Paralogue 9
Omens of an Archdruid
Archdruid Cathbad gets ready to host vespers at Gleann Órga Temple in Alba. However, in their preparations, they learn there's a nefarious plot in the air...
Evening was settling upon Gleann Órga. A dusty, dry wind blew through the valley, carved out by time's processes and the mighty river that flowed through it. That river, the Istwyth, known for providing water to thousands of people in Alba's parched deserts, carved its path through this valley.
In the valley, a prominent temple stood atop a rocky hill, and a path had been carved up to the top of that hill from the river to allow pilgrims an easy passage to reach it. The temple was among the oldest structures in Alba, built some 450 years ago as a place to worship Lord Arceus the Creator, and still stood to this day.
Today, the temple was hosting a special guest to partake in that day's rites. They were none other than Archdruid Cathbad, the leading clergymon in Alba. An Absol newly elected to the position two months ago, they had travelled to various religious locales around Alba and partook in the rites there. After an invite from the high druid of Gleann Órga, they travelled to the temple, intent on doing the same.
The day had gone smoothly thus far, with the turnout much greater once word had gotten out that the archdruid was partaking in the rites. The awe could be felt at the midday mass, and all throughout the afternoon, Cathbad heard confessions of congregants and other visitors to the temple until evening began to set in, roughly an hour before vespers began.
As they were finishing and getting ready to prepare for the main rite, someone else came into the confession booth.
"Psst! Ca!" a voice whispered. "I've got some news you'll wanna hear!"
The voice caught the Absol's attention. It was light, feminine and playful, and belonged to someone they had come to know very well in the past few years. A certain Archeops that had risen through the Alban hierarchy, and now stood at the second-highest perch in the country, just below Rí Trahaern.
"Tánaiste Scáthach," Cathbad said. She had been invited along as a precaution on the Absol's part, and if she was coming to her like this, then… "Have you found something?"
"You bet I do." Scáthach's voice lowered to a whisper. "You know how you had an ominous gut feeling all this time? Well…there's a good reason for that."
She leaned closer and whispered words to Cathbad. Words that made the archdruid stiffen.
"...strange plants…"
"...wine…"
"...He insisted on handling the duties himself…"
The Absol's eyes narrowed at what they were being told. Their senses had been alert all day, and they had been waiting for what exactly it all meant.
Now, with context, everything made sense.
"Thank you so much for this information," Cathbad said gratefully. "Now all I must do is confirm the truth."
"All the clues seem to be pointing towards that," Scáthach said. "Do you want me to handle it, Ca?"
"Hmm…" The Absol considered their partner's offer. "No."
"No?" Scáthach was surprised to hear that. "But why?"
"I have a much better idea of how to catch this Ninjask in the bottle."
"Y-You do?"
"Yes. And I'm going to need your help for what I have planned." The archdruid leaned their head closer, and whispered the plan to her.
The hallways were bustling, with the temple's druids busying themselves with preparation for vespers that evening. Under normal circumstances, Cathbad would've joined them. But thanks to Scáthach's intel, their priorities had been diverted towards stemming this matter before it sprouted.
They stood outside the high druid's vestry. The door was closed, but a quick inquiry from a passing clergymon told them that the high druid was inside that room.
"Right, so." Scáthach, dressed in her garments that she wore as tánaiste, turned to Cathbad. "You hide, and I'll lure him out. That's the plan."
"That would be the best course of action," Cathbad said. A pillar was down the hall; they hid behind and tried to make themselves look as unnoticeable as possible. Scáthach gave them an encouraging smile, before she knocked on the door of the vestry. A brief silence passed, before a few seconds later, the door opened.
"Ah, Tánaiste Scáthach," an older voice spoke. He was an Armaldo, dressed in fancy green and gold robes reflecting his station as high druid of Gleann Órga Temple. Known as Torna Gormarmúr Mac Cecht, he was one of Alba's most prominent clergymon, and had established links with Rí Trahaern and many Alban chiefs. "What brings you here?"
"Hello, Father Torna!" Scáthach greeted cheerily. "Good to see you! How are you this evening?"
"I'm doing fine," Torna said. From their hiding place, Cathbad couldn't help but hear a mild note of impatience in his voice. "That being said, this will be a busy evening. With Their Grace taking part in vespers, I can't very well spend this time dawdling. Forgive my curtness, Lady Scáthach, but I cannot waste much time this evening."
"Oh, of course. Well, I didn't want to see you about anything in particular. But Father Cichol does!" the Archeops fibbed, referring to Torna's second-in-command at Gleann Órga.
"Father Cichol?" The Armaldo frowned at the mention of his fellow druid. "What on Ardalion does that Sigilyph want with me? We have vespers soon! He should be too busy to ask for my presence!"
"Don't look at me." Scáthach shrugged. "I'm just the messenger."
"The Tánaiste of Alba, being a messenger?" A note of disgust crept into Torna's voice.
"Hey, I volunteered to go. Don't blame him. Now come on." Scáthach started off down the hallway.
