Chương 23: Cormac and Róise

Culture in the Tír is a matter of geography, just like everywhere else. The only difference is two nations can live back to back and share no common traditions. Stepping across the border of the second Ring and the Third, if you were powerful enough to do so, was like stepping through a portal to another world. This was not to say that each ring was monocultural in itself either - two countries could both be in the same ring and be literally across the world from each other.

This was especially true in the Outer Rings, which were by definition the biggest. You could think of each third or quarter of a ring to be like a continent, isolated and wary of its neighbors - both the accessible ones to the left, right, and behind, and the inaccessible ones ahead. War was a terrifying prospect, depending on your position. Essentially, you were always fenced in on one side, even if there was an open field in front of you.

Pincer moves were standard fare in battle tactics as a nation's neighbor might often collaborate to conquer it and split the territory. Most nations compensated by conquering the nation in the ring directly behind them to give their troops more maneuverability. What that meant was that it was common to see people from higher rings in the lower - but very rarely was the opposite true. And, there was a very deliberate caste system in a ring-hopping nation between the lower rings and the higher.

Cormac's mother was a refugee of one of these wars, in the Nation of Innusshi. Their neighbor, Shorinu, was usually a friend but, for some reason she couldn't grasp, had decided to side against Innusshi. Her hometown had been right on the border and one of the first hit by the Shorinu invasion. She had been seventy-two and engaged to be married - an arranged marriage between two friendly families, but his evacuated early and left hers behind, so maybe not so friendly as all that.

Her parents had been modestly well-off merchants, but in the blink of an eye she was an orphan and their bakery rubble. Reinforcements from the Third Ring were slow in coming. She spent six months skittering around enemy soldiers in the remains of her home until Innusshi troops pushed the Shorinu back. She remembered such a stark feeling of relief when a soldier clad in familiar colors had lured her out of hiding with a warm meal.

That soldier had been named Bran Fiadh, and as his company fought the enemy to a standstill he took it upon himself to care for the wild-looking girl who had survived in the ruins of the town for so long. She would cook him meals when he returned from the fighting. She bandaged his wounds before he went to sleep. And he always had a kind word for her, and resolute promises that she would live to see her town rebuilt. That she fell in love with him seemed a foregone conclusion.

She didn't know if it was the emotion of a victim scrambling for any lifeline in a chaotic world or true affection for a kind man who had gone out of his way to care for her. It didn't really matter to her. He promised her that when the war was done he would take her home with him. Meet his parents, his brothers. They could be married in the Bodac shrine near their family home. These were lies - she knew that. She wasn't sure that Bran knew they were though.

He was from the Third Ring and had breezed into the second with no more trouble than an added pep to his step. He never even considered the fact that she could never join him in the Third, and she held no illusions that he would ever permanently leave it. None of that mattered when the remaining members of his company dragged what was left of Bran Fiadh back to camp on his shield. The defense was broken and the Shorinu were coming. There would be no hiding for her this time.

She ran north as far as she could go, towards the internal lands of Inusshi. For a month or two she eked out a living as a scullery maid in a small town just outside the Second Ring capital, but when it became obvious she was pregnant, the minor nobles she'd worked for kicked her out. No one wanted to be responsible for some peasant brat. Cormac didn't know what drove her to the northern border.

All he knew is that four months into her pregnancy his mother staggered and fell to her knees in the transition zone between the Second and Third Rings. She could go no farther. But… she stayed. The borders housed small villages, often Third Ring outcasts and criminals, and she stayed within a stone's throw of that deadly edge. Other women would grab her arm in the street, outraged that she would put her unborn child through such risk. No risk, she would say, dead-eyed and sweating from the fórsa pressure.

My child is strong. Cormac was born in the transition zone, and it nearly killed his mother. Had she spent a bit more time on her fórsa advancement, maybe she could have weathered it better, but she had barely improved beyond the place she was at birth. They lived a bit further away after that, but the damage was done. His mother was old before her time, hair white, skin bunched and wrinkled.

She needed a cane to hobble to her work, a seamstress's assistant one town over whose employer really didn't need the help but was kindhearted enough to spare a few copper a month for what was very clearly a dying woman. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. When Cormac was fifty years old, just getting his first chin hairs, she bade him pack up all his things - everything important to him.

It wasn't much, and his pack was little more than a stuffed kerchief with extra socks and some food. She walked with him to the transition zone where he had been born. You keep going, you understand. No matter what I do, you keep going. I have to know before I die. She stepped once more into the transition zone. Cormac followed behind, wincing as he braced for the unbearable pressure. Instantly his mother collapsed to the ground, clawing forward with her cane foot after foot. Mother, what are you doing?

