WITHIN THE SACRED CIRCLE
BENEATH THE FROZEN STONE
IN HEARTS THAT BEAT WITH FIRE
BEHOLD THE TWO MADE ONE.
Rohan slashed his sword through the air with all the fury of a madman. Garrett leaned back as far as he could to avoid the blow that might have been mortal, had it struck him. Princess Deirdre looked on, wishing she could stop this madness, but knowing that when Rohan was angry it was always best to stay out of it.
"Come on, Garrett!" Rohan said angrily, his usually handsome face red and swarthy. His sword thrusts were clumsy, his entire body moving with each wave of his arm. Garrett shook his head sadly as he parried Rohan's motions carefully, not wanting to hurt his friend. Rohan paused only long enough to yell again, his voice echoing throughout the courtyard. "You can do better than that! Attack me! Fight me! Come on!"
"I don't want to hurt you!" Garrett replied, slapping the sword of Kells away from himself.
"You can't hurt me! Nobody can hurt me! I am Draganta; and I am a god!" Rohan replied. "There's none in the world who can best me!"
"I can," Deirdre said, seeing her chance to stop this and find out what was wrong with her friend. Rohan turned on her angrily.
"Oh, really?" He said, swishing his sword through the air in front of him. Deirdre nodded as she took Commander Uaan's sword.
"Really," she answered confidently, nodding. Garrett wiped the sweat from his brow, wiping it on his trousers before placing his hand on the princess' shoulder.
"Are you certain you can beat him?" He asked. Deirdre smiled grimly in reply.
"I've been watching closely," she said. "I think I've found a gap in his form."
The prince nodded in agreement before slinking off to the sidelines to nurse his sore arm.
"Try me, princess," Rohan said, pointing his sword at her. Deirdre tapped the blades together softly; just as she suspected. Rohan was holding his sword too tightly. His wrist would not be fast enough to keep up with the heavy weapon in his hand. After only a few quick parries, the princess had suceeded in knocking Rohan's sword to the ground. Her weapon pointed at the young man's chestspoon, Deirdre raised her delicate eyebrows and tilted her head.
"Care to try again? You might win this time. Or maybe you won't."
Rohan shook his head swiftly, his curls bouncing against his cheeks. "No. You've bested me."
"Good," Deirdre replied. She gave the sword back to Uaan, who quickly sheathed the weapon before it could be used again. The princess turned back to Rohan. "Don't ever make me turn against you, Rohan. I won't."
"Excellent work, Deirdre," Angus said, clapping as he leaned against the doorjamb. "It must feel like a great honor to have defeated our young god Draganta over here."
"I wish I were a god," Rohan said, picking up his sword and giving the knights a once over with his angry blue eyes. "Then I would never lose in battle."
He stalked away, nursing his wounded pride. Deirdre made as though to follow him, but Angus held her back. She turned to look at him, and he released her arm as though it were burning his fingers. He tipped his head toward Rohan's retreating back.
"Leave him go, Deirdre," he said. "Sometimes he gets like this. It's just the strain of having everybody's hopes and dreams weighed on his shoulders. He'll get over it soon enough."
"I hope so. Numaine won't wait much longer before making another attack on us; without Ivar, our strength is depleted anyhow. Without Draganta, Kells and Temra don't stand a chance."
"What am I supposed to do, King Fin Varra? I don't feel quite myself anymore. Has something happened to make me weaker?"
Fin Varra shook his head.
"I don't sense any disturbances in the mystic universe, Rohan," Fin Varra said carefully. He could feel the young man's inner tension, his anger, but knew it was not directed toward anyone the fairy king knew. "Of course, the fact that you recently received your Battle Fury armor, as well as druidic powers beyond even my comprehension; these two things combined could be wearing down the defenses your body has built up over the course of your lifetime."
"What can I do?"
"Nothing. There is no way to reverse the weakness you feel unless you give up one or the other of your gifts. Doing that would mean that you would lose more strength, not gain it, therefore you must keep all you have and still find a way to heal yourself."
Rohan sighed in exasperation, throwing up his hands. Fin Varra shook a finger at him.
"You mustn't lose your temper, Rohan! Remember; patience is a virtue."
"A virtue," Rohan repeated. "I heard that same thing in my dream last night. And the night before that, and so on for about a week now."
"Have you spoken to Cathbad?"
"No, I didn't feel it was worthy of his attention. Should it be?"
Fin Varra nodded.
"Yes, yes of course, Rohan! You must return to Kells immediately, and tell Cathbad what you saw in your dream. It could be the answer to all our problems."
Rohan nodded, shoving his unchanneled aggression into the pit of his stomach, hoping it would manage to lay dormant for a while.
"...all I remember, Cathbad, is the word 'virtue' repeated over and over, like a chant. And I saw this...woman. A young woman with black hair, darker than a raven's wing, and eyes more pure a green than Nadia's. It felt as though she...completed me, somehow. No; not completed me. Completed Draganta. Made him whole again. Maybe that's why I've felt so...angry. So weak and tired that I just get...cranky, and have to hit something."
