Chapter 21. Blood and Ravens

The mist seemed like an extension of the leaden clouds huddled above the fort on the hill of Cruachan that morning. It entwined with the drizzle as if on purpose, casting a bleak veil over the entire settlement.

The inhabitants of the fort — a compact mass of emaciated bodies — were already gathered around the massive stone platform erected near the palisade when the war heralds (scélaige) entered to the thundering hooves of their short, shaggy horses.

Anemo and Remi waited, utterly overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, alongside Rí and his family. Mistral, with Aeolus firmly anchored in his black fur, was seated in the very front row before Anemo, with Arr, the Celtic cat, beside him. Arr had taken Sirocco—once again a tiny kitten—between her paws to protect him.

"Mon Dieu!" Mistral muttered for Aeolus's ears alone. "Look at them, how fierce they are! You'd think there was neither winter nor famine for them."

"There wasn't, for them," Arr replied in Aeolus's stead. "They hunted all winter and ate anything... even wolves. Meat was never missing from their table, and they are well-hardened to the cold. Rain or wind, snow or frost—this is their natural element."

Unlike the starving commoners, the war heralds emanated raw power and authority. On their muscular yet short horses—ridden bareback, with only brightly coloured blankets beneath them—these heralds wore long woollen cloaks in garish tartan patterns of red, blue-violet, and black. Beneath their mantiés, tunics tightened with wide leather belts studded with iron tacks could be glimpsed. Spiral tattoos of a deep blue coiled around their brawny arms. They looked like apparitions from the spirit world, blowing into their raspy carnyxes—those oversized bronze trumpets ending in angry wild boar heads, with movable metal tongues that rattled with every breath.

Their weapons were the iron instruments of death: long spears with wide, serrated iron tips designed to tear flesh, and short swords of bronze or early iron with anthropomorphic hilts. Their banner was the standard of Queen Medb, made of coarse canvas, depicting the stylised silhouette of a woman and the bloody print of a palm.

Suddenly, a tattered silhouette detached itself from the numb crowd like a phantom of hunger, shouting and pointing a skeletal arm at the Queen’s heralds:

"They are the plague! Do not let them take you! They bring death! The death of your children!"

The man's eyes looked like black chasms. It was plain to see his mind was unhinged.

"The poor soul lost his entire family," Arr whispered.

A choking cough seized the man's frail body, contorting it.

"Run! Run!" the poor, broken man cried, struggling to regain his stance when, suddenly, one of the riders hurled a small axe.

Its shiny blade whistled briefly through the drizzle and embedded itself directly into the chest of the one inciting revolt, felling him to the ground. The body collapsed into the mud but did not stiffen instantly in death; instead, it continued to cough hollowly as blood surged from his mouth and his torn chest.

"Run!..."

The guttural howl of the carnyx stopped abruptly. High in the sky, flying lower and lower, closer and closer to the bleeding body, an army of ravens appeared, completely undisturbed by the people or the rain. The ravens seemed part of the retinue.

"The plot thickens," Remi whispered in Anemo's ear. "Now, more than ever, it's vital we don't lose our heads!"

The furry ones had turned to stone at their feet. Sirocco wept, swallowing his tears.

"Does truly no one react to murder?!" Mistral muttered through his teeth. "How is this even possible?"

The Grand Druid, who until then had stood motionless like a stone statue on the platform, enveloped in his white cloak, gestured to the group of bards accompanying him. Accompanied by their harps with strings made of animal intestines, they began to murmur a rhythmic, unintelligible incantation.

The atmosphere grew ever heavier. The smell of damp smoke blended now with the scent of warm blood and sweat. The druid's long beard seemed to vibrate as he began his own staccato, commanding declamation:

"The spring hunger brings a storm

And flashes

Thunders

It revolts within you

Weak and naked mortals

Where are the cattle preyed upon by wolves?

Where is the grain

Eaten long ago?

The Queen calls us to battle

Soon let us march

For the infants

For life

A life we sacrifice

I am the downpour descended from the storm

I am the wave

And the wind is also I

I!

Who knows the wisdom of the forest

Better than me?

I!"

With the arrogant utterance of the Grand Druid's last word, two of his apprentices, dressed in coarse tunics of undyed wool, brought forth the victim to be sacrificed for victory in battle.

It was Leona... Boo, as they all knew her. Dressed in a sack, her hands bound behind her back, the little girl wept with soft whimpers.

Though she had expected this due to her premonitory dream of Maria Treben, Remi felt as if that anthropomorphic dagger in the druid's hand plunged straight into her own heart. Yet, she let no emotion surface and lightly touched Rí's hand.

The druid looked Remi straight in the eye, as if he had uncovered her true nature. A sneering rictus twisted his lips, and with false humility, he bowed, addressing the "goddess":

"Oh, thou wise Morrigan, bless our sacrifice of pure and innocent blood, and grant us victory in battle!"

From somewhere outside the walls, not very far away, the prolonged howl of a wolf echoed.

"In the end, it seems nature too helps me play my part," Remi said to herself, raising her eyes to the circling ravens.

She gripped Rí's hand firmly and pulled him along a few steps, approaching the one holding the battle standard. In a rising voice, declaiming just as staccato as the Grand Druid, she began:

"People of Cruachan, sorely tried,

I give you my eyes to accompany you in battle!"

And with one hand, she pointed to the ravens circling above them.

"Fight with fierce defiance,

Like wolves with sharp fangs,

And for a blood sacrifice,

I give you my own blood—

Blue and noble,

The blood of a god!"

In a single movement, Remi snatched the anthropomorphic dagger from Rí's belt and slashed her left palm right across the middle, letting a dark, almost black blue blood flow.

The crowd stood agape. No one expected the ruthless Morrigan to offer her own deity's blood instead of a human sacrifice. Remi placed her bleeding hand upon the canvas of the standard, exactly where the stylised body of the woman was, and, with a defiant gesture, clothed the woman's silhouette in her blue blood.

"Return safely!" Remi added, and then gestured sharply to the apprentices to bring Boo to her.