Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : Fantasy

Chapter 11●Ronan

                                   Ireland, 1915


      After Ronan had escorted Aralt, Aednat and Cúchulainn to their rooms for the night he went back to the room where Emmet and Muirgen were left. He didn’t like the idea of his little sister being alone with another man she just met, let alone a Druid. Yes, the druids were revered by many people as scholars more than just magicians but they were also filled with secrets. Emmet seemed to hold many secrets within those ensnaring emerald eyes and left many unsaid words on his lips. Emmet rubbed Ronan the wrong way but still, the King of the Sea did not think of his decision to allow Emmet to live here as a mistake. 
      Being a king was hard work, you constantly had people buzzing in your ear and up your ass every waking moment. As a king you were put on a pedestal where so many eyes could observe you. They observed all your victories and rejoiced when they fell in favor of the people but if you made one single mistake…rumors started. Ronan knew all too well how fatal words can be, he knew how unpredictable they are and how they could cause a situation to spiral out of control. If a king wasn’t careful or loved enough he could lose everything. 

      As Ronan walked he let his mind wander to when he was younger. At thirteen he was announced as the potential king of the south, a dangerous title indeed, Muirgen was said to become the head guardian. It was the end of October when their fates were decided but Ronan shivered as if he was stark naked in the middle of winter. Ronan has looked over to his sister for support, he looked for a sign in her eyes but all he saw was worry. Still she held her head high, her chin lifted in defiance, she wouldn’t let them see her as a weakling and that set off alarm bells in his head. He could hear his mothers dying words echoing in his mind.

      “My children will avenge me.” She had said. Then she disappeared into sea foam, that was the last the twins had seen their mother. She had been killed three days after their tenth birthday their father had left three days after that.

     When they had turned thirteen they had to flee for their safety. Their grandmother had packed up their belongings and escaped into the night with the twins, tired and scared, by her side. They fled to their fathers land, Greece, and stayed until they were fifteen. While in Greece they trained everyday: combat and magic and necessities for survival such as hunting, building fires, skinning and cooking animals, making clothes and learning medicinal plants for each symptom. Ronan’s favorite thing to learn was how to navigate the sea and captain a ship. 
      He had spent weeks out at sea, sometimes with Muirgen but mostly he was alone. He felt like he belonged among the ocean waves and the creatures that lived beneath them. Occasionally Ronan would encounter the Greek sea nymphs who would point him in the direction of a large school of fish so he could have dinner or would help him navigate his way around the Greek seas. Sometimes they would play tricks on him but he wouldn’t mind, it reminded him of home. Ronan enjoyed the salty sea air and all the hard work it took to manage a schooner, life at sea was usually calm and simple but what really excited Ronan was when storms hit. 
      Oh how he loved how the waves heaved violently as they tried to capsize his ship! They crashed against the sides and rocked him back and forth with a phenomenal force, it was as if the ocean itself manifested hands and captured Ronan’s ship. Its fingers curled onto the deck in malevolence, making the deck dangerously slippery, and tried to sweep the soon-to-be king off his feet and tumble him beneath the black waves. The rain poured down so hard the droplets seemed more like arrows looking to tear through his body. Lightning decorated the sky in a floodlight masterpiece of crooked shapes and brilliant bursts while the thunder demanded to be heard! It roared its dominance for all to hear, when it vociferated across the ocean Ronan swore that he could hear the terrified cries of dead sailors. It filled Ronan with power. He knew that he was meant to be the rightful king of the sea. 

      Ronan had been so lost in memory that he almost didn’t notice a certain forest fairy bringing the plants in the hallway back to life. She wore a simple white dress made from wolf fur, she was barefooted and hummed to herself. Her short black hair fell just past her chin, it reminded Ronan of black silk. She hummed a folk song as she touched the plants, smiling when they stood taller thanks to her. It wasn’t until Ronan cleared his throat that she noticed him.
      The fairy’s eyes shot to him and widened slightly. Her eyes were a deep soulful brown surrounded by long dark lashes that matched thick dark brows. Her lips were a soft, almost shy, pink. She was curvy and walked like air, she fiddled her thumbs as she bowed to him. 