"
Dochreidte…" Torna shook his head, before stepping out of his office and following the Archeops.
Cathbad held their breath as the Armaldo headed out, praying that he wouldn't look their way. But it was clear he hadn't seen them.
The Absol breathed a sigh of relief once he was out of sight. But they couldn't rest; a fact-finding mission was in place, to determine what was truly to go down here.
They went inside and looked around the room, at the various storage closets. Some were for druids' robes, but it was also the place where various sacred objects were stored. Crosiers, ornaments, copies of the Scriptures…
…And sacramental wine. One such bottle stood on a dresser next to where the wine was stored, with the cork opened on it.
That detail stuck out immediately to Cathbad. Normally, wine bottles remained unopened, and were opened during the rite so as to preserve its richness for libations.
What was more, they got a sensation from that bottle. One all too familiar to Absol like them.
Danger.
They were tempted by their instincts to fling that bottle to the ground, to make sure it could do harm to no one. But Cathbad stopped themself.
For what is planned, we need it to remain untouched.
They breathed deeply, resisting that urge. Cathbad peered down at the drawer, and then noticed something odd. The top drawer was partially open, as if it was shut in a hurry. The Absol raised an eyebrow.
If he was putting something in a drawer, possibly related to this…could it be…?
They opened the drawer. And immediately, two things stuck out to them.
An empty vial, laid on its side, and a syringe.
Their senses went completely haywire at the sight.
Danger, danger, danger! They resisted the urge to cry in pain at the sensations, and it took a considerable amount of will to keep their mouth shut. Cathbad looked away from the table, and took several deep breaths to calm themself down.
So this was what I was forewarned about. And now there are no illusions about his intent in vespers this evening.
Cathbad's teeth gritted as their mind began devising a plan.
I will foil this plot where it stands. My life will not be taken until my duties have been completed on this soil.
The evening had set in a bit more by the time all of the arrangements were in place for vespers. The outside altar had been decked out with all the essentials necessary for the rite, and the temple's druids were hurrying about making last-minute preparations. The evening winds blew, heralding the chill of the desert night. Congregants were trickling in, awaiting the beginning of the rite.
Some time later, the congregation had grown to a sizable amount. Perhaps, once upon a time, Cathbad would've been daunted at seeing that many people, all eyes on them as the centrepiece of attention. That did seem to be the case; the Absol could see pairs of eyes fixated on them, and saw a fair few people speaking in hushed whispers.
Unsurprising. This is my first visit to them as archdruid. …A pity, then, that I won't be giving them the usual ceremony. Some may not like what will happen, but…it has to be done. I can't let this stand, what's to happen here.
They glanced back at the altar. Upon it stood the wine bottle that unnerved them; danger lurking on its marble surface. They took a breath, trying to withhold their tenseness.
Be brave. You cannot falter.
Their gaze fell to the front row, where the colourful plumage of an Archeops could be picked out. Scáthach caught the archdruid's gaze, and gave them a smile and a nod of confidence. It helped to abate the fluttering worries in Cathbad's chest, and they smiled back at the Archeops.
I need not worry. Even if this plan goes wrong…there will be hundreds to witness it all. And Scáthach's influence would never let the truth slip away.
The playing of an organ and the plucking of a harp snapped Cathbad out of their thoughts. Music typically heralded the beginning of a rite, and this one was no different.
The Absol looked down at the congregation where they stood on the altar, and down the central aisle, where at the very back, Father Torna was making his way up to the altar. Another priest accompanied him - a Sigilyph, who was the Father Cichol that Scáthach had mentioned before.
As the priests strolled with honour and grandeur, the choir by the players began to sing.
"
Ár dtír naomh, á chosaint ag a Chros-Roth órga
Leanfaidh muid a thoil, a thiomna,
Beidh cuid cuireadh chun báis,
Is i bhfís an Chruthaitheora,
Treoraigh ár mbreithiúnas,
Las an bóthar ceart…" ᵃ
The hymn's serenity was uplifted by the talented choir, and Cathbad was rather impressed by their choral abilities.
Nearly as exemplary as the choir of Breifne Cathedral. Such talent and devotion…those who preach here are well trained in their craft.
The two priests came to a stop on top of the altar's steps, and stood on either side of the archdruid. The congregation had their eyes closed and heads bowed in prayer, and the bipedal Pokémon clasped their hands together as well. Seeing the crowd in such holy reverence struck a chord within Cathbad's heart, and a thought came to them.
It appears we'll have quite the audience for what is about to happen.
Their eyes drifted to Torna. The Armaldo remained stoic, saying nothing. Yet he was a point of Cathbad's focus, with their senses tugging at them in warning.
Danger, danger, danger-
They averted her gaze, focusing on the congregation instead.
Focus, Cathbad. You must be vigilant for your sake.
Torna stepped up to the podium by the altar and spoke, his voice being carried across the congregation by an amplification crystal resting on the top of the podium.
