The Sign of Fear (4 page)

F
ieran's body jerked as the flames licked at it. He heard his hair snap and sizzle. Felt his skin curl away from his bones.

Fire blazed in every direction. No way to escape.

Fieran's eyeballs felt like hot coals. His tongue felt dry and gritty.

He collapsed onto his knees. Each breath burned his lungs.

Fieran's gaze fell on the Roman head. What? he thought. It's not burning. He raised his hands up in front of his face. They aren't burning either.

I'm having a vision, Fieran realized. The fire feels so real. But it isn't.

Fieran forced himself to stay still. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. It is a vision, he repeated to himself. A vision. The fire is not really burning me.

Slowly he opened his eyes. Ready to see what the
vision had to tell him. He saw his own face reflected in the flames.

Fire had always attracted Fieran. To choose fire over water was not the way of his people. But fire called to him.

“What is it?” Fieran whispered. “Tell me.”

A second face appeared, as if in answer. Now Conn's face floated next to Fieran's own in the wall of flames.

Conn's face began to grow. Growing and growing until it began to cover Fieran's face. Within moments Conn's enormous face completely covered Fieran's.

“No,” Fieran muttered. “That cannot be.
I
have the power of the head. I cannot be defeated.”

“Fieran!” a woman's voice called out.

“Brianna!” Fieran cried. The image of Conn's sneering face disappeared—and a vision of Brianna replaced it.

Brianna. He thought about her all the time. Whenever the people gathered he couldn't stop himself from staring at her. And when they were alone he couldn't stop himself from touching her.

In the vision, Brianna smiled at him. She stretched her arms out toward him.

Fieran reached for her.

The flames winked out. Fieran stood all alone.

I am going to beat Conn! he thought. I am going to be chosen chief—not he. And best of all, I will marry Brianna. That is what my vision means.

I will make it all happen. I
must!
Fieran swore. And that means I must learn how to use the power of the head.

Fieran knew the first thing he must do. With quick strides he crossed to the brazier in the center of his
dwelling. The heavy iron basket sat on three long legs. Hot coals rested inside. Fieran took a long poker and stirred the fire until tiny flames licked over the surface of the coals.

Then he picked up the head. He shivered when he felt the cold flesh beneath his fingertips. He wanted to drop the head back on the floor.

You killed this man, Fieran reminded himself. You cannot be afraid to touch part of his lifeless body.

But killing in the heat of battle felt much different. Soldiers had to kill or be killed. There was no time to think.

Fieran stared down at the head. He felt a sharp taste hit the back of his throat, but he forced himself to keep looking. The skin hung loose. The mouth sagged open.

Strange that such a thing could hold such power. But it did.

He carried the head over to the fire and positioned it on top of the long metal rod that stuck straight up from the bottom of the kettle of coals. The rod he usually used for cooking meat.

Then he pulled down on the head, forcing the rod deep inside it. The heat from the fire will start the process, Fieran thought. He knew that the power would not be released from the head until the flesh fell away from the bones.

Fieran stripped off his bloodstained clothes and washed himself. Then he pulled on clean homespun garments and stretched out on his sleeping pallet.

He felt exhausted, but his mind kept racing. Jumping from Conn to Brianna to his father to the head.

He rolled over onto his side and watched the shadows thrown on the wall. One of the shadows
appeared darker than the others. It crept across his feet and moved upward. Fieran lost all feeling in his legs.

The shadow crept across his stomach. And Fieran's stomach clenched. It felt frozen.

He tried to force himself to get up. But he felt too tired. He could barely move.

The shadow flowed across Fieran's chest. Fieran's heart began to pound in slow, painful beats.

I must do something! he thought. I cannot let it reach my head.

The shadow inched up his throat. Fieran opened his mouth to scream. No sound came out.

He couldn't breathe. He clawed at his throat, gasping and choking. The shadow is cutting off my air, he thought. I need air.

“W
hat is it, Fieran?” a voice cried out.

Fieran jerked himself upright. He pulled a shaking breath into his lungs.

“Brianna,” he choked out. “I must have had a nightmare! I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.”

Brianna knelt on the floor beside him. “Hush, now, Fieran,” she crooned.

“It was only a dream,” Fieran muttered. He felt silly with Brianna fussing over him. But it was nice, too. Fieran breathed in her sweet scent as she ran a hand across his brow.

Brianna was the rarest of all things among the Celtic people—a female spell-caster. She also had the ability to interpret dreams and visions.

“Fieran,” she said now, her voice soft and melodic. “Tell me about your dream.”

Brianna took his hands between hers. She rubbed
them gently. “I can tell you are exhausted,” she said. “Your hands are so cold.”

