IRISH HEART

"You HAVE to be kidding me."

Nycole practically burst out laughing at the statement. The empath hadn't heard anything so silly sounding in so long, especially not from Amon. And, yet, the logic jump had come from the normally so rational hunter. The man didn't seem as amused as she.

The empath knelt before him. "I'm sorry. It's just…."

"I'm Merric, aren't I?"

Nycole bit her lip. She hadn't wanted to be the one to tell any of the Thirteen who and what they were. That wasn't her job, her task to life. It wasn't her place. No, that task was reserved for others far different than she. It was merely Nycole's appointed place to recognize those who were of import and guide them down the correct paths to life, the universe, and everything. It wasn't the place of an empath to tell someone exactly what to do. Empaths were more like the psychic equivalent of a therapist.

Amon seemed so hurt, so ashamed of himself and of Merric. He just looked down, toying with the blades of grass around him. The man looked ready for a reprimanding.

"Answer me, Nycole," Amon breathed.

The girl chewed harder on her bottom lip, still avoiding the question for another moment, searching for the best answer.

"Nycole?" he asked.

"Yes. You are."

xxxx

"MAIRI!"

The scream tore from his chest, from his heart and soul as he watched Mairi tumble from the top of that wall, falling into the fire. And, yet, the flames welcomed her, wrapping around her body and taken her down into the pit. Before Merric could even comprehend what had happened, his sister was gone, wreathed in flame and engulfed, lost to the world, lost to Merric himself.

He hadn't meant it. He hadn't meant any of it. All Merric had wanted was peace. With Boudica out of the way, the Romans would just take control of Dun Aengus, of Iceni, and leave the Praetori in command. Merric could lead.

And Mairi would have been safe.

All Merric had to do was turn in Boudica and the rest of the Thirteen.

He could barely comprehend the loss of Mairi. In truth, if it weren't for the arrows jutting out from his chest, shoulder, and side, Merric wouldn't have been able to believe it either. Those hard shafts piercing his flesh were a harsh reminder of the truth that was what the man had just witnessed.

"Mairi…"

Boudica's voice called to him. "Merric, you bastard."

He turned to find the queen prowling him, now. "Boudica…"

"Your own twin. I cannot even begin to think of what is in your mind," she hissed venomously, crouching low to draw a spear from a fallen warrior. "Praetori…."

The word stung Merric, but it was the truth. He was no longer an Iceni. Merric had fallen to the ranks of the Praetori, allowing himself to be marked by their Triskellian. He had chosen to abandon his own people. The man had chosen to leave the Iceni, to leave their ancient traditions in favor of the invading Romans and turn his own queen in to them, surrendering his very honor and pride for them.

He turned and jumped, riding a pillow of air down to the courtyard on the interior side of the wall. Merric didn't want to fight Boudica. Not anymore. He had only wanted to see Mairi safe. And, now, with Mairi gone, swallowed by the fires of war, betrayal, and lies, it didn't matter anymore.

His wings carried his easily to the ground, gliding over the air lightly and holding him aloft. Merric's feet landed softly on the earth with a gentle landing. Those dark curses of his had finally come in handy.

But it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing could be. For as Merric tried to slink off into the night, the rest of the Thirteen seemed to amass and congeal before him, coming for nowhere. They stepped out from the battle with ease, as though there was nothing going on around them at all. The Warriors approached, weapons drawn, skin stained scarlet, and wings spread menacingly.

Their leader, with the dusky gray wings stood before Merric. "Stop."

Merric had no other choice.

xxxx

"Amon, you don't understand."

He shook his head, jumping up and stalking off, to the very center of the fortress, leaving Nycole alone. She just let out a sigh of exasperation, feeling rather annoyed and put off by the man. If only some people would just accept their destinies, their fates, and be done with the whole mess, life would have been so much simpler.

A wind whistled through the ruins of Dun Aengus.

Nycole ran her fingers through tossled hair and threw up her arms. "Damnit, Amon."

The empath followed.

xxxx

"I don't like this."

Robin paced uneasily. She didn't like this, didn't want to be a part of this anymore. No. Robin preferred the concept of living under a rock at the moment, hiding and biding out the rest of her life away from humanity. And the Craft user wanted to bring Amon with her, away from these terrible people and their vile destiny. The entire thing left a sour taste in the back of her mouth.

Somewhere, across that sea of waving, green grasses, was Amon, but it seemed like miles away at this point. The man could have been on the moon for all Robin cared. With the others skulking around as they were, Robin seriously doubted any of them would allow the teenage girl to interfere. Instead, the witch was forced to bide her time. The girl stared out, balefully, wishing that Amon and Nycole would just walk out from that stone-y rubble and everything would be alright again.

Somehow, Robin doubted everything would just be "alright" ever again.

