fierce people who shared their natures with the wolves.”
“I know what the Faol are,” Ciara said with a tinge of exasperation.
“A good story cannot be rushed.” Boisin frowned reprovingly. “And it loses its strength when you interrupt, do ye ken?”
Properly chastised, Ciara nodded. “I apologize.”
“’Tis understandable. You are impatient to reach the end of your journey, but if you rush, you may miss the signs for which way to go.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now, as I was saying.” But he went through his sipping his wine and clearing his throat ritual again. At this rate the elder was going to be inebriated before he finished his tale.
Ciara was determined not to interrupt the flow of words again.
“There were the Paindeal, another people fierce in battle and fond of war as well. They shared their natures with the big cats of prey and even a wolf would think twice before engaging them in battle. The final race were the Éan, the people of the Chrechte most likely to remember the true spiritual ways. Though they shared nature with eagles and hawks, birds of prey, they also shared their nature with the ravens, birds with no instinct to kill. ’Twas the ravens who were charged with keeping their sacred stone and designated the rulers of their people.”
Ciara had not known that, but it made sense to give those with the greatest power a nature not so warlike. The wolves and cats of prey did not have any species like the ravens in their races.
“Among the Paindeal their keepers of the stone came from the cats as black as night and larger than any wolf in the wild. But the wolves connected to the Faolchú Chridhe were white as the snow. The only wolves whose males had the ability to control their shift from their first transformation.”
He took a long drought from his goblet. “Each of the races had a protector. The Faol were protected by their conriocht, the Éan by the dragon and the Paindeal by the griffin.”
Ciara was not the only one to gasp at the confirmation that not only did Paindeal exist but they could become griffins.
“If you would lay your swords on the table,” Boisin said to Eirik.
“One is Ciara’s.”
“Aye.”
Ciara nodded her assent when she realized Eirik was waiting for it. Both swords were laid carefully across the table, their hilts in easy reach of Eirik’s big warrior’s hands.
Boisin pointed to the handle of Ciara’s sword with a finger shaky with age. “See for yourself. The conriocht, the dragon and the griffin.”
Ciara and Eirik had already seen the handles, but Lais and Mairi took a moment to look closely at the decoration on the swords.
“But then where are the Paindeal?” Eirik asked.
“All in good time, Éan prince. All in good time.”
Eirik sighed, but nodded.
Boisin cracked a grin. “Ah, the impatience of youth.”
“I apologize, elder,” Eirik said.
“No matter. Listen well, young prince and you will learn things the Éan have forgotten. Each race had its own particular strengths and weaknesses. The wolves reproduce with the most ease, though not as prolific as their human counterparts. The Paindeal healed from any illness or wound short of a mortal one with a shift. The Éan could shift at a younger age and were gifted with more seers and often had special Chrechte gifts with greater impact than their other brethren.”
“So, the Faol can have gifts like the Éan,” Ciara mused to herself.
Boisin didn’t chide her for interrupting again, but nodded. “They can indeed, though only the Éan have healers like the eagle here, and only those found most worthy by the stone at that.”
“Oh.” Lais looked dumbstruck as he seemed to realize how very unique and special his gift was.
Mairi merely smiled and nodded at him serenely.
Ciara wondered what the seer had experienced in her dreams of the elder. Whatever it was, Mairi was obviously content to be at the old man’s table and listening to his stories.
“In addition to having more children, the wolves’ protectors were more numerous. The Paindeal had one, perhaps two griffins who would live for centuries. But when one died, it could be a generation or more before their stone called forth another. The same was true of the Éan’s dragons.”
“Eirik is going to live hundreds of years?” Ciara asked in shock, forgetting her vow not to interrupt.
“Aye, barring treachery. He will. As will you.”
Hope blossomed inside her. “What do you mean?”
“You are the first true kelle born in more than a century. All others that have come before