"In the name of Lord Arceus the Creator, and all that he shaped with His Thousand Hands, may we commence this holy rite in His name."
"Amen," the crowd replied in unison.
"Today is a special occasion for Gleann Órga," the Armaldo went on. "We have been blessed by the presence of Their Grace Cathbad Bhán Ní Riagáin, our archdruid chosen by His Holiness the Pontifex Maximus and Rí Trahaern to lead the Alban Church. They shall partake with us in the rite of vespers this evening, and offer their blessings to our Creator at the conclusion of this ceremony.
"Also in attendance is our Tánaiste, Lady Scáthach, who has accompanied Their Grace to Gleann Órga. We thank her for taking the time out to witness our devotion, and we wish her the utmost of blessings in return." Torna gestured to the Archeops, which led to a few gasps and murmurs among the congregation in realisation that Alba's second strongest fighter was among them.
Torna stepped down from the podium, with Cathbad taking his place. They stared out at the sea of people before them. In the past, speaking before them would've been impossible. They'd had no will for speaking before others; their words had gone unheeded before, and they had been publicly ridiculed.
But now…thanks to the efforts of her
and Him,
I am not burdened by such doubts any more.
"Let us begin this rite of vespers with our opening prayer." They spoke the words with conviction. "O Blessed Creator, by your benevolence and guidance, we stand here today to give thanks to your everlasting love for us. Trials and tribulations await us in our lives ahead, and we pray to you to aid us on our path to a brighter future. We reciprocate your love through prayer, and seeing to the upkeep of the land you created and bestowed upon us. We shall give thanks forever, until the hour of our death. Amen."
"Amen," the congregation said.
From there, the routine went as it had done for Cathbad when leading the rites in their visits to religious sites around Alba. Scripture excerpts and prayers were read, and Cathbad took part in anointing Gleann Órga's priests with holy oil.
But the Absol eventually became restless, as the rite went on. Minutes began to feel like hours, as though Dialga Himself had slowed down time as a cruel prank. They waited with bated breath, and as that time grew nearer, they tried to keep their nerves at bay.
Remember what Scáthach told you: in, out, in, out. Stay calm; the people need you to remain calm and collected.
The breathing exercises helped, and Cathbad felt a sense of calm just as the moment of truth began to arrive.
The libation, the pouring of wine as an offering to the Creator, was about to begin.
It was a risky gambit, what they were about to do. Certainly, old them, old
her, would never have dreamt of doing something like this. They would've accepted the fate there and then of what was about to happen to them.
How thankful I realised how malleable Fate can be. Now then…Cathbad's eyes narrowed.
Let me seize this opportunity.
"O Creator," Torna began. "We bring you gifts to give thanks for Your creation of our world, the land blessed with the fruits of Your labour, and our very existence as people to live in the world You created. By that which You created, we have harvested and produced this wine to offer to you."
Three stone slabs lay at the base of the statue, with the one at the back noticeably bigger than the rest. Each one was engraved with an insignia, with the biggest one bearing the recognisable cross-wheel upon it. Torna and Cichol poured the wine onto each of the slabs at the statue's base, as was customary during the libations carried out by the Church. The Armaldo recited prayers for each pour onto the slabs.
"Dialga, Keeper of Time; may time remain steady by your will."
"Palkia, Guardian of Space; may space remain stable by your every breath."
"Lord Arceus, our blessed Creator; may you be remembered by our people for the world you have gifted us."
Then Torna took another bowl of wine from the altar, and bestowed it to Cathbad.
Danger, danger, danger, danger-!
"And an offering for Their Grace Archdruid Cathbad, our Creator's elect to serve in His name. May you take this and drink it, as your predecessors have done, Your Grace."
That was the moment Cathbad had been waiting for.
Fate has gifted me this opportunity. I will not waste it.
"This wine is an unworthy offering. I cannot accept it."
Silent shock took hold of the church at Cathbad's sudden brusqueness. Several stupefied congregants' hands went to their mouth, and muted whispering took place among some.
"...
Gabh mo leithscéal, Your Grace?" Torna's expression morphed in an instant. Gone was his serene expression, which disgust took the place of.
"Our wine is…unworthy?" Cichol was confused.
"Through no fault of your own, Father Cichol," Cathbad told him. "Father Torna, on the other hand…Why is such wine being offered up for libation?"
"Y-Your Grace, this is the finest wine produced by the viners of Laighean!" Torna was nothing short of appalled. Behind them, Cathbad could hear murmurings of discontent. "They have provided wine for libations at Gleann Órga for centuries now! No predecessor would dare to call this wine unworthy! You insult the hard work of our viners by refusing this!"
"Me? I insult Laighean's viners?" Cathbad shook their head. "In no sense of the word. Instead it is
you, Father Torna, who insults them by polluting the wine they produce."
"P-Polluting?!" The Armaldo druid only became more irate at the Absol's words. "Enough of these wild accusations! Do not come here and sully the name of Gleann Órga's druids!" He raised a claw in anger. Cathbad, however, could see that it was shaking in trepidation.