      “I didn’t notice you, Mo Rí, I’m terribly sorry. I was just tending the plants.” She looked up at him and brushed her dark silky locks behind her ears. “They looked like they needed refreshment.” Her eyes twinkled.

      “Thank you, Aoibheann. They look lovely thanks to you.” He smiled kindly at her. She smiled back and stood up straight.

      “What are you doing up so late and wandering the halls?” She asked with a tilt of her head.

      “What are you doing up so late wandering the halls bareas?” He chuckled pointing to her bare feet. The fairy blushed softly in embarrassment.

      “Shoes are stuffy.” She protested. Ronan chuckled and walked past her.

      “Would you like to hear a story, Aoibheann?” He asked as he continued to walk. She smiled and strolled next to him.

      “I’d love too.” 

      “Twelve-thousand Celts stood along the Allia river, eleven miles from Rome. The beat on their shields, the warriors cried out against the Romans, druids chanted amongst themselves and sacrificed to the Gods for good fortune. The Romans were prepared as well. They gathered their troops and marched towards our Ancestors.” Ronan said.

      “A war story, Mo Rí? Mmmm, you sure know how to engage women.” She purred as she glanced up at him and took his arm. Ronan chuckled softly and patted her hand then looked ahead once more.

      “Hush, mo fairy beag fheictear.” Ronan teased. 

      “Did we win?” She asked. 

      “Well, no.” Ronan looked at her, she scrunched up her face. “Ohhh, don’t give me that face, love. We were twenty-thousand kingdoms going up against a superpower empire.”

      “Did we at least give them a run for their money?”

      “Well, we didn’t do it for choicer. They were more afraid of our druids, their magic terrified them the Romans even sent their priests out to fight us. We just kept coming, they were smaller than us, they wore armor of gold and welded weapons blessed by their gods. They won because they were organized but sometimes, being organized and careful doesn’t always mean victory. You have to be prepared for the unexpected.” Ronan turned the corner that led back to where his sister sat with the unpredictable Druid. Aoibheann removed herself from Ronan’s sculpted arm.

      “Is that what you’re going to do, Ronan?” She asked with a shy look.

      “Be prepared for the unpredictable?” He asked with a cocked eyebrow. She responded with a nod. Ronan smiled and tilted his head as he eyed Aoibheann. “Darling, I am the unpredictable.” He gave her a wink and walked into the room. 
      Ronan walked over to an armchair and sank down with a soft grunt. He smacked his lips and shut his eyes. All was fine, Muirgen had fallen asleep with her head on Emmet’s shoulder. Emmet had fallen asleep as well, both hands on his lap and his head tilted back on the couch, he had a soft snore. Ronan began to drift until the window above the couch shattered. 

      Ronan’s eyes flew open and he was on his feet within seconds. A growl escaped from the sea kings throat and ice formed over his hands. Muirgen shot away from the window and though her footing faltered she regained her composure and already formed a circle of water around her. Emmet, however, wasn’t as agile.
      The Druid cursed in Gaelic as a boot stomped on his face after the window had shattered. The intruder then used Emmet’s face as a launch pad and jumped off of the druid. The figure landed gracefully in the middle of the room, Emmet got up and glared at the intruder. His emerald eyes ablaze with hatred and his mouth curled into a snarl, teeth bared and nose scrunched. He looked like a wild animal it didn’t help that his nose was broken and bleeding. The figure turned to face Emmet and chuckled.

      “Put me down, Quinn. I am not a child.” A rough voice demanded from under all the fabric the figure was holding.

      “Yes, of course, sir. I’m terribly sorry if I offended you.” Quinn said in his velvet voice. He placed the other person down and removed his hood. 
 
