Kenna left the temple hall in despair. By right, she should support the decision of the majority of the village. Tenjin (the god of wisdom), only knew how often she had taken to lecturing Cormac or even Murchadh upon this point.

  This brought up the question, of what it was that she was to do; she could return home to await Badrách’s decision, could flee south after the children as Corin had done. But this decision was one she could no more abide than she could the strange madness that had overtaken Glasvhail.

  Her loyalty was to the village and to keeping if not the physical form of it, the people who resided there alive. Alive so that they could inevitably return one day, to lay down future seeds and fish once more from the sea near the shoreline, and welcome back Cormac to something that more or less resembled normalcy.

  This thought resonated through the whole of her being, so that it was with this driving thought in her mind that Kenna lit a candle, which she took with her from room to room, and gathered together her most precious private possessions. Along with some of those of her son, and some dresses and cloth such as the silk material she had spent so much coin upon into a large pack.

  Moving from room to room, Kenna found that she could hardly breathe as she examined each of these rooms from top to bottom. The memory of the scent of the dye that she had tended to use just outside to the left of the house and that had never wholly been washed away from the oak-wood of her home filled her nostrils then.

  Where before it was an unpleasant stench that at times made her gag, it now filled her with warmth as surely as the oak-wood did, with the sight of each crack in the walls and ceiling likewise filling her with sorrow. She had a sense as she examined every piece of dress she tucked away into the pack, as she threw a proper bonnet upon her head that this, was to be the very last time she saw this place.

  With a sigh of regret she ended her examination of her and Murchadh’s room, which had originally been her master’s in life, and that she had inherited upon his death. She moved from there to that of Cormac’s, searching it as a ferret might its hole in the winter for rations, for any small possession he had left that she knew he had loved so.

  In the middle of her search through Cormac’s room, for his father’s net that he had so prized, she found to her surprise, Daegan’s silk dress from the festival.

  Fingering the dress, and thinking back upon the effort the seamstress had poured into it, Kenna thought back to all the hours she had worked upon it. Of the daydreams that had distracted her as she worked, of the notion that this dress would surely help Daegan in the seducing of Cormac’s heart. In helping to at last persuade him to abandon his dreams of the sea, in favour of seeing the beauty that could be woven together by cloth.

  Able to see now how futile, this desire to replace his sea-longing with one for weaving and the seeking of profit, was folly personified. Kenna almost wished she had never woven the dress at all, the memory though of the awe in which Cormac had held Daegan in, when she wore it and the joy it had brought the latter purged her of this terrible notion.

  Madness and joy, were not always wholly divorced from one another, Kenna mused tartly. If only they could be entirely severed, though she wondered how much worse the world might be if some of the madness was taken out of joy itself.

  Packing away the dress, for it struck her mind that there may indeed be a day in the future that it might need to be worn. Besides if Daegan had loved it, it was not within her rights to destroy it, especially as it had already been given over to Olith’s daughter’s possession.

  This done, along with the packing of some food such as cheese, bread and what meat remained that Cormac and his friends had not taken along with them. Tossing about her shoulders and old fur-cloak Murchadh had once given her, made from the fur of an old she-bear that he and Corin had hunted in the north-woods.

  She selected with care her favourite old walking staff, determined as she made for the door to before she left, speak once more to Ida, Ruairi (Salmon’s eldest granddaughter’s husband) and Salmon and their kinsmen. Who knew? Maybe they would prefer to leave with her. Kenna threw open the door, just as it appeared that Ida had raised her hand to rapt her fist against it.

  “Oh!” She uttered in surprise.

  “I’faith!” Kenna yelped at the same time.

  Both of them stared at one another for a time, before they gave way to a small fit of giggles that verged upon madness. It was strange, wild and utterly without reason and yet it felt at that moment as though it were the most natural thing in the world to do. The fear and shock of the past days almost bowled them over, when the realisation that the woman who had vowed, to never leave Glasvhail a fugitive with but her satchel of coins and dresses for elsewhere was about to do just that.

  When this fit of hysterical snickering had faded properly (though it took some time), Kenna took the time to ask of her old friend, who with her curled blonde tresses askew, eyes wide and the half-soaked dress and cloak, appeared more than frazzled. She had the air of a woman half mad. “Why have you come hither Ida?”