We're closing in on the truth. Time to lure my prey in.
"I assert that the wine used for the libation for vespers this evening…has poison in it." Cathbad heard shocked gasps from the congregation. "In getting me to drink it, Father Torna…you wish to take my life." They gave a cold stare at the aforementioned druid.
"F-Father Torna?" Cichol, silent until this point, stared in disbelief at his superior. "I-Is this true?"
"Of course it isn't!" blasted Torna. "Our archdruid is telling lies! And in the midst of a holy rite, no less!" He looked at Cathbad. "Your blasphemy revulses all druids, those who you preach to, and the gods you preach for!"
"...Very well then." Cathbad did their best to keep a calm countenance amidst her adversary's rantings. "Prove it. Prove there is no poison in this wine."
"...Wh-What?"
"It should be a simple task, no? All you need to do is drink this wine, as proof it has not been laced with poison. If you do so, you will be proven right and I wrong. I will even make a solemn declaration right here and now. If this wine is indeed unsullied by poison…then I will step down from my post as archdruid altogether.
"Drink the wine, Father Torna.
Ar aghaidh leat." Cathbad nudged the bowl in his direction. "If what you say is true, then you have nothing to lose."
Torna's expression had suddenly shifted. What was once a face of righteous anger had partially given away to a dash of fear. The shaking of trepidation had not ceased; rather, he was a quivering mess, struggling to keep the bowl he had picked up from Cathbad. Droplets of wine dripped onto the stone altar, staining the brickwork a dark red.
"Y-Your Grace…" he uttered with contempt. "Do not do this! The wine is meant for you to drink, not I!"
"And I decline because it is poisoned. Prove to me it isn't, Father Torna. After all, the wine is your responsibility. You insisted on it for today's vespers, as I was told by intel." She cast a sideways glance to Scáthach, who had her eyes glued to the display. "If there is no poison in this serving of wine, then you should know. Or…is your reluctance proof that I am correct?"
"I-I'll admit to no such thing!"
"Then eat your words. Or rather…
drink them." Cathbad's gaze became a piercing glare under which Torna began to quiver.
Torna continued to hesitate. He brought the wine closer to his mouth, though he never plucked up the courage to drink the substance. He continued to shake with fear all over, as a bewitched audience of druids and congregants watched him.
Then the emotional pendulum swung back to anger, and the Armaldo threw the bowl to the ground. It shattered, with the poisoned wine staining the bricks and seeping through the brickwork. Some congregants near the front gasped in shock.
"Who do you think you are?" Torna growled.
"Hm?" Cathbad cocked their head curiously. "Do explain, Father Torna."
"I've been loyal to Arceus the Creator since I was a youth," the high druid began. "He captivated me every single sermon I attended. I pledged myself to His ways, and became a druid in adolescence. I defeated every druid of Gleann Órga to become the high druid of this sacred temple. I have been high druid of Gleann Órga Temple for more than thirty years. Thirty years! I am among Lord Arceus's most loyal preachers! I know the Holy Scriptures front to back! You could not find a more devout servant of our Creator in our country! Or even on Ardalion's blessed earth!
"But what do I get in return? Three ríthe I've lived through as high druid. And not one of them has recognised me as a worthy candidate or archdruid. Not even so much as a consideration! Two months ago was the fourth time a new archdruid has been elected in my thirty years as high druid. And who do they consider? Not I, a preacher wholly committed to His word…but a mangy stripling with naught to their name but some 'foresight'! What do you have that I don't, Your Grace?! Why does His Holiness and Rí Trahaern consider me unworthy?!
Why?!"
Shocked silence filled those attending, as Torna's outburst took time to sink in. Across the pews, amidst the hundreds of Pokémon in attendance for this rite of vespers, gazes were fixated on the Absol and Armaldo on the altar. They had not expected it would come to this. A public confrontation between the archdruid and Gleann Órga's high druid? If one had told them that was to happen here and now, they would have been laughed out of Alba.
"...I see. So that is your motivation." Cathbad's murmur broke the silence. "You claim you know the Scriptures front to back. As it so happens, I do too, and allow me to recite some passages from those sacred pages.
"From the Book of Arian: 'No murder shall go unpunished, whether by the Deathbringer's wings or the murderer's mortal adversaries.'
"From the Book of Táiltiú: 'Brian said, 'But, O Creator, I hath carried out justice in thy name!' And the Creator said, 'Thou hast not committed justice. By sullying thy hands with blood, thou art no greater than those who murdered thy kin.'
"From the Book of Savern: 'Revenge is a deadly lure, for it promises satisfaction only to deal thyself with emptiness in its place.'
"From the Book of Rhadamanthos: 'Envy of his neighbours drove the innocent Masistes to murder and pillage, thereby consigning his fate to the depths of hell.'
"Murder is a vile action condemned by our Creator. You, Father Torna, are sixty-four years old and zealous in your teachings. You, more than anyone else, should know this. But you, as, and I quote, 'a preacher wholly committed to His word', went down the path to murder, because of jealousy.
