Together

As the young warrior looked down at him, watching the man’s life slowly fading before his eyes yet powerless to save him, he could see that from the look on his face it was clear that the Tribesman wished to speak to him. So the young warrior put his ear close to the dying man’s lips. To his surprise, the oldster did not seem to be concerned of his impending end. He was more troubled about the fate of others, especially Cathbar’s.

"The Tribe is doomed!" he whispered, his voice barely audible above the silence surrounding them. "I stood near to the King when the Romans charged us. May Lugh have mercy on my soul because I fled when I became wounded. But, the King didn’t run and the Kindred stood at his side. The last I saw of them was them being cut down by the Romans. With the King dead and none of the Bloodline to replace him the Land will die. That means, young man, that the power in the shrines will disappear and never return. When it has all gone the Tribe will be enslaved by our enemies and no longer will free people walk this Land. Escape to the Northern Isles whilst you can. Promise me that you will do that so I can go to my next life knowing that one of the Tribe will survive this catastrophe."

"I will," pledged Cathbar, but it was as if the other did not hear him. Instead he began rambling about deeds and people long past. The dusk had long faded when at last his head slumped and the young warrior felt able to leave him.

It was not until the next morning when the warriors reached their village and discover what the Romans had done. As they stared at the shattered gate and burnt huts their morale dropped further.

The words of the dying warrior were completely driven from Cathbar’s mind when he saw the carnage and ruins. Suddenly, Gyptis and her fate were all that mattered. However, there was no sign of her or her mother. Their house had been ransacked and fired, but rain had quenched the flames before they had done too much damage. Searching through the wreckage revealed no clues to their whereabouts and left him still not knowing whether Gyptis was alive or dead.

By now those who had fled from the massacre were drifting back to the village. On questioning, none of them remembered having seen the two women. Nor were they much help. In their grief their minds were only on their own lost ones. With nowhere else to go and none else to do the warrior set out to search the forest for them.

But for the use of a rapport spell on the lock of Gyptis’s that he wore as a charm, Cathbar could have searched for days. When he finally found them, the girl was crouching at the base of a gnarled elm and holding the old woman in her arms. The events of the last few days had shaken her badly, but her spirit was still strong. However, it had been the end of the road for the mother. The escape from the Romans and the nights in the forest had taken their toll. Without real shelter from the rain, or a fire to warm her bones, she had departed from this life. The warrior laid his hand on her cold shoulder and prayed to the gods for healing power. But they were silent and no magic flowed.

It was too damp for a pyre so Cathbar buried the body in a shallow grave. Then Gyptis and he had stood by the mound for a while, his arm around her whilst her head on his shoulder as she softly wept. Then, he turned her to face him and wiped her tears away with his hand.