"I believe I know how to solve this problem, Rohan," Cathbad said excitedly. He hurried over to his shelf of powders and took down a vial of reddish, glittery, powdery stuff, splashing some of it onto the table. He rubbed his fingers in the mess, waving them in the air. The Mark of Destiny appeared, hanging before the druid for a matter of seconds before disappearing, leaving a bubble that popped with a loud noise, making Rohan blink several times in rapid succession. Cathbad touched his palm to the young man's forehead, nodding. "The spell I've performed has worked, but only for a short time. I must get you to the Stone of Destiny before the next full moon, Rohan, or the symptoms you've felt will return three fold."
Rohan nodded sagely, and decided with a deep breath to go apologize to his friends for his behaviour of the morning.
"I really am sorry," Rohan said to Deirdre as they ate their lunch beneath a tree by the river. "I've just been feeling a bit...rough...lately. Cathbad says it's because there's something amiss with Draganta, not with me. Anyway, he has to get me to the Stone of Destiny before the next full moon, or I'll be even worse."
Deirdre hung her head, running her thumb across her lips, then brushing the fallen bread crumbs from her dress. Rohan smiled cheekily and reached out to still her hand, placing his own against her cloth covered thigh.
"Allow me, princess," he said, brushing his hand lightly along her inner leg, breathing shakily as he wondered what it would be like to do that to her when she wore that grey outfit she dressed in for battle. To touch her bare skin...Rohan sighed, shaking his head as he drew back his hand. Deirdre studied him.
"What's wrong, Rohan?" She asked, pulling him back to rest his head on her folded knee. Her fingers brushed through his curly hair, and his eyes closed, savoring the moment.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I feel...incomplete. As though a very important part of me is missing." Deirdre leaned down, her nose almost touching his, her hot breath tingling against his cheek.
"Maybe it's me you're craving, mighty warrior prince," she said. Rohan opened his eyes as her lips touched his, watching her face during their kiss.
"Perhaps..." he agreed, fitting his hand against the back of her head. "Perhaps..."
Cathbad held his fingers to his temple, wishing to Lugh the headachego away. The same vision had returned several times in less than a fortnight; perhaps it was time to tell the king of it.
"A vision haunts me, my king. A young person who will complete Draganta and fulfill his destiny as the warrior who will bring peace to the island for a hundred lifetimes; this person waits just beyond a corner which, for all of my powers, I am helpless to see around. If only I could be certain of this vision."
Conchobar rose from his throne, his hand absently stroking his full beard. He turned to face the druid.
"Isn't there some way you can test it, Cathbad?"
Cathbad sighed and shook his head.
"I can try to send a response to the girl in my visions; but whether or not she would receive it and know what it meant is beyond my knowledge."
The king nodded.
"Then by all means do it. And I want you to take Rohan to the Stone of Destiny tonight, if you can. He must be cured of this...ailment, and quickly."
Cathbad bowed and retreated to his chamber.
"As you wish, my king," he said.
"Look! Up there, just beyond that cloud! What is that?" Garrett said, pointing up to the sky. Angus and Deirdre studied the spot Garrett's finger pointed to, but for a moment saw nothing. Then...
"It's a dragon! With Ivar!" Angus said, a grin passing over his face. "And a...what...who is that?"
The three knights, who had been watching for any sign of Rohan and Cathbad (the two of them had gone to the Blackwater Valley over an hour ago and had not returned yet), hurried down the stone steps to the yard outside the castle, where Ivar and the dragon made a soft landing on the opposite side of the moat.
"Ivar! You're back..." Deirdre said happily, her voice dwindling to a low murmur as she realized she probably sounded a little too happy.
"Yes, Princess Deirdre," Ivar said, helping the woman dressed in shades of pink; and hardly enough of it to be called decent; down from the dragon's back. "And I've brought a present for you. Meet Khamsin; the Dragoness of Air."
"Dragoness?" Deirdre asked, approaching the delicate white creature carefully, her brow furrowed with worry that her hand might be snapped off. Ivar nodded.
"Yes. The only female so far among our allies in her species." "She's beautiful," Deirdre said, gazing deeply into Ivar's eyes. "What does her name mean?"
"Actually, it has been a while since my native tongue has been spoken," Ivar replied, "but I believe it mean 'sandstorm'. She speaks only my language; though I am sure Pyre and Terran will gladly help teach her your tongue."
Deirdre blushed as Ivar spoke the word 'tongue', for he let his gaze drop to study her lips. She gave him a few guarded glances that let him know they must be more careful until they had a chance to speak further on the matter, and he became more his old self.
"Who's this fine lady you've brought with you?" Garrett asked, studying Nepthumae. Ivar turned, taking his mother's hand.
"This is Queen Nepthumae. My mother," he said. Nepthumae bowed low, a laughing smile on her face as she watched the eyes of both Angus and Garrett stray to her ample bosom, and she saw the flush that rose to their pale cheeks as they looked back at her face.
"Your majesty," Garrett said, taking her hand and kissing it softly. "I am Prince Garrett of Regart. This is Angus; a thief."
"That's...reformed thief." Angus said as he bowed to Nepthumae.
"I am pleased to meet you," she replied. She turned to her son, squeezing his arm. "You said you would introduce me to the king of this land as well, son," she said, and Ivar grinned.
