Only the Stones Survive: A Novel Read Free Page A

music celebrated what we were all feeling—even me, who didn’t know the words. I wanted to stay there and feel that way forever.
    The joyous atmosphere was short-lived. It faded when one of the princes—a man whom my mother identified as her uncle Aengus—made a sobering announcement. “I regret to say that the tribes which our ancestors subdued are no longer content with the peace imposed upon them.”
    I had only the vaguest idea what he meant. I knew that great battles had been won by our race long ago, led by a hero called Nuada of the Silver Hand, but I had never paid much attention when the Dagda was relating the details of history. The stories were not about me.
    “Men of the Iverni recently tried to assault a child on the brink of adulthood,” Aengus continued, “the girl who is called Shinann.” This provoked expressions of shock from some of his listeners and angry muttering from others. Shinann herself was not present, but many of her kin were. Aengus raised a hand for silence. “She is unharmed, I assure you, but it was not the only such incident. One of our craftsmen seeking copper ore in the mountains was threatened by a party of the Velabri. He tells us they were carrying weapons that were not shaped for hunting animals. To make matters worse, the dark-spirited Fír Bolga are now openly skirmishing with our shepherds in the borderlands.”
    When he finished speaking, the elders took turns addressing the issue, then invited comments. Most people agreed that while none of these incidents posed a serious threat by itself, taken as a whole they were disquieting.
    The Dagda pointed out that any unusual disturbance, such as a vortex in a normally quiet pool or a sudden leaping of birds into windless air, could be a dark portent. “This behavior among the formerly pacified tribes might signal the first twitch of rebellion,” he warned. “Their numbers are greatly diminished, but their primitive instincts remain.”
    A rebellion! In a vague way I knew what that meant: a chance for real excitement. I had been quiet for long enough this morning. Youth and sun and strength were coursing through me. I was eager for action.
    Sitting cross-legged beside me, my father placed his hand on top of my head as if to hold me down. “Stop fidgeting, Joss. We are not playing games now.”
    But my mother gave me a tiny wink. Lerys was younger than my father; she and I often were confederates in small acts of naughtiness.
    I winked back at her.
    The discussion was becoming heated. One of the younger men jumped to his feet and shouted, “Unbury the Earthkillers!” Another promptly cried, “We need the Sword of Light and the Invincible Spear! They will remind the savage Fír Bolga where the real power lies!” A third added, “We must strike before they attack us and try to seize our treasures.”
    Earthkillers? Sword of Light? What were those? I had never heard of them before, but the very names made my heart race.
    My father lifted his hand from my head and stood up. “You all know me,” he announced in a ringing voice unlike any he used at home. “I am Mongan na Manannan Mac Lir, heir to the wisdom of my forebears. Their experience as leaders—and yes, as warriors too—is part of me. Therefore I warn you: the treasures we possess were not acquired through war, but war could destroy them.”
    “Impossible!” shouted a voice from the crowd.
    Others hotly contradicted him. The argument grew more passionate. Every person present seemed to have an opinion about the Earthkillers—whatever they were—and was determined to express it without listening to anyone else. Tempers flared. Men and women who had been laughing and singing together only moments before shouted furiously at each other.
    I sat small between my parents, hardly daring to breathe. An event that had begun as a celebration had turned into … what?
    Something dangerous had been set loose in the Gathering Place.

THREE
    A T LAST THE GREAT QUEEN, whose