       Ronan remembered Quinn from when he first came back to take the southern throne. Quinn had been a regular Caomhnóir at the time but he had helped the twins rally enough rebels to help secure his throne. Quinn was fast and reliable, he could melt into the earth easily, it was like his second identity. Much like how the Sea was Ronan’s. Ronan had a lot of respect for the quiet guardian that respect only grew when Quinn faced his fears and accepted the offer to be the northern guardian…again. 
      Quinn shook his head to dry his black and white streaked hair then quickly grabbed a towel for Barram. He then took their cloaks and hung them behind two chairs and quickly grabbed the tea set and gestured for Muirgen to boil water for their tea. Muirgen helped him with setting up the table while Emmet looked in the mirror and fixed his nose with a gruesome crack. Barram bowed to Ronan and shook his hand. The young king looked exhausted and bothered.

      “On our way here we were attacked, thus the reason why we arrived earlier. Quinn and I investigated the archives hoping to find any explanation on what these creatures are.” Barram said.

      “What did you find?” Ronan asked and crossed his arms.

      “Lots of dust bunnies and cramped spaces.” Barram sighed while rubbing his neck.

      “Perhaps we should discuss this over a spot of tea?” Quinn asked. Muirgen smiled at him and gently placed a loving hand on the fellow guardians cheek.

      “The north hasn’t changed you. You’re still so thoughtful.” She smiled more. Quinn smiled back.

      “It’s just tea, Muirgen.” Emmet mumbled as he walked over to the broken window. “We should fix this window first before we do anything else.” He huffed. Barram looked over and waved his hand, instantly the glass flew up and pieced itself back together until the window was repaired. Quinn eyed Emmet with dark eyes but a small sneer was forming at his lips. Ronan smirked, he knew that under all the North clothing and style, Quinn was still a Cork boy at heart.

      “Muirgen’s favorite tea is Lady Grey, especially when it’s filled with sugar and cream.” Quinn said matter-of-factly. Emmet glared.

      “Oh! You remember! I remember when I caught that terrible sickness and you nursed me back to health. You’re a blessing.” Muirgen sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Ronan’s eyebrows shot up, his smirk turning into a bewildered grin. 

      ‘Things are getting interesting.’ Ronan thought to himself. Quinn patted Muirgen’s hand and flicked his eyes to Emmet. 

      “I also remember that your favorites flowers are hydrangeas, you’re favorite soup is crab soup and I also remember the little heart shaped birthmark on your inner thigh.” Quinn cooed as he poured her a cup of tea. Barram snapped his head in the direction of the Caomhnóirí and placed a hand on his hip. 

      “Oh stop!” Muirgen giggles as she sipped her tea. “I know about that funny birthmark on your right nipple.” She teased. Quinn chuckled.

      “That was a fun day.” He winked at her and sipped his tea. He hummed as he sipped his drink and relaxed. Barram walked over and took a seat next to his guardian and poured himself and Ronan a cup.
       Ronan noticed that Emmet was sitting on the couch and glaring into a book he had pulled out of his cloak. The druid’s eyes were dark and his nose was bright red, his lips were pursed in a prominent scowl and he seemed to be gripping the book a little too hard. He would occasionally glance over at Muirgen but would quickly look back at his book. Ronan knew that fire elementals were quick to anger but he couldn’t help but want to poke fun. If only Cúchulainn was awake to witness this masterpiece unfolding like an avalanche over an unsuspecting village. Ronan looked over to Quinn who noticed Emmet’s frustration. The northern guardian smiled smugly and cleared his throat.

      “Emmet?” Quinn asked in an innocent voice. 

      “Hmm?” Emmet asked without looking up from his book.

      “Would you like a cup of tea?” He batted his lashes. Emmet’s book lit up in flames instantly. The whole room went silent. Emmet stared as the ashes fell onto his lap.

      “No.” He said. Emmet stood up and walked out of the room. Muirgen blinked rapidly and got up to follow him.

      “I suppose he’s more of a coffee person.” Quinn said with an elegant lift of his shoulder. Ronan couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter that erupted from his chest. Barram jumped at the sudden noise but relaxed with a scowl as he sipped his tea.

       “You both are terrible.” He muttered into the dark liquid. Quinn laughed and planted a small kiss on Barram’s cheek.

