that for whatever reason apologizing drops you so deeply into the moment of your mistake, it’s as if someone threw you into a lake. But it’s still something you need to do.”

This was not the tone Donal expected from Finn. His brother didn’t lash out, he didn’t yell. His eyebrows were raised, his mouth was flat. He spoke in almost a whisper and with deliberation. It reminded Donal of the way people spoke to the both of them in the first year after their parents’ passing.

“It’s not just for me, but for everyone. Eventually you’ll be out there on your own, and this is a basic thing that people expect—and nobody feels great doing it themselves. But if you don’t start doing it, you might push the people you care about so far away that they won’t want to come back.”

Finn let his words fade into silence and looked at the floor. Donal lacked the words. Moreover, lacked the ability to overcome his inertia and say the words. Finn sighed.

“I know I haven’t made it easy,” Finn said. “But you know I’ve tried my best, right? I was never going to be as good at this as—”

“Stop!” said Donal. “I’m sorry, Finn.”

It reached the point where apologizing was easier than listening to Finn tear himself down. He turned his head away from Finn.

“I was mad. I was wrong. None of this blight business was ever your fault.”

Finn blew out a slow exhale and rubbed the tip of his nose with the side of his hand a few times.

“I accept. Thank you, Donal.”

They settled their heads into their pillows and wound their brains down for sleep.

“Now, was that so hard?” Finn asked.

“I guess not,” Donal said with a sniff and a chuckle.

“At least not as hard as this.”

He reached behind his head and pulled out his pillow, held it above his head and slammed it in his brother’s face. Finn must have had his eyes closed; he made no attempt to raise his arms to block it.

“You eejit,” Finn said, laughing. “Now you can apologize for that, too.”

“Only if it gets me my pillow back,” Donal said.

****

Finn walked up to Niall’s wagon and handed Donal the last bag to be brought from inside. Donal laid it behind the array of bags, leaving enough room for two of them to sit in the cargo room with comfort. Donal had little hope that he would spend the trip anywhere but in the rear.

He stood in the back of the wagon and surveyed the yard. Murrough had Reatha harnessed to his own wagon. The cargo area looked roomier with just three bags and no people inside. Maeve hung two bags over the saddle of her obsidian-colored draught horse, Scáth. Niall had just finished the same task on his own grey draught horse, Airgid. Finn walked to the front of the wagon where Gála was harnessed.

“Uncle, do us a favor?” Finn asked as he rubbed his hand up the horse’s muzzle.

“Name it,” Murrough said

“Could you tend to what little we have growing back home?”

“On the night you were taken, I talked to the O’Gallaghers down the road from you,” Murrough said. “They’ll do what they can, but you boys should be ready to help them with their harvest when this is over.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if we don’t survive this?” Donal said.

Siobhan saw Donal’s self-satisfaction with his joke as she emerged from the house.

“I see your brother’s having a moment of pure class,” she said to Finn.

Murrough did Donal a service and pretended he wasn’t paying attention. Donal climbed down from his pedestal atop the wagon and sought a less conspicuous place in the yard near the stables.

“Come here to me Murrough,” Maeve said. “Are you just going to patrol the north road while we’re gone—one lone granddad against the wild hordes?”

“Not quite,” Murrough said. “I will head back to my hut near the Crossroads and ask around about the dullahan. Gavin’s leaving tomorrow to join me there and maybe spend a day fixing it up so the neighbors don’t complain.”

He winked at Siobhan.

“Then I’m off back through the Forelands to Meenalough, before I return.”

“The state of your hut would be at the end of any list of grievances we have against you,” Siobhan said. “Just don’t keep Gavin too long, yeah? We’re waiting on him to bring something down to Doe soon.”

Murrough nodded. He gestured for the brothers to join him at his wagon.

“Watch out for each other,” he said.

“Donal, pace yourself. It’s not enough to be brave, strong or skilled. You have to be patient and let things happen in their own time. I know that’s much harder for you than it is for most people. Listen to Niall. Trust Siobhan. Stand by Finn.”

“I will, Uncle.”

“What am I meant to do, Murrough?” Finn asked. “I’ve had one afternoon of training and the one person I’ve ever fought is Donal.”

“Siobhan will help you,” Murrough said. “There will be several chances along the way for instruction. She’s not a filí, but there is a wee bit of crossover in elemental magic used by filí and druids, even if it’s often pulled from different planes.”

Finn looked up at Siobhan, seated in the front of Niall’s wagon. She drove her fists into her hips but failed to keep a war chieftain’s scowl. Murrough handed Donal a thick book with a worn cover.

“Take this,” he said. “It will help with any holes her druidic background can’t fill.”

“‘Poets, Seanchaí, Bards and—,’” said Finn. “I know this one.”

“You read it a time or two as a boy,” Murrough said. “I imagine it will resonate with you even more on your next read. Do me a favor, Finn?”

“Name it,” Finn said.

“Amid all your fretting over Donal, don’t forget to take care of yourself out there, too.”

Murrough looked over Finn’s shoulder at Niall’s wagon and then back at Finn. He smiled and hugged them together.

“I love you boys.”

“Alright everyone, enough of this,” Niall said. “We’re leaving.”

He squatted to give his sheep dog a thorough pet of the head and neck.

“Not this time, boy. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Come on, Púc,” Murrough said.

Murrough lifted the dog into the back of his wagon. It circled twice and sat down. Once it realized Niall wouldn’t join them it laid down and rested its chin on a paw, watching its master with a mournful look.

Niall waved his arms in an attempt to shoo everyone to their assigned spots. Maeve climbed atop Scáth, Niall mounted Airgid.

“Join me, won’t you, lads?” Siobhan said. “Wait! This time Donal rides in back.”

Donal rolled his eyes and hopped in the cargo area. His eyes caught the solitary horse in the stables.

“Niall, what about this one?”

“Cáemaid?” Niall said. “Gavin’s taking her tomorrow.”

Murrough led the group out of the yard and around the bay head. Niall’s group headed for Dunfanaghy and waved to Murrough as he turned east just shy of town. As Donal watched his uncle ride for The Crossroads, Ards Beg and all points near home, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was sitting in the wrong wagon.