Awakenings

[This post is from Thom’s point of view.]

It was the deep breath before the storm broke. Thom could feel it as he slowly climbed up into the watchtower. Paul climbed up behind him silently and stood next to him at the railing, staring out over what they’d all started to think of as the killing fields—the flat stretch of broken concrete, asphalt, and grass that had once been parking lots before the end of everything.

Nothing yet, but there would be soon.

Too soon.

And yet, not soon enough.

He could feel the drums with every fiber of his being, felt them thrumming in his blood. There was something oddly thrilling about them even as dread coiled in his belly at the prospect of another battle—at the same time he recoiled from the thought, there was a sense of excitement there, too, the whisper of some kind of promise long lost and forgotten.

I’m going insane.

“Thom!”

He stiffened slightly at the sound of Leinth’s voice, turning and peering down in the direction it’d come from. There was something in her voice—

Her face was white, pinched with something close to rage, and she was closing fast on the wall and the defenders starting to gather there. “Come down.”

He didn’t argue. He just glanced at Paul, who nodded.

“I know. Sing out if I see something coming and keep my head down.”

Thom clapped him on the shoulder and scrambled down the ladder, his scabbarded blade thumping against his thigh as he did. Leinth was there as soon as his boots hit the dirt.

“Something attacked Phelan,” she said, her voice quiet, pitched to a level that only he could hear her. “Thordin was getting him and Marin below. I came to tell you.”

Ice shot through Thom’s nerves even as the temperature of his blood climbed perilously close to the boiling point. “When?”

“Only a few minutes ago, ten minutes, probably less.” Leinth sucked in a pair of breaths before continuing—she was breathing raggedly, as if she’d done more than just run across camp to give him the news. “He said something about old enemies and new enemies. Whatever it was—he was reaching deep again, Thomas. He and I agreed—”

“Whatever’s coming, it’s bad,” Thom said quietly. “I know, Leinth. I can feel it, too.” He closed his eyes for a moment, desperately seeking some sort of calm, reaching for his center even as it tried to elude him. He would not, could not stand for that.

Keep your head. Now isn’t the time to give in to some kind of bloodlust or thirst for violence or vengeance. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

“Seamus is over there,” he said, gesturing toward a knot of the Wild Hunt’s people, archers that were getting ready to mount the wall to aid in the defense. “You said Marin’s safe?”

“Thordin was taking her to the tunnels. Phelan, too.”

Thom nodded. “Then they’re both safe. Go see if Seamus needs you. If he doesn’t, come back to me.”

Leinth’s lips thinned. She started to reach for his shoulder, but her hand fell back to her side before it ever reached him. “It’s beginning again,” she whispered. “The cycle starts anew.”

Thom grimaced. There was a part of him that knew what she was talking about—two parts, if he were truly honest. One was the part that had lived a life as Finn of the Fiana, husband to Brighíd of the Imbolg, High Chieftain of the Clans of Eire.

The other part was Thom Ambrose, the reluctant Seer, a quiet Cassandra who didn’t even want to believe himself.

“I know,” he said, his voice quiet and gentle. “But this time, no matter what it takes, that cycle breaks with us. We’re breaking the wheel, Leinth. I don’t care what it takes. The cycle ends with us.”