I have wondered if we will be shown the same runes Sibeal plucked from the bundle that first night: Os, Ger and Nyd. But although three rods lie on top of the others, all are different. Before us now lie Ken, Gyfu, Sigel. A voice sounds in my mind, the voice of Magnus who taught me: The runes will not speak to you if you rush them. Let the meanings settle in your thoughts, let them blend and combine for you, or you’ll make no sense of them at all. Wisdom doesn’t come like a spring tide. It’s more like the slow unfolding of an oak, from acorn to sapling. Before that oak becomes a tall tree, you will be old. Magnus, a friend, a teacher . . . I see him, big, broad, yellow-bearded. A Norseman. A kinsman. My mother’s brother. I see him beside me at a table, and before us a set of rune rods much like Sibeal’s, but fashioned from a darker wood, perhaps oak.

“You speak first, Ardal.”

I start with some violence. The memory leaves me; here is the fire, the dog, the darkened infirmary. Here is Sibeal, who has spoken with quiet calm, and does not deserve such a response.

“I’m sorry, I—” I cannot go on.

“Ardal,” Sibeal says, “I know you understand the lore of runes. You can interpret what you see here without reference to the past. There’s no need to touch on those matters you’re so reluctant to talk about. When I cast the runes I asked a question about your pathway forward.” After a moment she adds, “I would prefer you to give your interpretation before I give mine. I want to be sure I am not influencing you.”

“Very well,” I say, wondering what a druid will think of my reading. Is she testing me? I am not unskilled, but by Sibeal’s standards I must seem a raw novice. “Ken is light in the darkness; vision; the illumination of things hidden. Gyfu, a gift. The gift of talent in the service of the gods, or through service to others. Sigel, sunlight, vision, achievement.”

Sibeal sits quietly, not rushing me. She looks down at the scattered rods, her dark lashes screening her eyes. The firelight touches her skin to glowing rose.

I find the courage to go on. I must risk offending her. “You are the gift and the light, Sibeal. In the darkness of unknowing that has come upon me, you are the flaming torch that leads me forward. My eyes are blinded by the mist of forgetting; you are the clear vision that keeps my feet on the path. You choose to help me because you are a servant of the gods, and you see this as a mission laid on you, a duty required by your spiritual vocation.”