The Sign of Fear (3 page)

She felt cold suddenly. Her sweaty clothes chilly against her skin. She rubbed her arms, trying to get warm. Then she continued making her way through the woods.

Snap.

There it is again. Is someone following me? Christina turned and peered into the shadows behind her.

Nothing.

Your imagination is running away with you, Christina scolded herself. She turned back around and began to walk. Then she began to trot.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Christina didn't stop to look behind her. She forced herself to pick up her pace. She ran through the forest. Tree branches slapping at her face.

Her toe caught on a root—and she flew into the air. She landed hard. Pain speared through her right foot.

Christina sat up and cradled her foot in her hand. She could feel her ankle swelling already.

SNAP!

I can't run. What am I going to do?

The bush nearest Christina rustled—and a fawn burst out. It bounded past, leaving Christina all alone.

A deer, Christina thought. A little deer almost scared me to death. She started to push herself to her feet. A jolt of pain shot through her ankle.

Christina collapsed back on the ground. She wished she could curl up and go to sleep. Forget about Aunt Jane. Forget about her father's funeral. Forget about the pain in her ankle. Forget about everything.

Maybe some sprite or elf will find me and care for me, she thought. Christina loved stories of these magical creatures when she was a little girl.

Christina shook her head. No time for daydreaming, she told herself. You are still in danger. You have to get farther away from Aunt Jane.

Besides, the air smells like rain. It is going to storm tonight. You need to find some kind of shelter. She struggled to her feet, wincing when she put pressure on her ankle.

At least it's not broken, Christina thought. She
limped through the forest, watching the uneven ground. She didn't want to fall again.

It grew harder and harder to see the forest floor. The sun is almost set, she realized. It will be dark soon. A lump formed in Christina's throat. What am I going to do? she thought.

If Papa were here, what would he advise? she asked herself.

Something practical, Christina thought. Papa was that kind of man. She could almost hear her father's voice:

“It is too dark and dangerous to keep going in the forest, Christina, my sweet girl.”

I'm going to have to walk along the road, Christina thought. The last rays of the sun were dying as she reached the roadway. She noticed the thick, black clouds gathering. I was right, she thought. It's going to pour.

The road led up a hill. Christina gritted her teeth and began to climb.

When she reached the top, she had to stop and rest. Her ankle throbbed. Her arms and legs felt so heavy. She didn't know how much farther she could go.

Christina stared down at the tiny valley spread out before her. A few lights burned through the darkness, clear and strong.
Lights.
It's a farm, she realized.

That meant people—and a place to stay. She could spend the night in a warm, safe place. She felt sure the people who owned the farm would allow her to sleep in their barn.

Christina spotted a flash of lightning in the distance. A roll of thunder sounded.

Better hurry, she thought. She started down. Big raindrops began to fall. Icy water quickly soaked her
hair. Her drenched skirts felt thick and heavy around her legs.

A burst of thunder exploded.

Christina began to run. Her ankle gave way. She slammed to the ground.

She tried to scramble to her feet. But she slipped on the muddy ground.

A shrill scream rang out behind her.

F
ieran screamed until his throat felt raw.
“Victory! Vic-tor-y!”

I killed the Roman leader, he thought. Victory is ours! Fieran could feel the hot blood rushing through his veins. His heart pounded hard and fast.

He held the head of the Roman leader high in the air. The Celtic soldiers surrounding Fieran cheered and whistled.

All except Conn, Fieran noticed. Conn simply stared at Fieran with his cold blue eyes.

He has always hated me, Fieran thought. Ever since we were children. He is never satisfied until he has something I do not. Sometimes Fieran wondered if Conn would pursue Brianna if he did not know that Fieran loved her.

Conn should be happy I killed the Roman leader, Fieran thought. It means we are sure to win this
battle. Instead he sulks because the others cheer for me.

Fieran stared up at the Roman leader's head. The ragged muscles of its neck dripped blood.

The head of my enemy brings me power, Fieran thought. More power than Conn will ever have. I now have the power to do anything. Anything! I can marry Brianna. I can become the leader of my people. I can become chief.

The battle is not yet over, Fieran reminded himself. First, we must drive the Roman invaders from our land—and make certain that not one comes back.

“Celts! To me!” Fieran cried out. He gave the signal for the final charge.

With a mighty roar, the Celts rushed forward. They met the soldiers of the Roman line head-to-head.

The Romans appeared desperate. Good, Fieran thought. You laughed at us. When we made our first charge, you laughed because you thought we were barbarians. Easy to kill.

You are not laughing any longer.

Fieran made his charge. He waved the Roman head above him like a flag of victory.

Behind him, he heard a savage battle cry. One of the Romans must have broken through our line! Fieran thought. They want the head back.

No one will take it from me! No one! Fieran spun to face the attacking soldier, bringing his long sword up to protect his chest. “I am ready for you!” he cried.

“And I am ready for you, Fieran.”

What? Fieran lowered his sword slightly.

Conn stood before him.

