Read Online The Exile by Steven Savile - Free Book Online

women talking softly. The second time he saw Brighid on her elbow looking down at him. She smiled and kissed his lips.
    "Sleep, my beautiful boy," she whispered.
    And he did.
    For two days the young men went about their duties, desperate for their forged wisdom to be discovered, but either the diggers passed over their finds without taking a blind bit of notice or they were digging in the wrong place.
    On the second morning, Tall Iesin left Murias, taking Fionn with him. He promised to be back for Beltain with new stories gathered from the furthest corners of the Tir-Nan-Og especially for the boys. They gathered at dawn to wave Fionn off. He looked so small as he shouldered his pack and set off with Iesin, but then the balladeer made dwarfs of giants with his lanky frame. Fionn was almost running as he hustled to keep up with his master. It was an odd feeling watching their friend leave. They had never been apart before. Sláine found himself wondering if they would actually recognise their friend when - if - he ever returned. Things, he knew, would never be the same between them again. Where there had always been seven, now there were six. It felt as if a part of his life had been torn away and that he was never going to see it again.
    He didn't know how to cope with what he was feeling, so like any man he threw himself into his work and simply ignored it.
    Fionn's departure was the first sign that they really were men now - or if not men, at least they were no longer children.
    On the third day the cry went up for Cathbad to come, quickly. The town was abuzz with rumours in a matter of minutes. Something had been found at the new site but no one knew exactly what. The old druid grumbled as he emerged from the nemeton, his face set like thunder. Dian followed a step behind him doing well to keep the smile from his face when they passed Sláine and Cullen standing on the corner by Rioch's inn. Wide Mouth pulled a face. Sláine turned his back on the pair of them, he was laughing so hard. Cathbad's sour humour soon changed as he saw the clay tablets the workmen had unearthed. Three were crude, nothing more than scratchings of something not dissimilar to Ogham script, but the fourth was a work of art. He licked his lips appreciatively and demanded it be carried with haste and reverence to the nemeton where he might peruse it in peace. Cathbad turned his attention to the cruder tablets. He clucked and tutted, and hemmed and hawed over the possible meanings of the letters. Grudnew came, followed by Gorian. Sláine and Cullen of the Wide Mouth followed five paces behind the warlord.
    "What is it, man?" the king demanded, hunching over the tablets.
    "The voices of the damned, sire," Cathbad breathed. "From the past, come to share their secrets with us."
    It was almost too perfect.
    "Are you sure?" Grudnew asked sceptically.
    "I do not question you on matters of kingship, sire. I do not expect to be questioned in matters of the spirit. When my fingers brushed the tablet I caught a trace of the author's anguished cry. His words, recorded here, are of great import, recorded in haste as all around him crumbled to dust."
    "Fascinating," Gorian said, "and you can actually read his words?"
    The druid twisted his birdlike body and craned his neck around to look up at the warlord, thinly veiled hostility in his ancient eyes. "I can, warrior. Can you?"
    "Perhaps you will share their wisdom then?"
    "No," Cathbad said sharply. "The knowledge is for the king's ears only." He tapped a grimy fingernail at one of the spidery symbols. "See this mark here? It is a portent, and this one beside it bears the king's name. Now do not question me again, warrior. There is more to this world than your philosophy allows for. Steel is no match for stone, and stone is of the earth, of the body of fair Danu herself."
    "You talk a lot of rot, old man," Gorian said, shaking his head.
    "Hold your tongue, warrior!" the Druid spat, lurching up from his