"Since you haven't drank the wine and proven your words, I'll take that to mean I am correct. You did intend to murder me. Even in Alba, the land of warriors, that is an action worthy of the highest punishment." They looked over their shoulder, at Scáthach. "Is that not correct, Tánaiste?"
"You bet it is!" Scáthach leapt up from her seat. "Seize him, mercs!"
Suddenly, on cue, a crew of four Pokémon in the front pews, each wearing orange scarves with a triskelion - the telltale emblem of the Rí's Guild - rose, and marched up to the altar. Cichol let out a cry of fright, and Torna reacted angrily.
"No,
no! I won't let you seize me! I'll be judged by the Creator Himself! Not this sham of a blasphemer and their supporters!"
To the shock of observers, Torna ran to the edge of the altar. Everyone in the congregation watched with horror, realising what he was about to do.
"Hey! No!" Scáthach cried.
"Stop him!" Cathbad called.
"Father Torna,
don't!" Cichol yelled.
But it was too late. Torna ran to the edge of the altar, and as the mercs closed in on him…
…He jumped off.
It was too far to hear the crunch of his body as it hit the ground. But two of Scáthach's mercenaries saw him hit the ground at the cliff's base.
"H-He…" One of them, a Gurdurr, looked down in shock. "...I think he's dead."
"Ascertain that fact." Scáthach had flown over to them. The Archeops had gone into action mode. "Niamh, confirm whether Father Torna is alive or dead!"
"Roger!" The other merc, a Skarmory, flapped her wings, and flew down to where he had landed.
As they did this, Cathbad turned to the crowd.
"...This rite has ended. Go in peace." Their voice drew the attention of every congregant, some of whom were beginning to panic and flee at what they had just seen. "And when you return to your kin at home, tell them what you saw this evening with your own two eyes. Let them know what happened, and be in no doubt about the facts of the case; that Father Torna Gormarmúr Mac Cecht, high druid of Gleann Órga, resorted to attempted murder and killed himself to avoid justice. Thank you, and may the Creator guide your judgement."
Cathbad's calming words placated the crowd and stemmed any further panic from breaking out. Though after all that had happened, they weren't staying silent anymore. A clamour broke out over the crowd as they departed, as voices of disbelief rang out.
"F-Father Torna died?"
"Renegade's tendrils…I can't believe it…"
"You saw him yourself, didn't ya? He said all that."
"How's the town gonna react to this?"
A few tried to go up to the altar to see for themselves, but Cathbad and Scáthach's other mercs blocked their path.
"Do not bother," the Absol said to them. "Father Torna is dead. That is all you need to know. Return to your homes and let the word be known."
A collective discomfort could be felt as the congregation departed the temple, ushered out by other druids at the aisle's end. Cathbad watched them go, hoping that their pleas would be spread.
"Y-Your Grace." Cichol's shaky voice drew their attention. "...F-Father Torna…I-I apologise. If only I'd known what he was planning, I-"
"It is no fault of yours, Father Cichol," Cathbad said.
"B-But I…Even so…" The Sigilyph's gaze drifted to the spilt wine on the brickwork. "Was that truly laced with poison? Did Father Torna and I truly pour poison on the statue of our Creator?"
"Specialists will confirm that by tomorrow. But please, Father Cichol…" The Absol looked the Sigilyph in his eye. "I am certain our Creator would forgive such an offence. Especially when you did so without knowledge of Father Torna's true nature.
"In the meantime, please leave this scene to me. Tell the other druids of Father Torna's fate, and what you saw during this rite with your own eyes. I cannot have doubters and conspiracy theorists sowing seeds of distrust that obfuscate the truth. Is that clear?"
"Y-Yes, Your Grace. Th-Though I may need some time to process all of this…" The Sigilyph began to float away, although his slumped look betrayed the fact that he was shaken deeply by what had transpired. A twinge of sympathy sprang within Cathbad as they watched Cichol go.
Their gaze looked upwards towards the sky, where the last rays of the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon. The sunset was nothing short of beautiful, casting the land in an orange glow. Twilight was about to begin, and with it, the harsh cold of Alba's desert.
Cathbad closed their eyes and murmured a prayer to the heavens above.
O Creator, who art in the Heavens…I beseech that You deliver a worthy judgement to Father Torna. The crime of attempted murder by a high druid should not go unpunished.
"Welp, he's definitely dead, by the looks of it." Scáthach's voice drew Cathbad's attention right as they finished their prayer, with the Archeops fluttering right up to them.
"I see." The Absol continued to look out at the darkening sky. "Two ends, this sunset brings. The end of a day…and the end of a life."
"Yeah…" Scáthach looked out with them. "But y'know…with a new dawn comes a new beginning. And a new beginning will be happening here, with the nomination of a high druid."
"I cannot imagine it will be easy to get over the death of Torna, or what he tried to do," Cathbad said. "But I won't sweep this under the rug. The truth must be known."
