Curse of the Celts

There came then the sounds of a fierce battle.” Callum had settled into the story, clearly relishing this part of the tale. “That boy had set two grown men on their backsides and was picking up furniture and replacing it in the nursery. Two or three more men came running and took him on, and he fought them like a wild thing, doing a fair job of holding them off until they fetched a few warriors who were only too happy to be handed their chance at giving young Devyn a whipping. Most of them had argued that he be thrown out in the streets, that he was no longer worthy of being fostered. Oh yes, they were happy to help put some manners on him. But nobody had told Devyn he should give these mighty warriors any more respect than he dished out to the servants who tried to subdue him. Eventually, they overpowered him – he was still only a lad, after all – and, well, they set to give him a beating he wouldn’t forget.”

“What happened?” I asked intently.

Callum had paused his story, snarled in memory.

“What happened?” I asked again. The warming fire in the room we occupied suddenly blazed into a mini explosion which I knew would be more style than substance. It was a flash that set the little room alight with dancing colours that ricocheted outwards. It was a significantly more spectacular display than the spark we had been aiming for earlier during training.

Callum grinned at the evidence his ploy had worked. Distracted and emotionally roused, I had finally shown some ability. “Well, his friend went over and helped him. Sent them all away. He crouched down when Devyn collapsed on the floor and asked him what he was doing, why he wouldn’t let them take the stuff away. Devyn told him that the little girl was still alive. His friend nodded, and that was that.”

“What do you mean, that was that? He believed him? They went back to how it was before?”

“Nothing was ever as it was before. The two boys were close again but not as they were; that wasn’t possible. His friend was a wild one, and as they grew older, Devyn was the shadow to his raging fire, always at his side, but… a shadow. Until the day he disappeared. And left his friend behind.” Callum indicated the dancing streamers playing around the room. “How’s about we try doing something a little more practical then?”

Despite what had appeared to be a breakthrough, my progress continued to be patchy at best. I consistently failed to command the elements while inadvertently succeeding at one or two exercises. Callum’s exasperation had turned to a more focused investigation as he threw test after test at me, by turns baffled, outraged and tickled by the results as no clear pattern emerged as to why I was so inconsistent.

“You really shouldn’t be able to do that,” he said, stroking his beard and surveying the results of a rare successful test – the smoking husk of what used to be a stone. “It defies the laws of physics. It shouldn’t be possible.”

“Isn’t that why they call it magic?” I laughed up at him.

He shook his head. “That’s not how it usually works.”

I smirked, throwing out a hip and leaning against the tree in the middle of the circle. “And yet somehow I…”

I trailed off as my palm tingled in its contact with the great oak. The bark was intense against my hand, my eyelids were incredibly heavy and they closed as I swayed closer, leaning against the tree. And was transported…

A dark, thin boy railed against the servants who were attempting to take furniture out of a room. Another boy with fair hair stood silently by. The servants ran off and reappeared with guards… no, warriors, for these were Celts. They were tall and broad, and clad in dark leathers with their swirling tattooed arms and long hair. They pushed the boy away, but he grabbed a sword and somehow managed to lift it. His pale face was defiant and determined. I couldn’t make out the words that were spoken, but it was clear he had no intention of letting anyone in the room – or rather of letting any furniture out. Another large man stepped forward. This one wasn’t dressed like the others. He spoke softly and the boy let his guard down. The large man, Callum, stepped forward and snatched the sword away before backhanding the boy with a hard blow. The boy crumpled in the doorway, struggling to find his feet, his arm up not in defence but in his ongoing attempt to bar the others’ entry to the room. Callum and the warriors were angry now and moved forward with violent intent. The fair-haired boy stepped in front of the fallen one, his face blank but determined. No one moved.

I snapped back to the courtyard as the vision faded.

“You lied. You lied to me,” I accused the older, greyer Callum who hovered over me, concern in his eyes. “You beat him. It wasn’t the warriors, it was you.”

Callum stepped back, away from my anger and accusation, his face taut with regret.

“I know. How do you tell a girl that you struck a silent grieving child? For I see now that he was grieving. Devyn was supposed to be her protector…”

“He was no more than a child himself!” I cut across him.

“Not then. I mean, when he was older… when they both were older, as his father was for her mother. But the Griffin failed. Instead he saved his own son whose very existence was a constant reminder, and who sulked about the castle, not deigning to speak to anyone. We were all hurting, and he was there, always there. That day, they were clearing the room, but he wouldn’t let them. He wouldn’t let people move on with their lives. All he would say was that she was alive. The baby