Sacrifice (20 page)

“She's still alive, Deirdre.”

Riona was standing alone by the gate of the temple.

“Riona, quick, untie me so we can get Dari out of here before he comes back! The monastery is preparing for war. No one is coming to help us.”

She walked over to me slowly and bent down. She took off her veil and began wiping the blood off my face.

“Never mind that now, Riona. Untie me! Hurry!”

She stood facing me with a look of great sadness.

“I'm sorry, Deirdre, I can't untie you.”

“What? Why? He'll be back any minute.”

“There's no one else here. There never was.”

“What are you talking about? He hit me on the head and tied me up.”

“I'm afraid
I
did that.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I didn't want to. I never planned to hurt you. I thought I would be done before anyone got here.”

“Done with what?”

She tied the bloody veil back onto her neck.

“The sacrifice.”

She stood facing me, waiting for the words to sink in.

“Riona . . . no. That's not possible.”

She looked exhausted, but calm and determined.

“Deirdre, I never meant for you to know. I never meant for anyone to know.”

“But
why?
And how could it be you? You're not even a druid.”

“I have a little while before Dari's mistletoe wears off, so I guess I can tell you. It would feel good to explain it all to someone.”

She sat down on the dirt in front of me.

“I did it for the monastery. For the church. For all the Christians of Ireland.”

I tried working on the ropes behind me. They were so tight that they were cutting off my blood supply. But I had to keep her talking. I had to keep Dari alive.

“Christianity is failing on this island, Deirdre. It's been almost a century since Patrick arrived. In all that time, how
much impact has the Gospel made? A few dozen churches, a handful of monasteries. The people here still live in darkness, worshiping false gods. The druids still fill their hearts with lies. Oh, I know most of them mean well, people like Aunt Aoife, but the seeds of truth can't take root here while there are so many weeds choking them. The only way for the church to prosper here is for the druids to perish.”

I kept working at the ropes. I couldn't move them at all.

“But Riona, why would you kill nuns? Why would you work with Finian?”

She looked puzzled.

“Finian? I never worked with him. Why would you think that?”

“Because he killed the first four sisters.”

“Finian didn't kill anyone, Deirdre. It was always me.”

This was unreal. I kept expecting to wake up. But I knew this was no dream.

“But Finian died at the stake without saying a word.”

“I guess he wanted a martyr's death. Or maybe he knew it would do no good to protest after I gave my testimony to the king.”

“Then why, Riona? Why would you kill those women?”

“Like I said, the church is in trouble. The light of Christ is going to die on this island unless something happens to rid us of the druids.”

“By killing nuns? Are you insane?”

“No, Deirdre, not insane, just very, very tired. You can't imagine how hard this has been on me. Do you know what it's like to take somebody's life? I wished a thousand times I could have accomplished all this by simply dying myself. I would have gladly sacrificed my own life instead of theirs.”

She closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

“But I knew that wouldn't be good enough. I had to do something so shocking, it would turn the people against the
Order. I had to make them think druids were killing the gentle sisters of Kildare. I knew that the Christian clans in the east and their allies would rise against the Order if I could provoke them enough. And now the war is about to begin. It will burn away the druids of Ireland. It won't be easy and it won't happen all at once, but the fire of the Gospel will spread throughout this land.”

I felt one of the ropes on my wrist loosening just a bit.

“Riona, how could you know how to do these sacrifices? You're not a druid. No druid in his right mind would ever have told you.”

“Ah, that's true, Deirdre. But a druid
not
in his right mind did.”

“What do you mean?”

“About two months ago, I was at my farm looking after the sheep one evening when an old druid came wandering up my path. He was mumbling to himself about coming home, coming home. I asked him who he was, but he didn't answer me. I took him inside the house and gave him a cup of water and something to eat. He looked around, asking why everything had been moved. I realized then that he was my grandfather, the man who had cursed my parents so long ago.”

“Your grandfather? The druid sacrificer?”

“Yes. I confess I thought about killing him then and there. I could have slit his throat like a sheep and buried him in the woods. No one would have ever known. But I put him in my bed and he fell asleep, still mumbling. He's dead now.”

“You killed him? But you said you thought you saw your grandfather in the woods outside the monastery yesterday. The board on the gate was loose.”

“The board was easy to loosen from the inside to make it look like someone had entered from the outside. And I said a lot of things to mislead people, Deirdre. I had to. But no, I
didn't kill my grandfather. He died about a week later in his sleep. But not before I got what I wanted from him.”

“What was that?”

The outer rope on my hands was almost off. If I could just twist my hands enough to loosen the inner one.

“The secrets of druid sacrifices. I came up with the idea that first night. It was as if God had sent the man to me to reveal with his final breath the means to destroy the Order. He was completely demented. I don't know how he had wandered back to the farm after all those years, but I suppose memories of youth are strong. He didn't know who I was or what he was doing, but he knew the details of the seven sacrifices like the back of his hand. All it took was patience as I questioned him. After two days, he had revealed everything to me, even the recipe for the mistletoe drink. When he died, I gave him a decent burial. I am a Christian, after all.”

“So Finian never attacked you at your farm?”

“No, of course not. I knew you would be coming by to visit that morning. I staged the whole thing to make Finian look guilty and rouse anger against the druids.”

“You almost strangled yourself and killed your own dogs?”

She hesitated for a moment.

“Yes. The choking was easy enough, though it did hurt quite a bit. But my dogs, my beautiful dogs. . . .”

The inner rope was slowly coming loose now.

“But how did you get the nuns to drink the mistletoe?”