  “I had thought that you might be up to some daft madness, but now I see that all my fears, have been proven to be entirely and absolutely correct.” Ida said with another small fit of laughter on her part.

  “I shan’t stay,” Kenna stated with much less hysteria to before, so that she sounded properly serious. It was only now as she stood straight and tall that she saw how darkened the skies had become, having paid nary any attention to this detail when returning home. “I will not stay and die at Badrách’s hands Ida.”

  “I know, Kenna,” Ida whispered in a voice husky from her mad fit, as well as because of all the shouting she had engaged in during the assembly.

  “Therefore do not try to stop me Ida, I must do this, I will flee northwards in order to go from there if necessary to Sgain to seek the King’s aid against Badrách.” Kenna persisted, continuing on without paying any attention to the expression on the face of her friend or to her objections.

  Ida though had a surprise of her own, when she informed her cheerfully, “That is precisely what we wished to speak to you of; many of us have met at the Salmon’s home. There we have gathered, for we intend to depart through the north-woods, with you Kenna.”

  Kenna’s mouth formed an ‘o’ of feminine shock as she in her moment of flabbergasted stupefaction forgot to cover her mouth as she had been taught to do. Pulled from her home across the wet fields of Glasvhail, the rain fell in the thousands as always, so that they had become darkened and far more soaked than ever before. It was not only the fields that grew wet though, the ladies were soon soaked as they raced through the rain, relying as much upon their memories to guide them towards Salmon’s house.

  It was there that to the amazement of Kenna, she found the whole of several families gathered outside and within the building. These families included those of Salmon, of Bungo the fisherman, Aonghas the shepherd and to Kenna’s surprise even that of Ida, which included Freygil.

  Amazed to find the unhappy fisherman present, Kenna asked him why it was that he was present, for which his eldest son answered for him, with a small chuckle. “Pa, may not be entirely keen on the notion of leaving Glasvhail however he has no intention of letting ma leave without him.”

  A growl escaped the older man’s lips this though failed to frighten his son, Freygil’s cheeks even in the darkness of the rain-swept early morning were very visibly scarlet. Once Kenna had joined them, they did not stay long waiting only for Mairead to finish clearing her home of what food and wine there was left in her home. This only took place after much argument, between her and her father, and her husband. The latter two were keen and very vociferous in their insistence that she hurry and cease fussing over the slightest dress for her daughters, or about what boots ought to be used.

  This took some time, whereupon the argument was at an end, there came a series of new families that joined them. Their numbers were thus, bolstered to thirty people almost in total, and amongst these newcomers came Doada and her husband Bhàtair.

  It was the youthful fisherman who insisted to those around him, “We shan’t leave without my good-mother or good-sisters.”

  He spoke as though he awaited some of those around him and his wife might disagree with him, to his surprise though there was no objection to his words. To the contrary, an awkward silence followed until Gregor the fisherman, the only of Freygil’s surviving brothers spoke up, “But of course. We all owe Conn no less than compassion, therefore none of us shall leave without Ainsley, Helga and wee Eillidh.”

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  His words were simple in nature, and befitted such a simple folk. There was beauty though, magnificence even in their simple-natured goodness. Tears sprung to Doada’s eyes, for she was greatly moved by this commitment to her kinswomen.

  None blamed her, nor did they judge even her husband for sniffling and dabbing at his eyes, which had quite the number of unshed tears all to themselves. The men present therewith him gathered about him, to slap their palms upon his back, or gripped his shoulders in the manner of simple country-folk.

  By this time hours had passed since the assembly, the rain had begun to slow itself much to the relief of all gathered though all felt the lack of sleep deep in their bones. Desperation though, made the elderly young again, and made the young old.

  With the vast majority keen to take as much of the burden of the few packs gathered, upon their own shoulders. It was the lads who taking up the packs of their women-folk, their elders or in some cases the pack and their elders, children or women-folk to spare them the pain of the journey. Lasses became true-born Caled-women then, Kenna observed, keen to alleviate the burden placed upon the shoulders of the men, keen to support them and one another so that all past wrongs were forgotten.