       “You were the one who said you enjoyed a good show.” He chuckled. Barram shook his head but Ronan noticed that Barram was trying his hardest not to smile by the faint quiver in Barram’s lips. Ronan smiled softly at the both of them, it was probably his oceanic personality that made him sentimental but Ronan truly admired their connection. 

       Barram had taken control of the North with nothing in his name but the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet. His mother had gone insane after Barram was labeled as a potential king, Barram had tried asking the witches and druids to heal his mother but they all refused to help him, by order of the current king. Ronan knew that Barram had wandered all over Ireland until he met his father Mug Ruith, the powerful blind Druid of Munster; his breath could conjure up storms and he could turn men to stone. Mug Ruith flies a giant machine called Roth rámach, or the “oared wheel” in English and also owns an ox-driven chariot that shines as bright as the sun during the night, a spectacular sight. It even has a giant stone that could turn into a poisonous eel when thrown into water. It was thanks to him that Barram found Quinn who then helped Barram seize the North.
      Quinn’s last life was also the Caomhnóir of the North but Cúchulainn had killed him out of rage after Barram killed the previous northern king. Cúchulainn had wanted to expand the western territory by taking hold of the North, no one tried to stop him since the other clans didn’t care for the old and pompous king. Everyone was waiting on his death but no one knew who would do it and it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when Cúchulainn stepped forward and declared it. Little did he know that Barram was already planning a coup d’état with Quinn’s past life and the rest of the northern caomhnóir. Barram truly was a fierce entity, though he didn’t look like much.
      Ronan glanced at the northern king with a bored expression. Barram had light chestnut hair that was styled short but his curls still defied his wishes. He was shorter than the other kings, he was even shorter than Emmet, he stood at five-foot-nine but had a strong body. His arms were thick with muscles and his legs were just as thick, despite his small stature he still looked intimidating. Barram’s eyes only helped further this intimidating illusion, his left eye was an unusual beige color while his right eye was a pale blue like a blind mans. Like his fathers.

      “Are you going to tell me the real reason why you came?” Ronan asked as he placed his arms on the table. Barram hummed softly.

      “We found something that was too good to wait to share. Quinn.” Barram said with the slightest turn of his head. Quinn pulled out a tattered journal from his bag and placed it in front of Ronan. 

      “This journal tells of a prophecy stating that Ireland’s skies will be shrouded with malevolence and its green fields will become slick and red with the blood of its people, both mortal and supernatural.” Quinn spoke with a heavy voice. Ronan looked up at him.

      “Are you sure this has anything to do with what’s going on now?” Ronan questioned. 

      “It also shows illustrations of the creature Muirgen fought.” Barram looked at the book warily. Ronan opened the book and skimmed through its contents. He sighed and stroked his beard while he furrowed his brows. He flipped to the middle of the book and what he saw shook his soul, he looked up at Barram and Quinn with wide eyes filled with so many questions. The Northerners just looked at him blankly then turned back to their drinks. Ronan opened his mouth to voice his questions when his sister came back into the room. 

      “Alright, everyone to bed. It’s late and I know Ronan hasn’t slept, he’s going on three days now. By dawn tomorrow he’ll be able to smell colors. Bed. Now.” She huffed and walked out. Ronan arched an eyebrow at her sudden announcement but he had to admit that he was tired. He stood up and cleared his throat.

      “Well I’ll walk you to your rooms.” Ronan said with a roll of his shoulders.

      “Ohhhhh, Ronan!” Quinn moaned. “You’re splitting us up!? I thought we would all share a room?” 

      Ronan barked out a laugh. “You’re a riot, Quinn. I accept your way of life as natural, and may I say admirable, but unfortunately I play for the other team.” Ronan winked. Barram become bright red and shrunk into his shoulders, flowers started popping out of his hair. Quinn just smiled slyly.

      “Pity to men everywhere.” Quinn sighed as he placed his hand gracefully on his forehead.

      “Speak for yourself!” Barram grunted with a warning glare to his Caomhnóir. Ronan blew a quick kiss to Quinn and walked out just as Barram cursed at the poppies sprouting out around his feet.