"Yeah. Better than letting corruption fester," agreed Scáthach. "As Tánaiste, I can't let that stand. We'll create a brighter future for Alba together. You with me, Cathbad?"
The Absol smiled at the Archeops.
"Indeed, Scáthach. We will."
The sun had fully set by the time an investigation team was sent by the chief from Areadbhar, Laighean's administrative town. Cathbad and Scáthach stayed and gave their witness statements, with the latter advising that the testimony of congregants should be taken into account as well.
"Hundreds of people saw it!" the Archeops said. "It'll be an airtight case for sure!"
"Aye, Tánaiste," the head investigator, a Lunatone named Gealach, obliged. "We'll get those statements before the night's out!"
"Good on you!" Scáthach praised. "But y'know, get some rest and all that. Can't do your job effectively without proper sleep, after all."
"Ha!
Ná déan dearmad, Tánaiste, that the night's when I'm most alive," the Lunatone laughed. "Hence why your father sent me out here. Nighttime interrogations are my specialty! Leave the daytime interrogations to my Solrock partner!"
"Hee hee! I couldn't forget the unstoppable duo of Grian and Gealach," Scáthach tittered. "But maybe let's talk on the way. Those statements won't write themselves!"
"Aye, Tánaiste, they won't! Now I think we ought to start at the far end of town…"
Gealach's voice faded out, and Scáthach's wing flaps faded into the background as he and Scáthach left the temple grounds. Cathbad watched them go, their gaze not leaving them until they were out of sight.
…No ill intent from him. The truth was there for all to see; I shan't imagine he will have any difficulty coming to a conclusion.
The Absol then let out a sigh, which then became a yawn. It had been an eventful evening, and they were beginning to feel tired. It was about time to head to bed before travelling to Areadbhar next morning. The death of Father Torna had left a gaping absence in the leadership of Gleann Órga, and a replacement would need to be arranged with Darach Goirmeite Mac Cecht, chief of Laighean.
But Cathbad shook their head. There was one more matter to settle before they turned in for the night.
They walked through the temple's hallways, still in the night. The temple's druids were beginning to retire for the night, before the rite of matins began early next morning. Even in the face of death, worship to the Creator could not stand by, and the druids vowed to continue their worship in spite of the loss they had suffered. The show had to go on, and Cathbad offered their personal commendations to the druids for putting their faith first.
The Absol neared the dormitory, but paused when their ears picked up on something. They listened closely.
It sounds like…the recital of a prayer? Curious, they followed where it was coming from.
Next to the dormitory, a pathway led to an alcove cut into the mountainside on which Gleann Órga Temple stood. In that nook, there was a balcony overlooking a meander on the Istwyth. On that balcony's edge, a Sigilyph was perched, murmuring an anguished prayer.
"...
.To not have seen such evil before me…How? I have failed…
Beannaigh dom, a Chruthaitheoir, mar pheacaigh mé. I am unworthy. I am not fit to be a druid under Your name, O Creator."
His wings were drooped in resigned sorrow, and Cathbad's sharp hearing picked up on notes of anguish. By the sounds of it, the Sigilyph had been crying, and a whimper crept from him as he finished his prayer. A twinge of sorrow struck within Cathbad as they looked upon the scene before them.
How pitiful, they thought.
…He seeks guidance? Then he shall be given it.
The Absol stepped forward.
"Do not seek forgiveness for wrongs you have not committed, Father Cichol."
"
Ah!" The Sigilyph nearly fell off where he was perched on the balcony. Quickly, he righted himself. "O-Oh, Your Grace…F-Forgive me. I did not see you there."
"The fault is mine. I am too quiet in my approaches," Cathbad apologised. "I will redouble my efforts in future. But no matter. …I see you are not well."
"No, Your Grace," Cichol said. "I cannot sleep. Not after…all that happened today."
He lowered his head in sorrow, Cathbad observing his every move.
How pitiful a soul is, when their master and tutor has done wrong, the Absol thought
. They gave a flick of their mane before speaking again.
"I take it Father Torna's death has not yet sunk in?"
Silence from the priest at first, before he spoke.
"...It has not, Your Grace."
"I see." Cathbad closed their eyes. "I apologise. My very presence led to his demise, thus creating the current dilemma for you."
"Oh no, no, Your Grace, don't blame yourself, please!" Cichol begged, his eye wide. "I-I am partly at fault myself!"
"Are you now?" The Absol tilted their head, curious. "Do elaborate."
"I told Investigator Gealach this earlier," the Sigilyph began. "I suspected something was afoot with Father Torna when you were to visit, Your Grace. I was aware he was not the most receptive of you. But I…said nothing. I figured his feelings would pass once you gave your sermon. Actions speak louder than words - our warriors preach this saying regularly. And I thought Father Torna would suppress those feelings once he saw your faith in person.
"But never…" A note of anguish came into Cichol's voice. "Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine he would stoop to murder!"
