Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [166]
"Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, sons and daughters, feast and be welcome among us this night!”
There, we left our offerings of food, a steady pile growing around the burning torch. And then the ollamh led us onward, the path twisting and winding as it led out of the grove and deeper into the woods.
How long we walked, I could not say. I never grew tired and the time passed as if in a dream; it could have been hours or merely minutes. At last the woods opened onto a clearing and the ring of standing stones was before us.
I'd heard tell there were larger ones elsewhere in Alba, and I daresay it was true; but this was large enough. There were nine stones, all standing on end, all solid granite, and none less than half again as tall as I was. I touched one as we entered, following Firdha. It was rough and cool to the touch.
"Here." Firdha pointed to a half-buried boulder that marked the center. Her other escort knelt and planted his torch beside it. Drustan mab Necthana beckoned into the torch-streaked darkness behind us, and two of his men came forward, carrying a cask of uisghe between them. They placed it atop the boulder, and Drustan pulled out the cork bung.
Uisghe flowed, pouring over stone and seeping into the earth. I could smell the tang of it.
There was another odor, too; darker and deeper. It was mixed in with the scent of loam and night and fermented grain. Blood. Old blood.
Firdha raised her face to the dark sky and opened her arms. "Crom, Cailleach, Macha, Balor! We bring tribute and thanks! May Alba's dead rest gentle in your keeping, and receive the honor of the living this night!”
I shuddered.
Nothing happened, though. Firdha lowered her arms and led the procession around the interior of the circle of stones. Well and so, I thought as we completed the circle and the procession began to double back on itself; that is that. What did you expect, Imriel? This is Alba, where you've no dead of your own.
The horse beside me tossed its head and snorted in agreement.
Name of Elua! I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"What is it?" Dorelei asked quietly.
I pointed at the horse and rider pacing alongside us on the path, pale and spectral, as though they were wrought out of mist. I could see torch-bearing figures walking on the other side of the path clear through them, still proceeding toward the standing stones. "There. Him. Them. Do you see?”
"No." She shook her head. "Who is it?”
I lifted my gaze to meet the rider's eyes. I knew him; I knew his face. He was D'Angeline. An old man, grave and sorrowful. His face was wrinkled, but I knew it. I knew the strong, firm line of his brows, the angle of his jaw visible beneath the sagging skin. I'd seen it in the Hall of Portraits in the Palace in the City of Elua. I'd seen it in the mirror.
"Father? " I whispered.
The rider lifted one hand; whether in acknowledgment, benediction, or apology, I could not say. Mayhap it was all three. I'd thought Berlik of the Maghuin Dhonn had the saddest face I'd ever seen on a man. I was wrong. My father's face was sadder. I reached out to him unthinking, and he vanished. There was only the path and the woods and the long, winding line of processionists passing us in the opposite direction.
"Oh!" I blinked. "Dorelei, he's gone.”
"It's all right." She took my arm and pressed it against her warm, living flesh. "They can't stay long, Imriel. They never do." She smiled up at me. "Mayhap he wanted to behold his grandchild in the womb.”
You will wonder about your father…
My father had spent his life in exile for the sake of political gain, and hated it. Bitterness had poisoned him. He had come to despise his own half-Caerdicci children. My mother had known it. She had exploited it. And I had followed in his footsteps in a way, though I'd never thought on it. But it wasn't the same, not at all. Although I missed Terre d'Ange, I'd learned to love Alba. I'd learned to love my wife, who had taught me to be a better person. Would my father love