We have to go back! She stopped her crawling and struggled to look up at him. He stood there unaffected, concern etched onto his face. She smiled, the triumphant smile of a woman who was seeing the end result of years of suffering. I knew it! I knew you would be ok. Mother, I… Leave me. When I fall, leave me here, and keep going. This is what I want, son. This is what my whole life has been about. Find the family of Bran Fiadh. They'll take you in. You'll be safe!

Cormac initially refused to leave, but she started to just ignore him and crawl on anyway. Finally, mere feet away from the line, a subtle demarcation marked only by a slightly more intense green in the grass, her heart stopped. Numb, Cormac stepped easily across the line. He was a Third. It normally didn't work out that way - having a Third for a father gave you a leg up, for sure, but not enough to cross the line.

He stared at the body of his mother, realizing what she sacrificed, and what she had bought for him with her life. He was… truly lucky. Her name was Caolán. He respected her wishes and left her there for the crows. ✧✧✧ Around the same time, Róise Séarlait was throwing a tantrum. Still a child at forty years old and already certain of her place in the world - at the top - she didn't understand why her mother was in such a mood. I don't want to go anywhere! I want to take a bath!

This had been going on for nearly thirty minutes. At first her mother had tried to placate her, to calm her down, but she had quickly given up and was stuffing clothes into a large bag. Now her mother could see the scene ahead of her - dragging a large pixie child with one hand and the huge bag with the other. Something in the refined court lady broke. Listen to me you little shit. Your father is dead. Assassinated on the steps of the House of Lords. Your aunt is dead - killed in an alley trying to get out of town.

We are running for our gods-damned lives and I don't have time to listen to your bullshit! Little Róise was stunned into silence. Her mother had never raised her voice at her before, not once. For anyone but a pixie family, her mother - who at her age was smaller than her - yelling curses while hovering on glowing wings would have been comical. For Róise it finally sunk in. Something was wrong. Her mother led her down the grand staircase, hoisting the bag behind her.

She froze for an instant at a loud commotion from the front door, but then moved even faster. Soon after, Róise heard screams. Hurry, Róise, hurry! They snuck to the servant's entrance to the stables. As they moved silently past open doors - the library, Father's office - she could hear men inside breaking things and throwing papers around. Róise had never been so quiet in her life. Róise's mother looked at the stabled horses - all show winners, all immaculately bred specimens.

Each fast enough to take them out of town in minutes. She would never be able to saddle them herself, not even with Róise trying to help, and she was older and small enough now that her legs were very awkward bareback. She might not be able to control them. Her mother closed her eyes and Róise saw her do something she had never seen before. From nowhere she summoned a stunning silver rapier, only one and a half feet long, absolutely covered in curls and decorative twists.

Róise remembered her lessons - mother was a Silver Nature, Filigree Adept. Not usually a nature chosen by someone who ever thought they would have to go into combat. We have to move. If I get stopped, you keep going. I will find you. Róise was terrified - how would she find her mother again? Outside of the stables was the main driveway which led to ornate silver gates- now thrown wide open and twisted. Beyond those gates was Shirren, the capital city of Inusshi.

Róise had never even set foot on the streets outside their manor house. Keep close. They ran as fast as they could, Róise's little legs already close to giving out. A shout from behind them made her stumble, but her mother's hand - deceptively strong - pulled her back to her feet. Heavy boots were clomping behind them, and Róise could tell they would catch up. She looked at her mother in panic. Róise knew her mother was faster than this. On the wing, she could be up in the air and gone. Safe.

If she were willing to leave Róise behind. They locked eyes for a moment. In her mother's look was a moment of panic, of bargaining. Róise knew the calculation going on in her head. Could she do it? Could she abandon her daughter to her fate? The gods knew she had never been a very attentive mother, always more preoccupied with politics or fashion or culture than with her own blood. Left the raising of her to servants and tutors - some of whom had now likely betrayed them. How bad a mother was she? Could she do it?

Róise saw her mother clench her jaw. Róise, honey. Keep running. I am going to deal with the men behind us. I will catch up to you quick if I can. But whether or not I do, you need to run. Hide. Find someone you can trust and stay safe. I had a different idea of how your life was going to go, but we never really get what we want do we? Just… try to find a way to be happy. Her mother flipped in the air and charged back, towards the sounds of the heavy boots. Go! Róise chose not to hear the sounds behind her.

The surprised grunts of the men facing an armed pixie, the flick of a tiny silver blade, the heavy swing of larger swords. She chose not to hear her mother's scream. Her name was Keeva. Róise plunged into the darkness beyond the twisted gates, just as her mother had wanted.