  The fire that Ziu had lit in the souls of their ancestors, she mused had been lit that night in the hearts of all those who had heeded her call. Much as she had felt betrayed by Freygil, he had when the time came risen to the horn-call and proven his mettle she thought, by supporting his kith and kin.

  The rain slowed itself, to a near halt the fugitives of Glasvhail took to the road. None of them wished to stay a moment longer in the darkened, fields by the Firth of the Thern and wait for the dawn which was to presage naught save violence.

  They crossed the fields in such a hurry that those in the midst of bustling their way into the temple of Fufluns took immediate notice of them. Whereupon they issued a great many hoots, calls and jeers at those who had decided to flee Glasvhail for the north-woods to seek sanctuary if temporarily so.

  “Run, cowards!”

  “Flee!”

  “Traitors the lot of ye,” Many of the men shouted at them, with naught but the utmost scorn in their voices and hearts.

  Others shouted such unpleasant insults, particularly at Kenna that it would be impossible to repeat them and retain one’s composure so horrid were they. Shocked that some of those she had traded cloth with, or sewn clothes for, for countless years from young lasses, to old crones, to young and old men could accuse her of all things from harlotry to worshipping the Dark Queen.

  It was all Kenna could do to keep from screeching back accusations or defences, or from stopping to gape at those who were lined up before the doors of the temple, jostling to get in with nary a thought to another person’s safety or needs. Many also shouted insults Kenna noticed, over their shoulders at Freygil for betraying them, in favour of Kenna and Ida. This stung him, she could see for he walked next to her as they pushed their own way next to the larger crowd, past the gates of the fencing that surrounded the temple. His cheeks were once again crimson, as he bowed his head in defeat, for the very first time since she had made his acquaintanceship nigh on thirty years ago.

  “Pay them no mind,” Salmon counselled from next to her, gripping her by the elbow to guide her towards the door of the domicile attached to the temple of Fufluns.

  “But-”

  “Pay them no mind,” He growled in her ear treating her no differently from how she had observed how he behaved, towards Mairead.

  The thought was hardly a comforting one.

  Once the thirty or so people were gathered about the domicile, most were directed from there to the cemetery that lay further to the left. It was decided that they would wait there until Ainsley had joined them outside, with Doada and Bhàtair volunteered as their representative to go speak with Ainsley.

  This decision was unnecessarily cruel and utilitarian in Kenna’s view, as the two youths in question were to her mind already visibly strained and were now expected to shoulder the burden of representing a large portion of the village. While the couple bustled their way inside, this left a great many of those still outside to bid their farewells to the graves of their ancestors or departed loved ones, or in some cases; both.

  Once again, she stood before Murchadh’s family grave. It had been her hope that she might be buried by his side, though not until she had seen her first grandchild. Her hopes though, may have been dashed, with the seamstress now convinced that she could not trust in so vague a plan. Committing the stone with its inscriptions to memory, she knew every inscription, every inch of every letter that had been carved into it.

  Kenna was also familiar with every crack no matter how miniscule, or large the break in the rock that stood before her. Though already familiar with these details, she still felt compelled to commit it all the more, to her memory as much out of love for Murchadh as out of duty towards him. Studying the stone as she had done but a few days ago (it felt akin to several years now!), Kenna could have sworn she heard a series of thunderclaps in the distance. The storm though had yet to recommence, so that she shrugged this sound off hesitantly.

  The stone was a large grey one with a crack near the upper-left hand corner that ended just before the first ‘W’ that was the start of Waltigon’s name. Though illiterate, Kenna could almost write the name of her deceased good-father and husband. There were small cracks near the ‘T’ and the ‘N’ that helped to form Waltigon’s inscription. Just as there was a crack in the lower right-hand corner, just below the ‘H’ at the end of Murchadh’s name, which was itself just below the dates of birth and death of the fisherman’s father.

  She was distracted from her thoughts by Mairead calling out to her, “Kenna hurry, it appears that Doada is struggling to convince her mother to leave with us.”

  Sighing, Kenna answered positively at this call, en route for the door pausing as she passed the Salmon’s daughter at a sudden sound. It was that same thunderclap from earlier, so that she mused that there was something to the sound that made her memory itch.

