Night of the Fifth Moon (22 page)

Ket's heart turned over.

And slaughtered Bran.

Ket let out a groan of despair. He had made himself an outcast, and allowed Lorccán to win, all for nothing! And then another thought stabbed him. He guessed that Nessa had given up her place, left to be a brehon, just so he would have the chance to win. He had promised her he would. And now . . . He threw himself on the ground, curling up like a wounded animal.

He must have fallen asleep, for when the dawn chorus began, he was dreaming of learning his first feda. He lay with his eyes shut, clinging to the warm memory of Goll inclined towards him, smiling and friendly, but, too soon, the last wisps of the dream faded.

He shivered, and sat up, hugging himself and rubbing his arms. The dew had been falling, and his clothes were damp and cold. He blinked around, trying to get his bearings. Last night, he had blundered around in the darkness, eyes blurred with tears. Now, the sun shone blindingly through the trees, and drops of water sparkled on twigs and tender young leaves. Ket ran his eye down the smooth, greenish trunk beside him, and stopped with a gasp.

There, scraped into the bark, were familiar signs. This was the ash tree where Goll had taught him his first feda!

Immediately, it seemed that the figure from his dream was seated beside him again. Ket could see the hand reaching out and cutting the marks into the tree. Goll had started from the bottom, and then . . .

Ket let out a cry.

Goll had started from the
bottom
!

Ket clapped his hand over his mouth and stared at the feda with wide, shocked eyes. When he had tried to read ogham himself, he had worked from the top down. That meant he had read Cormac's name upside-down! That meant the sounds he had worked out were all wrong. The
o
must be
a
, the
r
must be
m
. And, of course, every time he'd tried to read the ogham rod, that had been the wrong way too!

He pressed his palms against his eyes. The message was burned into his memory, just as Faelán had scorched it in the birchwood. He opened his eyes again, feverishly cleared a patch on the ground, and scraped the message in the earth.

There was one feda carved at the bottom, five straight lines with a stem going up the middle. That must be the first word. He clenched his fists in frustration. It was a feda he didn't know!

He glared at the ash tree, urging it to speak, and saw his own wobbly effort at drawing
nuin
. Suddenly, he heard Goll's voice.

‘Don't forget to put the stemline in. On the left. Otherwise it could be
quert
or
iodo
.'

Ket's heart seemed to stop beating as he stared at the five straight lines. With a stemline up the middle, it had to be
quert
or
iodo
.

‘Of course!' cried Ket out loud. ‘It's
iodo
! The first word is
I
!'

And the second word? Those two feda were both in Cormac's name. That word was easy now. And the last word? Of
course
, it didn't start with
h-t
. It
ended
with
t-h
! That made sense.

He sank back on his heels, shaking all over.

There was one feda that he didn't know. But he didn't need to know. Suddenly he could read the whole word. The whole message.

‘But it's not true!' he whispered. ‘I can read the message, but it's not true!'

‘Ket!'

Ket swung round in shock. It was Faelán. The druid had glided up as silent as of old for he was not wearing his silver sandals. He looked frail and elderly, his hair and beard turned pure white.

‘Master!' squeaked Ket, and stumbled to his feet.

‘You have returned,' said Faelán.

‘I . . .' Ket stared at Faelán in bewilderment. There was no anger in the druid's expression, no accusation. He seemed – almost – to be pleading.

Ket gulped.

‘Will you
let
me come back?' he asked in a rush.

The druid held out his arms.

Ket flung himself forward. For the first time in his life, he was wrapped in the druid's arms. They felt thin and brittle as dry twigs. ‘I was afraid we'd lost you,' murmured Faelán.

Ket brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. He was laughing and crying at the same time.

‘But hasn't Lorccán become your next anruth?' he asked.

The druid shook his head. ‘It has not yet been the next new moon.'

‘And . . . and Gortigern,' asked Ket urgently, ‘what has happened with Gortigern?'

‘Ah.' Faelán stroked his beard. ‘He wanted to attack again, but I told him the portents were against him.' The corners of his eyes crinkled, and then he astounded Ket by winking.

Ket stared, and suddenly he understood. A true druid could read the portents and foretell the future, but sometimes . . .

‘Now . . .' Faelán's expression changed and he took Ket's arm. ‘Come and look.' His fingers felt like a bird's claw.

They stepped from the trees and the druid pointed dramatically at the camp. In the daylight, Ket could see that the stone hut was gone.

‘And all the gold, and the silver sandals,' said the druid earnestly. ‘I cast them in the Sacred Spring. And I implored the spirits to send you back.'

His pale, transparent eyes gazed into the distance. ‘I taught you fosterlings the principles of druidry. I preached to you about learning the natural order, about valuing every life, about sharing, and being honourable. But I was so carried away by my own loftiness . . .' He drew in his breath and straightened his shoulders. ‘I began to treat those rules with contempt.' His eyes came back to Ket. Tiny white clouds floated in their blueness. ‘When you had to defy me in order to obey my own teachings, you revealed to me how far I had gone astray.'

Ket felt his cheeks grow hot, but before he could reply, there were shouts all around the camp.

‘Ket!' ‘It's Ket!' ‘He's back!'

In a moment they were thundering towards him. Bronal hooted, Art thumped his shoulder and Goll ruffled his hair. Maura bounced up and down, her cheeks pink, her straw-coloured locks wilder than ever.