“Oh, that was easy. I stopped at each of their hermitages for a visit and offered them some mead from a bottle in my satchel. The mistletoe was mixed into it in the precise amount. I couldn't let them suffer, except for Fedelm, unfortunately, who had to suffer as part of the ritual.”

“But how could you kill them? They were fellow sisters of holy Brigid. How could you hate them so much?”

She looked astonished.

“Hate them? Deirdre, I loved them all. I pray for them every day.”

She stood up.

“I need to finish before Dari wakes up.”

She walked over to the small fire by the altar and got a blazing stick. The woodpile beneath Dari's cage was as dry as a bone. It would be a raging inferno in moments.

“For God's sake, Riona, no! Even if you believe you killed the others for some noble reason, you don't need to hurt Dari. Your war is about to start. You've won. You've accomplished what you set out to do. Please, don't kill her, I beg you.”

She knelt down beside me again.

“I have to, Deirdre. Don't you understand? I have to complete the seven sacrifices. It will make the anger against the druids even greater when they find her body. The cycle will be complete. Seven sacrifices, seven victims. Or I suppose I should say eight.”

She took a bottle from her satchel and pulled out the stopper.

“Please drink this, Deirdre. I don't want you to suffer either.”

“Are you crazy? You think I'm going to drink that so you can kill me?”

“I'm going to kill you anyway, Deirdre. I can't let you live to tell people who the real killer is. That would ruin everything.”

She grabbed my head and tried to force the drink into my mouth, but I turned away and fought her off.

“Deirdre, I am trying to help you. I don't want you to feel pain. I don't want you to have to watch Dari die. Please drink it.”

I pursed my lips together tightly. Riona sighed and gave up.

“It's your choice. I'm so sorry, Deirdre.”

She began walking toward Dari's pyre with the burning stick.

“Wait, Riona! Take me instead. I'll drink the mistletoe, then put me in the cage instead of her. She doesn't have to die.”

“I'm sorry, Deirdre. I wish that would work, but it's too late. I told Dari you had sent a message saying that it was a matter of life or death for the two of us to meet you here and that we were to tell no one. I knew none of the other nuns would dare leave the monastery, but Dari would if she thought you were in danger. If I let her go, she would know I lied and tell everyone. I can't let her live.”

She tossed the burning brand onto the dry kindling beneath Dari.

“NO!”

“I'm sorry, Deirdre. I'm so sorry.”

The fire was raging in a matter of seconds. It was almost to the bottom of the cage.

It was then that I broke through the last rope.

I jumped up and hurled myself at Riona in one desperate motion. I knocked her down hard so that she fell forward into the fire. I then ran to the cage and tore open the door, pulling Dari out just as her robes were starting to burn. I quickly put them out and dragged her to the wall at the edge of the temple. I turned to save Riona, but it was too late. She was trapped deep in the fire, writhing and screaming as she was devoured by the flames.

Chapter Twenty-Five

D
ari was groggy as we left the druid temple, but there was no time to waste. I wrapped her arm around my shoulder and half-dragged her down the path and back through the woods on the trail to Kildare.

It would be dawn soon, and I knew the armies of the eastern and western clans would be gathering near the monastery. My only hope to prevent a slaughter was to somehow convince them of the truth, which I scarcely believed myself. I hoped it would work, but I had serious doubts. Blood had already been spilled on both sides, and Irish warriors were not known for listening to reason.

By the time we got to the edge of the woods near the monastery, it was daylight and Dari was walking mostly on her own.
I explained to her what had happened as quickly as I could. I could see the monks and nuns on the walls in the distance. I could also hear the sounds of shouting and the movement of men in the plain on the far side of Kildare.

I led Dari to the gate of the monastery, where Father Ailbe and Sister Anna met us.

“Deirdre, what happened? Where is Riona?” demanded the abbess.

“She's dead. I'm sorry, but I don't have time to explain now. I've got to try to stop this battle.”

Father Ailbe took Dari from me and helped steady her.

“Abba, is my grandmother still alive?”

“Yes, though I'm afraid I'm still not sure if she will live.”

He handed me my harp.

“I think you might need this,” he said.

“Thank you, Abba.”

“Is there anything you need from me?” Sister Anna asked.

“Your prayers, please. I don't see how this is going to work.”

I ran along the walls to the far side of the monastery and looked down the hill to the wide plain below.

There were two armies before me. The eastern clans with King Dúnlaing at their head numbered perhaps five hundred men. The lines of the western clans led by Brion were only slightly smaller. The warriors of both sides were magnificent to see. Most were dressed in woolen pants and bright red tunics that would hide the blood from any wounds. Over the tunics were finely worked shirts of black chain mail. Each man had a razor-sharp sword on a belt around his waist and a long-headed spear in his right hand. Their tall shields were made of wood and painted with intricate and colorful designs unique to each clan. Each warrior wore a helmet of polished bronze on his head with loose earpieces that hung down, protecting the sides of his head, and were tied with a leather thong under the chin.

As I drew closer, I could see that the king and the clan leaders were standing in wooden chariots with their drivers kneeling in front of them. Like most Irish horses, the two animals pulling each chariot were small but thick in the chest for endurance. Chariots were mostly for show and would not be used to charge the lines. The leaders would dismount from them to fight while their drivers waited nearby. There were a few cavalrymen on horses moving around the edges of the lines, but Leinstermen traditionally favored fighting on foot. I saw that a few of the more zealous warriors in the front of both lines had stripped off all their armor and clothing in the old manner to show their contempt for death and were shouting insults across the field to the other side.