  “Do you hear that?” She asked uneasily.

  “Do you mean the family argument?” Mairead asked of her, raising a dark eyebrow.

  Kenna did not answer, distracted and hurried into the domicile of Conn, by the fisherman’s wife. Her mind awhirl due to the thunderclap, her stomach in knots as she entered to find Ainsley clinging to what appeared to be a druid’s dark green woollen robe.

  The little lass was in tears, with her mother frozen a short distance from her while the older sisters were in the midst of an argument, over one of the four packs that lay upon the table in the center of the kitchen. To one side Bhàtair was smashing his fist upon the nearby right-hand door red-faced with fury.

  “What is this?” Kenna asked of the family, “Why are you all in chaos?”

  “I shan’t leave da!” Eillidh wailed, clinging to the robe of her father.

  “Will you be quiet Bhàtair, we must go! Mother help otherwise we may perish!” Doada shrieked with Helga countering her point.

  “It is hardly her fault,” Helga shouted back at her elder sister, “We must bring as many mementos of father’s!”

  “Open this door!” Bhàtair yelled at the same time as the women in his family.

  Exasperated by this disorganised, mess of a family Kenna threw herself into yelling over them, at her sternest at that moment, “Silence the lot of you!” Several of them looked to her in surprise, as Eillidh repeated her cry about her father, Kenna ignored her, “Helga cease this nonsense and get your sister outside. Doada, Bhàtair the both of you get out now. You have delayed us long enough! Quite why is beyond me.”

  Bhàtair for his part grumbled as he passed, “It is hardly my fault! It is those rats in the temple who have locked us from the temple-proper. Ainsley wanted to get the jar containing the paragon Muireall’s reliquary.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it contains the paragon’s right hand,” Ainsley spoke up at last from where she sat in the doorsill at the back of the room, a defeated look in her eyes. “It was important to Conn; all know that for centuries his family served the paragon and Fufluns.”

  Filled with pity for her friend, Kenna waited until the children were almost outside, distracted from the other widow by Eillidh who tried to resist Doada’s efforts to drag her outside. Helga refused to help for a moment, with the older lass struggling with her pack and youngest sister. A single glare in Helga’s direction from the seamstress had at last the desired effect upon her newest pupil, so that she with a sigh seized Eillidh’s left hand and aided in dragging the little lass out of the domicile.

  Moving to Ainsley’s side, circling about the table as she moved she wrapped her arms around the elder widow’s shoulders, she whispered to her then. “Ainsley you must leave now.”

  “Not without the paragon’s hand.” Ainsley snapped shaking her head stubbornly.

  “You must! They have locked you out; there is naught you could do for the moment.” Kenna told her gently, rocking her friend a little her heart stricken still with pity.

  They remained side-by-side, holding one another for some time. They knew not how long, only that the elder of the two needed the comfort while the younger was stricken with pity and the memory of her own still fresh grief. She knew a thing or three about futile gestures, at the passing of one’s spouse. Therefore Kenna did not blame or judge her friend for her peculiar obsession with the paragon’s hand.

  “But- wait, what is that sound?” Ainsley stumbled over her reply, the same stupefied expression appearing upon her face that was undoubtedly pained upon that of Kenna’s.

  The sound was as the wind crashing against the wood of the temple, or upon further thought the sound of the screaming wind grew in intensity and volume.

  Both women were out the door in the next heartbeat, the sound of laughter and victory cries intermingled with those of the screams. Emerging from the domicile both of them surged outside to discover to their shock dozens of figures standing before the temple, many of them held torches in hand, with more than half of them thrown against the temple which was lit up with the reddened light of building flames.

  Plumes of smoke rose up, with the fire still small though the flames were being fed with hacked off pieces of the nearby fencing and thatch that Badrách’s thugs threw onto the temple, as they lit new torches whenever they threw their torches against the temple whose doors they had barred shut.

  The screams echoed across all the fields from the cemetery, as Badrách’s cackling dozen or so warriors lit the temple with the majority of the village, trapped inside the now burning temple. Frozen in place, Kenna could only stare for a moment, her mind in tatters, shock washing over her at the sight of the flames and the sound of the screams that echoed from within the temple.