If the Sigilyph had a lip, it would be trembling. His wide eyes told all; betrayal, surprise and fear embodied them, and they pleaded with the Absol opposite him to recognise the truth of his words. His lone eye was beginning to fill with tears again.
Cathbad said nothing. Instead, they got closer and suddenly wrapped their forepaw around the grieving Sigilyph, bringing him into a hug.
"Y-Your Grace!" Cichol was taken aback. "Wh-What is-"
"Let out your anguish," the Absol told him. "Let it cleanse you in the wake of this betrayal."
"Y-Your Grace…!" The Sigilyph sounded like he would say more, but grief overtook him and in that moment, he accepted Cathbad's embrace and cried into their shoulder. His one eye leaked tears which fell onto the Absol's fur, dampening it. The archdruid kept her forepaw steady, keeping their fellow druid in place until the waterworks died down.
Eventually, the tears came to pass, and just as soon as they did, Cichol tried to break from the embrace. Cathbad put their paw down.
"I-I shouldn't…" His voice was strained. "Surely it's improper for the
Ard-draoi to embrace me like this?"
"I care not how improper it is," Cathbad said. "The wellbeing of my druids comes first over any supposed etiquette."
"How selfless of you, Your Grace," Cichol murmured sadly. "...I'm sorry, I…I'm still in shock over it all…I only wish I could take it better."
"Take your time." Cathbad gave him a look of sympathy. "Death is not easily overcome. Not least the death of a mentor."
"But he tried to kill you, Your Grace! How could you-"
"I am not forgiving him." Cathbad shook their head. "I am merely acknowledging the truth that he was essential to your life."
"That is true…and it's why this is all so hard to process." Cichol's wings drooped again. "I always saw myself as a follower, not a leader. I followed and respected Father Torna…and I could never see myself stepping into his position. So…if that's what you came to tell me tonight, I'm afraid I must decline."
Cathbad blinked.
It's like he read my mind, they thought.
But psychics shouldn't be able to do that to me. Not unless…he suspected it all along?
"We have not yet made that decision," the Absol informed, trying to hide their surprise and slight reluctance at Cichol's request. "I will travel to Areadbhar tomorrow and discuss Father Torna's replacement with Chief Darach."
"I see." Cichol's posture relaxed, his wings drooping less.
"There are other clergymon in this monastery," Cathbad went on. "It's nothing a reshuffle cannot accomplish in finding a replacement."
"You are…surprisingly accommodating, Your Grace."
"In my position, one must be pragmatic and make decisions according to new developments." The Absol flicked their mane in a dignified manner. "You do not want to replace Father Torna? Very well, then. You shall not be considered.
"That said…you strike me as capable, Father Cichol. As such, I would like to extend an offer to you."
"To me?" Cichol's attention was piqued. "Whatever for, Your Grace?"
"Today has taught me that travelling alone may not be the wisest strategy," Cathbad elaborated, a serious look coming into their eyes. "There may well be others like Father Torna who seek to take my life. Thus, having someone by my side would be to my benefit. They need not be outright security, but one to watch my back should the need arise. Not just as a fellow druid…but as a companion.
"Father Cichol…would you be interested?"
Cichol's wings fluttered in shock, and he let out a close approximation to a squawk.
"M-Me!?" he cried in disbelief.
"Indeed." Cathbad nodded.
"...But why me, Your Grace?" Cichol's wings drooped once more. "Surely, there are more capable druids than I…"
"I have considered your words," Cathbad began. "You claim you are a follower, not a leader. The absence of someone like Father Torna in your life would leave a gaping hole. But what if that were filled by another authority figure to look up to, beyond merely our Creator?"
"I…you have a point…"
"I should also think I would resonate more closely with a fellow clergymon than Guild warriors seeking coin," the Absol continued. "Not to denigrate them, but I imagine most of them would have no interest in what I have to say. Someone like you, however, would."
"You think so?"
"And I need someone who will
listen." A mixed expression of seriousness and pleading came over Cathbad's face."Ardalion will face tribulations in the near future, and Alba will perhaps endure the toughest trials of all. Serious enough that many lives will be lost. And of those lives…I would rather yours not be one of them."
"T-Trials? Your Grace, what are you talking about?" Cichol's eye widened with fear, and his wings began to lightly shake.
"...I know not yet what. Just know that of all I have seen in my lifetime, this may well prove to be the most tumultuous period in Ardalion's history since the felling of the Tyrant King. And I do
not exaggerate when I say those words." Cathbad's serious look hardened further.
"...Y-Your Grace…" Cichol seemed to be at a loss for words, before he spoke again. "...I don't fully know what you speak of. But…when those times come, will you try and alleviate the suffering of the afflicted?"
"Yes. In every sense of the word. I will not slack as others have."
Cathbad held back a huff, the pontifex's tales of oathbreaking archbishops of the East still fresh in their mind. They kept their composure as they awaited the Sigilyph's response.