Behind their excited faces, Ket spied Lorccán. The gazes of the fosterlings locked. Lorccán's eyes blazed a challenge, and then, slowly and belligerently, he crossed his arms.

It was six days until the next new moon.

THE FIFTH MOON

While Ket had been gone, Lorccán had wormed his way into the everyday life of the anruth. He had taken over Art and Bronal's role of tending the fire. All through the day, he ostentatiously dragged long, heavy branches into camp, which he broke up noisily to add to his wood heap. When Ket tried to put a log on the flames, Lorccán elbowed him out of the way, telling him it was the wrong type of wood.

‘Faelán wants to burn juniper today,' he said bossily.

He slid his eyes round to see how Ket reacted. Ket kept his expression blank.

Lorccán had appointed himself Maura's helper. That night, instead of everyone crowding around the cauldron after Faelán was served, Lorccán solemnly handed out portions like the rannaire at a king's banquet. After he served himself, he sat down to eat, pretending to forget about Ket. He looked annoyed when Ket rose, and without comment scraped the last dregs from the pot.

‘If you want to get close to the Greater Harmony you really have to feel the ground, you know,' instructed Lorccán next morning as Ket was tying his brogues.

Ket looked up in surprise and saw that Lorccán was now barefoot like the anruth and Faelán. Ket pursed his lips and dragged off his shoes again.

‘Your feet won't be tough like mine, though,' said Lorccán. ‘Look.' He snatched a holly branch from his wood pile and stamped on the prickly leaves. ‘See? Bet you can't do that.'

He threw out the challenge, and stood back, waiting for Ket to copy.

‘No, I can't do that yet,' Ket replied. And he smiled calmly into Lorccán's astonished face. For Ket was hugging a secret to his heart, a secret that warmed him like fire.

‘Lorccán, you can have your last few moments of glory,' he thought. ‘You'll be gone soon.
I'm
the one who can read the ogham.'

It seemed no time at all till the sun was setting on the evening of the new moon.

Ket picked up his branch of bells, noticing how dull the bronze had become.

‘It's the last night you'll be needing those!' said Lorccán smugly.

‘Yes,' said Ket. ‘Tomorrow,' he thought, ‘tomorrow I'll have a branch of silver bells.' Every nerve in his body was twanging with excitement.

Lorccán had heaped the fire high, and as he handed out the rowan branches he wore a broad grin.

‘Your last time!' he said to Ket.

Ket barely heard him.

Moving sunwise, the druid started around the fire. Lorccán pranced at his heels and the others fell in behind. Ket brought up the rear. When Faelán completed his circle and came to a halt, Lorccán was on his right side, and Ket on his left.

The druid raised his arm.

‘Spirit of the Moon

Arise from darkness
.

Spirit of the Moon

Return and guide us
.
'

Slowly, slowly, the sunset faded, and there, where the druid pointed, the new moon was rising.

There was a hush. All eyes turned to the druid.

‘The final reckoning is here,' said Faelán. ‘Only two fosterlings remain.' Majestically, he turned to the Sacred Yew. The birch rod, held fast by the roots of the tree, glowed in the firelight. ‘Five moons ago, I inscribed that message in ogham.' They all stared, intent and expectant. ‘I gave you warning,' Faelán intoned, ‘that only the one true anruth would succeed in reading its secret.'

Ket began to quiver with excitement.

Without a sound, the druid skimmed across the ground, stooped down and released the rod from the sacred tree's keeping. He turned and held it outwards. ‘Lorccán!' he demanded. ‘Can you read this message?'

Ket felt exultation bubbling up inside him. He was going to burst, like a seedpod exploding in the sun.

Lorccán accepted the rod and held it before his eyes.

‘I—,' he began in a loud confident voice.

There was a screaming sound in Ket's head and he couldn't breathe.

Then the golden boy faltered. He scowled and bit his lip. ‘Do? Be?' He glanced up inquiringly as if he expected Faelán to prompt him, but the druid stood with his hand resting on the tree, his face expressionless.

Lorccán swung round on Ket, the rod clenched in his fist as if it was a dagger. ‘Anyway, I bet
you
can't read it!'

Faelán raised one eyebrow. ‘Ket?'

Ket's whole body was suddenly glowing as if he was on fire. When he took the rod, his hands shook, and the sooty black marks swam in front of his eyes.

‘Yes, I can read it,' he whispered.

‘Ha, I don't believe you.' Lorccán crossed his arms.

Ket glanced down. His hands had stopped shaking. He could see the first word
I
and the second word
am
. He drank in the last, precious word and drew a deep breath. He lifted his gaze.

They were all watching him: Lorccán, tense and apprehensive now, Goll beaming, Maura nodding encouragement, Art and Bronal breathless and eager. Just for a moment, the faces of those who had been sent away seemed to float there too: Riona, Bran, Nath-í and Nessa. For one heart-wrenching instant, Ket felt a pang of loss. Then the glow of victory poured over him. The others were gone, and he was the winner.

Thrilling with happiness and pride, he raised the rod aloft, and spoke out loud the secret words: ‘I . . .am . . . anruth!'

Faelán nodded and his mouth quirked in a smile.

‘Yes!' shouted Maura, clapping her hands.

‘He did it, he did it!' Art and Bronal jigged up and down in excitement.