Drawn to the Flame- Book 1 Council of the Light Series

4

On the ground in the centre of the trees, the little community were preparing for what looked to be a feast. There were large fat hogs roasting on spits and the older wives were brewing soup and baking many things for a feast. Tables were being set up on the ground and in the canopy, a girl swung out from one tree on a rope and attached lanterns to the underside of the shelter floors.

"Is it the summer solstice?" Clarence asked. "We're midway through the year already?"

"Where have you been?" James asked. "It is. But it's so much more than a mid-year celebration. It marks the day we found sanctuary in this forest. We're expecting a special guest."

Clarence smiled, "I know some fine tunes."

"I'll not have anything pro-Council here though Ren."

"That's good because I'd rather cut off my fingers than play 'March to the Light.' I'm a Humanist, James."

The Outlaw smiled at him, a genuine smile this time that didn't have any calculation behind it. "Glad to hear it," he said. "Come get your fiddle." James led Clarence to an old hollow tree; in the empty centre they had set a staircase that wound up the trunk and they followed this up to the treehouse. As Clarence's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw they stacked the walls with weapons. They packed any space not taken up by blades with gold jewellery and stolen trinkets. "Here it is!" James exclaimed as he lifted a bundle from a box. Clarence took the fiddle with apprehension, wondering what state the instrument would be in. To his delight, it wasn't bad at all. Clarence tested the strings whilst James watched him as if trying to decide how much of a fraud he was.

"This will do," Clarence smiled. "Just tell me when."

~

By nightfall, Beatrix was shaking and burning up so much that he wasn't sure she would make it to the morning. James agreed to put her into a treehouse with a bed and he asked a woman called Laura to monitor her and clean her wound. Since Clarence had declared himself a Humanist the Outlaws' behaviour towards him changed, and when he launched into some well-known anti-Council songs, they lost their hostility.

"And the Humans shall have their day," followed by "Melt the Golden throne of the Leprechaun High King" and his personal favourite "When The Windlord Sharted." The Outlaws enjoyed themselves so much that they broke a table from dancing on it, and many joined in to add accompaniment to Clarence's playing.

He took a break around midnight, when James addressed his people, speaking in Gaelic and droning on and on about their struggles and hardship, brotherhood, their fine company, the forest's many blessings and more and more besides. He zoned out, drank strong home brew from a wooden cup and rested his hands for the next round of play, but as he rested he saw the girl, Laura, climb down from the treehouse and make her way over to him.

"She's confused," Laura told him. "She's saying odd things."

Clarence became very sober. "What?"

"She keeps asking for Clarence O'Leary, but I told her not to be stupid- he's the-"

"She's been through a lot."

"She said she wanted to go home, that he had to take her back so she could die."

"That makes no sense."

Laura threw her hands up in agreement. "You should go up, it might help."

"If I leave James' party, he might kill me."

Laura bristled, "He won't," she said. "Not tonight, it would be terrible luck. Come, we have a little time."

So Clarence followed her to the treehouse, and he walked up a wooden ramp to a balcony running around the outside of a single room where Beatrix lay sprawled on the bed. Her wound had reopened, and there was blood everywhere. She'd been thrashing around, scratching at herself, and her eyes were rolling. He moved to her side and took her hands; they were clammy and cold.