Quest of a Warrior (Legends of the Fenian Warriors, Book 1)(7)
“Granted,” replied Seneca. The doors to the chamber opened. “A guard will escort you to the room. The mirrors will reflect the break in time where the future was altered. Darkness will shroud the year, instead of light. Afterwards, we shall announce your judgment.”
“I ask for one request before you carry out whatever means of punishment you deem fit for me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Continue.”
“I request an audience with the king, queen, and my sister, Abela.”
One of the council members gasped, but Seneca held up her hand in warning. “I will pass along your requests, but it is entirely up to them to grant you a meeting.”
Conn nodded. “Thank you.”
As he walked out of the room, Conn’s greatest fear was not the punishment he faced. No, he dreaded that no one from his family would want to see him.
And his heart sank at the possible reality.
Chapter Three
“A missed stitch in time can foretell a different path.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
The doors closed silently behind Conn, and his gaze traveled the length of the long hall of mirrors. It was a place so infinite, he could not even see where it ended. His life was far too vast. On either side, he witnessed his existence reflected within the glass. Each one recorded a date above the paneled mirror. A story unfolding—a movie of his entire life, including his trial.
He quickly made his way past the most recent images of his life, including the battle against the Dark One with the Dragon Knights. There was only light around the gilded edges of the glass. He would defend his actions until his last dying breath.
One mirror caught his attention, and he moved forward. There he stood, arms outstretched, holding the portal of the veil open for Brigid O’Neill, future wife of Dragon Knight, Duncan MacKay. She had wandered to the standing stones with Duncan’s sword and for reasons he couldn’t fathom, she opened the Veil of Ages. Yet, without his assistance—interference, she would have tumbled into an earlier century and not into Duncan’s.
Did he do wrong?
“No,” he growled, furious over his own doubt. There was light around the year Brigid stepped through the stones. Therefore, Conn breathed a sigh of relief and continued on his journey down the hall.
With each passing mirror, memories flooded back within his mind. His fists clenched when he came upon the Battle of Culloden. Many were lost on the battlefield. Good Scottish men he had come to know and respect. How he had longed to take the English Duke of Cumberland and his men back through the veil, banish their memories, and have them retreat. But he stood steadfast in the belief that there was a greater cause—one he prayed to see. Besides, he was not allowed to change the timeline based on his own personal beliefs.
Grumbling a curse, he quickly moved away from the horrible image and made his way further back in the timeline of his life. Adventures at sea glimmered, and he smiled, recalling fonder memories and those he met along the way. One of those was, Grania—Grace O’Malley. A brave and beautiful sixteenth century Irish chieftain. She rivaled Queen Elizabeth and was one of the most magnificent humans he had ever encountered.
Conn continued his walk along the hall, stopping briefly at those he considered friends, including the Irish King, Brian Boru. “I miss your wisdom and wit, my friend. And those strategic chess games,” he uttered softly.
Turning, he froze. The mirror to the left was edged in dark shadows. The year was 936, the battle at Clonmacnoise in Ireland. The King of Munster, Cellachán mac Buadacháin was waving a sword with one hand, and the other he kept firm around a woman’s waist. Conn had no problems recalling the memory. His fists clenched watching the scene unfold. The man was a tyrant—one who had slain the father of his friend, Brian Boru.
“Ye ken what I have?” Cellachán bellowed!
“Nae!” shouted the other man. “She is my daughter and promised to another. Dinnae take her, my Chieftain, I beg ye.”
“I will take the woman as my slave!” The chieftain’s men surrounded him in protection, and the woman gave out a blood-curdling scream, fighting and clawing at her captor.
Conn didn’t need to watch what would happen next. Cold seeped into his bones as he watched himself walk through the crowd of men.
“Will ye not give her to me?” demanded Conn.
“I am nae fool,” the chieftain sneered. “I ken ye want the lass for yourself. Ye can find another to claim, or bed.”
In an instant, Conn’s eyes blazed silver and time halted. All remained fixed—the men frozen where they stood. All but the woman.
He held out his hand. “Do ye trust me, Dervla?
The lass nodded.
“Take my hand. I will see ye safely home.”
Dervla’s hand trembled as she took a hold of Conn’s. “What god are ye?” Her question more of curiosity than of fear.
“Nae, not a god, only a friend.” As he moved her away from the crowd of men, she yanked on his arm.
“What about my father?”
He tipped her chin up with his finger. “I can only save ye.”
The image blurred…faded, but Conn knew what happened next. Her father was killed in a battle—the story of the disappearing girl told in bardic tales.
Conn returned Dervla to her clan. Her future now set on a path to become a powerful druid priestess. However, she decided to ignore the calling and married outside of her clan. Conn had often thought that maybe he should have left her in the care of the brute.