“I'll warm up now that you are here,” Fieran answered. Then he noticed how pale Brianna appeared. He could see deep shadows beneath her eyes. “Brianna, what is it?” he asked anxiously. “What troubles you?”

Abruptly, Brianna rose to her feet. “It is nothing, Fieran,” she said.

But he noticed she could not meet his gaze.

“In fact, I come to bring you joyous news,” Brianna continued. “The Romans are defeated. The day is ours.”

Why won't she look at me, Fieran wondered. What is wrong?

“I knew this when I left the battlefield,” he replied. The words came out sounding harsher than he intended. Before he could apologize, Brianna rushed on.

“There is more, Fieran. For taking the head of the Roman leader, you are declared a great hero.” She crossed over to the brazier and stared at the grisly head.

Suddenly, Fieran remembered his vision. All his energy returned. He jumped up from his sleeping pallet. “I had vision when I returned from battle. A wall of flame appeared and . . . ” His voice trailed off.

Brianna kept her eyes on the head of the Roman leader. With the head stuck on the spit, she could stare directly into the face. She appeared fascinated by it.

“Brianna?” Fieran said softly.

She shook her head and turned to face him. “What did you see?”

“I saw you,” Fieran answered.

“You saw me?” she exclaimed. “Only me?”

Fieran shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I also saw myself and Conn.” He paused for a moment, trying to remember his exact vision.

“I saw myself first,” he continued. “Then I saw Conn. He grew to monstrous size. But then you appeared, and Conn vanished.”

“You saw Conn?”

“Yes,” he answered. Why did she seem so distracted? “He almost overwhelmed me. His face covered mine for a moment. But I beat him. His face completely disappeared. There is only one thing it can mean. I'm sure of it.”

“You think it means you are destined to become the new chief,” Brianna said. Her voice was emotionless.

“Well, of course I do,” Fieran said. He stared down into Brianna's face. What he saw chilled him. Her expression was solemn. Her eyes filled with tears.

Brianna is an expert in interpreting dreams and visions, he thought. What could have upset her so in his? “Tell me, Brianna,” Fieran urged her. “Am I wrong?”

Brianna threw her arms around him. She buried her face against his chest. “I am not certain, Fieran.”

Slowly, Fieran drew her head back. He wiped the tears from her cheeks. He kissed her tenderly.

“It is all right, Brianna. I am certain,” he said. “I am certain enough for both of us.”

Brianna pressed her face against his neck. “Oh, Fieran, I pray you will take care. Too often, visions only show us our own desires. We see only what we wish to see.”

“Not this time,” Fieran vowed, holding her closer.
“Not this time. You will see. Being the chief of our people is my fate, Brianna.”

“You are wrong!”
a deep voice boomed.

Fieran and Brianna sprang apart. Conn stood a few feet away from them, his arms folded across his chest. “You are never going to be chief, Fieran!”

“I
am,” said Conn. “
I
am going to be the new chief.”

Rage rose up in Fieran. He didn't even try to beat it down. “Never!” he cried out. “I will stop you if it takes everything I have.”

“It might,” Conn replied. He stepped up to Fieran, so close their chests almost touched. “It might—and that still won't be enough to stop me.”

“Stop this bickering at once!” Brianna cried suddenly.

Conn stared at her with his cold blue eyes. Then he returned his gaze to Fieran. “Which of us do you think Brianna wants to win?”

“What do you want here, Conn?” she demanded, her green eyes bright with anger.

“I came to congratulate Fieran on his great victory,” Conn replied innocently.

Fieran glared at Conn. A victory you wanted for
yourself, he thought. You would have happily killed me to have the head and its power.

He knew Brianna didn't want them to fight. “What do you want here, Conn?” Fieran asked quietly.

“The chief is mortally wounded,” Conn said. “He has decided to hold the ceremony tonight. Tonight we will discover which of us is to be the new chief. You are summoned to the sacred glade.”

It has come at last! Fieran thought. The moment I've been waiting for.

“I thought my news would interest you,” Conn said. “Don't linger here with Brianna too long, Fieran. It would be a shame for you to miss the ceremony and moment when I am declared chief.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Fieran and Brianna entered the sacred glade. The trees surrounding the glade grew so close together that no sunlight ever penetrated their branches. The glade was dark and silent, even at midday.

And now it was night. Many of the people held large torches. The light flickered over the faces carved into the trunks of the trees. Faces of past chiefs.

They almost appear alive, Fieran thought. He shivered.

Someday my face will be carved here, Fieran told himself. He felt Brianna touch his arm.

“Look, Fieran,” she said. She pointed to a huge wicker figure in the center of the clearing. Its torso had been lined with wooden bars to form a cage. Pieces of wood had been piled all around it.