With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, the redhead followed after her mentor through the thick fog. Most of the time it felt odd for her to be on the human’s side of the Veil and this morning was no different. Instead of the constant threat that she would be confronted by one of the townspeople, the complete feeling of being alone and cut off from everything made certain she stayed one step behind the tall slim form of the Glanconer.
It seemed like it took hours to weave through the fog, overgrown plants and neglected stone tablets but no more than a half hour had passed when the Glanconer paused and held a hand up to make her pause as well. Celena tried to peek around him but all she saw was the grass at their feet and something solid nearby, all details lost in the thickening fog.
Suddenly fear took the child firmly in its grip and nearly sent her stumbling back through the maze she had been led through. She could feel the weight of an ominous presence and she didn’t quite understand it. The hand that had stopped her firmly took hold of her shoulder and started to guide her forward despite her obvious reluctance.
One step. Five steps. It was fifteen terror filled steps that it took to reach the solid item looming over the two Faeries in the fog. The young redhead couldn’t speak as she took in the details of what she knew to be a grave marker, a last testament to a long dead noble.
“Look upon part of your heritage, Aithne. Understand it and accept it. Or else you shall surely fail.”
The usual warmth that filled her when the Glanconer spoke was absent as he shoved her forward. A stumbling step almost sent her crashing right into the stone carved with a name and date that should have meant something to the girl.
The specter of death hovered there, making Aithne shiver as she reached out her hand to touch the name carved there in memorial.
Ragallach de Roiste
The name meant nothing to her, not really, but the girl was accepting of her teacher’s wishes. She traced each letter with her fingertip and tried to accept what it meant.
“Human blood flows through my veins because of you,” whispered a childish musical voice, “But unlike you, Death’s cold fingers shall not take me.”
Even as she said it, the redheaded child looked defiantly around as if daring the oppressing feeling that lingered in the human graveyard to prove her wrong. Nothing happened. It made the fear that had gripped the child suddenly seem very foolish. She might have human blood but her mentor was teaching her to submerse herself entirely in that which sent the golden glitter to stirring upon pale skin.
Leaning forward so that lips touched the cold stone before the child murmured, “Sleep deep, Father. Know that your death was for the best.”
Without a hint of emotion upon cherubic features, the tiny redheaded child turned and reached for the hand of the dark haired Faery who had been watching her intently. Fingers curled around his hand while she looked up, “I am ready now, Phelan.”
A ghost of a smile touched the male’s lips as he reached with his free hand to caress the side of the child’s face, “I doubt that, Aithne, but we shall leave all the same.”
It was not the first time she didn’t understand the double meaning behind her teacher’s words which was why it was easily shaken off so it would be easier to focus on what was more important; leaving the human boneyard.