“I warn you, Conn. Stay back. I do not want to kill you.”

Conn smiled. “I am glad to hear you say that, Fieran. Because you are not going to kill me.
I
am going to kill
you!”

Conn charged, his sword aimed at Fieran's chest.

F
ieran leapt back. He slammed his sword down on Conn's.

Metal shrieked against metal.

Fieran and Conn locked eyes. The cords in Conn's neck stood out as he struggled to force Fieran's sword down.

Conn stood taller than Fieran and weighed more. Fieran had to use all his strength to keep Conn's sword from slamming down on him. His sword arm began to tremble.

Fieran dug his feet into the ground. He didn't let Conn's sword move an inch. But he couldn't push it back.

“You hate to see me with such power, don't you Conn?” Fieran demanded. “Accept it. From now on I will always be stronger. From now on I will always win.”

“You are weak.” Conn sneered. “You will never be
able to control the power of the head. You will never be able to use it for our people—as I can.”

Fieran's arm shook. He hoped Conn could not see his sword jiggling. I have to do something now, he thought. In a contest of pure strength, Conn will win.

Now.
Fieran jerked his sword down—away from Conn's. Conn's sword fell forward. Fieran circled his sword up and around. He crashed it down on Conn's before Conn had a chance to recover.

Conn's sword snapped in two.

Conn stumbled, and Fieran knocked him to the ground. He kicked the pieces of Conn's sword away. “I should kill you,” Fieran told him. “You are a creature of evil and I should kill you now.”

Conn's blue eyes remained icy. He did not appear frightened. He made no attempt to escape from Fieran.

The Celts need every warrior to battle the Romans, Fieran thought. If I kill Conn, I kill one of our best soldiers. Slowly he lowered his sword.

Nothing could come before the good of Fieran's people. Not even his hatred of Conn.

“Join the other soldiers,” he ordered.

Conn slowly stood. “I would not have allowed you to live,” he said. “I know what to do with power. You never will.” He turned and sprinted toward the battle.

Fieran glanced around. No one appeared to have noticed his fight with Conn. All the men battled fiercely against the Romans. Good.

The Roman soldiers are retreating, he realized. The Celts chased after them. We won!

The danger is past, he thought. The soldiers don't need me any longer.

Fieran started for the woods that bordered on the battlefield. With the battle over, he realized his whole
body ached with weariness. How good it would feel to be home!

As he walked, he thought back to the night his father told him about the cult of the head. It was the night before he died in battle.

“Taking an enemy's head is the greatest triumph a warrior can have,” his father explained. “All a warrior's power is located there.”

“But that doesn't make sense,” the young Fieran protested. “A warrior's power must be in his arms. To throw his spear or stab with his sword.”

Fieran remembered that his father smiled. “That is what I used to think,” he said. “Until my father told me the secret.”

Fieran's father knelt down on the ground beside his son's sleeping pallet. “So now I'm telling you, Fieran. A man's power is here, in his head.” His father touched his finger to his own head and then to Fieran's.

“His head is where he dreams his dreams of conquest. His head is where he makes his battle plans. Take a man's head, and you take the best part of him. But beware the bargain you must make, Fieran.”

Intrigued, Fieran stared up at his father. “What kind of bargain, Father?” he asked.

“Power always comes with a price,” his father answered. “To gain power, you must give up something. Be careful you do not give too much.”

I have given nothing, the grown-up Fieran thought. Wherever you are now, Father, I hope that you are proud of me.

Most of Fieran's people lived in a village on a nearby hilltop. From there they could see enemies approaching for miles around—a good, strong position for a village. But Fieran had never lived there.

Fieran didn't feel comfortable around the other
Celts. He was different from most of them. He was a spell-caster.

The spell-casters formed a special class among the Celtic people. They possessed great knowledge, and powerful magic.

Fieran did not have to fight today. The Celts did not require it of spell-casters. But he did not like to hide behind his book learning. He enjoyed meeting his enemy face-to-face.

Why does Conn have to be a spell-caster too? Fieran thought. If he wasn't I could avoid him. Fieran frowned as he crossed the tiny stream that flowed through the forest.

The water felt good on his tired feet. Fieran liked living in the forest. Woods were places of power for his people. The most sacred glade of all was not far from Fieran's own dwelling place.

Too bad Conn is my only neighbor, Fieran thought. None of the others made their home in the forest.

What am I going to do about him? Conn won't be happy until I'm dead. I know it.

Fieran reached his cave deep within the forest. He pushed aside the screen of vines that covered the mouth of the cave and stepped inside.

I will begin working on the head right away, he thought. Once I learn to control its power, I will never need to worry about Conn again. He will never be able to defeat me. And he will never be selected as the new chief.

Fieran cradled the head in both palms. The power locked inside would bring him everything he wanted. Everything.

Pain shot through his hands. Burning, sizzling pain.

Fieran cried out. He dropped the head on the floor.

The world exploded in a ball of flame.

Surrounding Fieran in a solid wall of fire.