Raven's voice met her from a patch of tall grasses, wavering and quivering under the breeze. "You know he's a grown man, right?"

"What?" she looked to the bald man, crouching and studying a blade of grass.

The runemal shrugged. "He's old enough to make his own decisions. He'll be ok." The man plucked at a wildflower, closing in the diminishing, afternoon glow. "Actually, he's one of the Thirteen. You don't have to mother him."

Robin blinked. She'd never been spoken to in such a way. The girl was taken back at the thought of mothering.

"I didn't realize…"

Raven tossed the flower aside with little care. "It's no biggie."

Robin glanced to the ruins of Dun Aengus. "What's it like?"

"What? Being one of the Thirteen?" the runemal inquired softly.

The girl nodded. "Yes…"

Raven sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world were upon him and the answer to that one, simple question. But, then again, the bald man had never truly thought hard about it. The words were elusive, difficult to pin point exactly.

"It's like having this big, huge family, all around you, at every moment and all the time… and being completely alone on the same token."

xxxx

"Merric, you have committed such sins…"

The Praetori grinned, knowing the sins, listing them within his own mind. Merric hurt at the thoughts his loss, at the death of Mairi. Still, the man wouldn't allow these Thirteen dogs to be so self righteous, so aloof over him. They were men after all.

That was the concept the Thirteen could just never get over. They believed themselves to be more than man, greater that Humanity. And, yet, they were nothing. The Thirteen were just as petty, just as flawed as the Iceni, the Praetori and the Romans. They were not special. They bickered and squabbled, fought and lusted. They were impure beings. And, yet, the Warriors so desperately wanted to trust in the gods and believe that they were blessed among all the creatures of the earth. Merric spat on that notion long ago.

And he spat again, as if to further prove his point.

The leader of the Thirteen, a tall fellow with long ebony hair, shook his head at the gesture. Merric must have been some sight. The Praetori stood, defiant until the very end, drenched in the blood of his enemies, his lips stained scarlet from his own. Arrows jutted from him. His wings were crumpled, battered forms, split by the many arrows of the Romans and the Praetori alike. Crimson poured from him in seemingly impossible droves. But, then again, it was impossible for Man to be a winged, avian creature, transient in form and being.

The head of the Thirteen billowed out his white wings, puffing them out, as if trying to increase his own size to intimidate Merric. "Bastard."

"What?" Merric blurted the work, obviously not impressed by the bravado. "Were you going to do something about it?"

The creature leapt upon him, but Merric didn't care.

This was the end of Dun Aengus. Merric had been sent there by the Praetori, by the Romans, carrying the false words and warnings to Mairi. He had been sent to bring the Iceni Empire low.

His work was almost done.

xxxx

She found him again, deep within the confines of Dun Aengus. At some point, ravens must have roosted in the old stone, for Amon held a single, black feather, loosely in his left hand. He stood so dangerously close to the cliff, feeling the winds of the ocean rustle over his body and through his very soul.

For a moment, Nycole worried. But, then again, Amon wasn't the kind of person to go and kill himself. She allowed her fears to drain away with the thundering tide below.

"Amon…"

He didn't look back. "How did you know?"

Nycole took a step towards him. "Amon?"

"How did you know to tell me that story?" the man demanded, not allowing the empath to come any closer.

Nycole looked away. "It's my job to."

"How does it end?"

Amon dropped the feather, letting it fall from his fingers to the ocean below. For a moment, Nycole was transfixed by it, mesmerized by the way the black thing drifted across the wind, carried as if by some unseen hand and unknown forces. It slid across the air before plummeting to the sea. Fallen.

"What does it matter? The ending's not as important as the story…" the girl whispered.

Amon refused to take that as an answer. "How does it end, Nycole?"

"You're a schmuck! That's how it ends!" She screamed across the whistling winds, lonely, howling calls of Dun Aengus and of ancient glory. "Happy now?"

The former hunter seemed barely moved by her sudden outburst of scathing sarcasm and annoyance. Yet, she could see the words had cut deep and straight to the core. Amon stretched slightly, ignoring the bitter comments of the empath. She could feel the effort it took the hunter to keep from turning right around and slapping her harshly across the cheek. However, Nycole knew just as much that Amon wasn't the suicidal type, that he would also never- NEVER- strike a woman.

Unless… she was a witch, which Nycole fit the description of rather nicely.

"How does it end?"

This time, Nycole had to answer.

xxxx

Le sigh. I am sad to see IRISH HEART coming to an end. But, like all great things, it must. Now, on the plus side, this means we're getting ever closer to figuring out what the Thirteen are. On the downside, I'm running out of things to name the next story. So…. Suggest something random and it might actually become a story title…. We'll call it a contest of sorts.

…. Good luck…. I guess…..