"Then…I would like to help you." A new look of resolve came into Cichol's eye. "While there is service in giving rites to our Creator, I should think He would want us to help others through such times. While ritegiving is essential, words do not feed the mouths of the hungry. We have enough of a problem in Alba with this, and you say it will only get worse, Your Grace?"
"Indeed, it will."
"Then allow me to aid you." Cichol's plea almost sounded begging. "If I can save the life of even one person through my actions, then I will be content."
The hope in the Sigilyph's eye was tangible enough to be felt in the air, and it demonstrated a conviction that took aback even Cathbad and as they considered the Sigilyph's words, that look proved to be more than convincing in making their decision.
I certainly cannot turn away such enthusiasm.
"Then I shall make the arrangements," they decided. "Your aid will be most welcome."
"Y-You mean it, Your Grace?"
"Of course." A small smile crossed Cathbad's muzzle. "Welcome to my side, Father Cichol."
"Thank you, Your Grace…" Cichol sighed in relief.
"That said, I leave here tomorrow morning," Cathbad said. "If you wish to join me, be there with me before I go."
"I understand, Your Grace. I'll be there then." The Sigilyph then let out a yawn, and their wings then began to droop in what looked like exhaustion. "Goodness, I feel tired…"
"It's been a long, eventful day. Get some rest," Cathbad insisted. "You cannot commit to your future position without any sleep."
"Very well, Your Grace. I'll see you tomorrow." Cichol then lifted himself from his perch and began to flap his wings back to his dormitory.
"See you then, Father Cichol." Cathbad watched him go until he disappeared from their view. Once he was gone, they allowed themselves to brood on their own thoughts.
I think he will make a fine addition, they thought.
The times ahead will be tough, and I will need an able soul by my side. He should be able to perform well, and listen to me without question. I need someone to believe
me…because too many have doubted me until now.
They let out a sad sigh.
Such is the way of the Absol. And yet…were it not for my instincts, I would no longer be alive. I can rely on Scáthach, but she has her own duties as tánaiste. Cichol would be able to fill that role effectively, as an ally and shoulder to lean on.
Their gaze flicked upwards to the moon, its full splendour on display in the cloudless Alban sky.
I only hope that more will hear my words when these dark times arrive. In time, a saviour will arrive, but until then, this incoming storm must be weathered by us. Though these words may be fickle, may some god out there hear them.
Cathbad then leaned their head down solemnly, and began reciting a prayer.
"
Ár gCruthaitheoir, sa Halla Bunúis,
Go n-aofar d'ainm,
Go dtaga do ríocht,
Go ndéantar do thoil ar an talamh,
Mar a dhéantar ar neamh…." ᵇ
Notes
This was once my entry for the 2023 PMD Writers' Union Oneshot Compilation. I had been meaning to expand it to a longer piece without a word limit in place and alter a few things, and now that Cathbad has appeared in the main fic (took me long enough, I know), I felt it appropriate to do just that.
If you are curious about the original piece, it can be found here. It's mostly the same, but there's no touch ups and there's no ending scene with Cathbad and Cichol. (Though while you're in there, do check out the other oneshots in that collection - they're great pieces written by some of the best authors around.)
This oneshot takes place about a year before the events of
Dual Wills begin. The rite depicted here was modelled on a Catholic mass. Regarding placenames, Gleann Órga translates to 'golden valley' in Irish, and Laighean is derived from the Irish name for the Irish province of Leinster.
The hymn depicted as Torna and Cichol walk up the aisle is partially based on 'We Are The Chosen Ones' from Xenoblade 2, a song sung by choral group Anúna, although I translated it to Irish and changed the words entirely so it would flow closer to the original melody. The prayer Cathbad recites at the end is based on the Irish translation of the Our Father prayer from Catholicism.
Glossary
Dochreidte - "unbelievable" in Irish.
Gabh mo leithscéal - "Excuse me," in Irish.
Ar aghaidh leat - "Go ahead," in Irish.
Ná déan dearmad - "Do not forget," in Irish.
Beannaigh dom, a Chruthaitheoir, mar pheacaigh mé - "Bless me, Creator, for I have sinned," in Irish.
Ard-draoi - "archdruid" in Irish.
Hymns and Prayers
"
Ár dtír naomh, á chosaint ag a Chros-Roth órga
Leanfaidh muid a thoil, a thiomna,
Beidh cuid cuireadh chun báis,
Is i bhfís an Chruthaitheora,
Treoraigh ár mbreithiúnas,
Las an bóthar ceart…"
"Our blessed land, defended by his golden Cross-Wheel,
We will follow His will, His testament,
Some will face death,
It's in the Creator's vision,
Guide our judgement,
Light the just road..."
—
"
Ár gCruthaitheoir, sa Halla Bunúis,
Go n-aofar d'ainm,
Go dtaga do ríocht,
Go ndéantar do thoil ar an talamh,
Mar a dhéantar ar neamh…."
"Our Creator, in the Hall of Origin,
Hallowed be Thy name
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done,
On land as it is in the heavens…"