"Excuse me," he said, making his graceful exit. Deirdre looked after him for a moment, then turned back to Khamsin.
"And what am I to do with you, hmm?" Deirdre asked. The dragoness lifted her head and looked toward the caves of Dare, and Deirdre nodded. "Alright," she agreed, and Khamsin knelt down to let the princess climb on her back. Evidently the dragoness didn't want to face the two male dragons alone; and who could really blame her when the dragons belonged to Angus and Rohan. How odd, Deirdre thought, that it was their three dragons who would start out like their masters; it had always been Rohan, Angus, and Deirdre. Then Ivar joined them, and not long afterward came Garrett. Was that going to be the way they got their dragons, too? Too many questions, too many worries. Take life as it comes, Deirdre always tried to tell herself. Oddly, that advice didn't seem appropriate just now.
"Push, my lady! Push!" Said the midwife, her hard brown eyes on Nadia's sweating face. The ceillach bore down hard, shoving the baby from her womb, worrying the whole time not of herself, but of the life that had formed within her. In a mere twelve weeks the baby had grown to full size and readied itself for birth. Such things as walking babies were only myths, weren't they? Mere legends to be told to small children. Unless; Cathbad had told her that the child she bore to Ivar's seed would be a special one. Perhaps this is what he meant...Nadia screamed through her teeth as she pushed again; then she heard the crying of a new life and the empty aching filling her up, and she knew that it was done. Her baby lived.
"It's a boy, my lady," the midwife said, holding it up in the candlelight. Nadia held out her arms, receiving the child with a smile. The boy stopped crying, studying his mother's face with a frowning brow. Even as Nadia watched he seemed to age a little.
"Go," she told the midwife. "Find Ivar, and bring him here with the druid Cathbad. He must see his son."
The midwife curtsied quickly, hurrying off to do her mistress' bidding.
Ivar couldn't believe it. His son; born already? Surely it hadn't been so long ago...but then one never knew what mischief could happen to a woman and her unborn child. Cathbad had requested that all the knights and even King Conchobar be allowed to come and see the young son of Prince Ivar and Princess Nadia. Ivar had agreed whole-heartedly; and his mother, Nepthumae, had demanded to be escorted by Conchobar himself. She clung to him now like a thistle...and it didn't look like the king minded, for he had Nepthumae on one side and Maeve on the other. Torq, too, accompanied them; he wished to see how his 'daughter' was faring.
The entire troup entered the cottage, finding Nadia half-asleep in the bed, the baby boy nestled in her arms, also half-asleep. He was a character, Deirdre thought. His head was full of silky hair; an odd color to be sure. Mostly black, like Ivar's, but for a long, thin sliver of silvery-gold off to one side. He was awfully big for a newborn, thought Rohan; and very healthy for one so premature. He almost had the look of a child a year old. At least.
Cathbad approached Nadia, placing his hand on her forehead. She opened her eyes and smiled at her friends, looking down at the baby in her arms. The druid opened his arms, and Nadia nodded, giving him her son. Cathbad studied the sleeping boy, and finally waved his hand over the child, waking him up.
There was an audible gasp from everyone in the room; for although the child was as dark of skin as Nepthumae or Ivar, his eyes were, without a doubt, green. The boy studied each person in the room with a familiarity that made them slightly uncomfortable, then turned his gaze on Ivar. He reached out his tiny arms.
"Da," he said; only one word, but it made such an impact on them all. Ivar raised his eyebrows.
"He can already talk? Identify me as his father?"
Nadia nodded sleepily.
"Cathbad; I hope you will be able to explain to both of us; I am as confused as Ivar."
The druid nodded, taking a chair from the dinner table and making himself comfortable.
"As I warned you when you first told me about your relationship together; this child will have the gift of sight. Apparently he will also grow to maturity at an abnormal rate; though this has never been documented before. Perhaps it is a sign that his powers will be greatly intensified; or perhaps it is an omen. We will not know until the time is right."
"Speaking of time, Cathbad," Deirdre said, glancing at Rohan. "Have you discovered how to cure Rohan?"
"Not entirely," he replied. "There was a sort of riddle given to me by the guardians of the stone."
"Well what was it, Cathbad?" Angus said, exasperation clear in his voice.
"'Within the sacred circle, beneath the frozen stone; in hearts that beat with fire, behold the two made one.'"
"Great. Just great, Cathbad, what does it mean," cried Angus, rolling his eyes.
"I feel that it means I should send a vision to the girl in my dreams. The same one that Rohan has seen for nearly a week now. She could be the cure we search for."
"Yes," said a new, throaty-scratchy voice. All eyes turned toward the bed; to Ivar's son. "Yes, you must send for her," he said, "but not yet. First the Princess Deirdre must tame her dragon and herself; then the trials can begin."
"Trials?" Angus said, his eyes getting bigger. "What trials."
"The trials of Draganta." Said the boy, who stood roughly three feet tall now, though his body and musculature were as developed as a boy of twelve. He wore his baby blanket wrapped as a towel around himself, studying the knights one by one.
Everyone in the room felt as though their own trials were just beginning.
