He looks at me then, and his eyes are full of a terrible sadness. “At nineteen,” he says, “one understands it only too well. We will talk again, Felix.” He rises, gives me a nod and leaves.

We will talk again. I could laugh at that if I were not so full of bitterness and rage. This is like one of those cruel tales of lovers parted. The hero can win his lady if he undertakes a mission, and the mission is of such long duration that by the time he returns for her, they are old and gray and beyond the pleasures of the flesh. Or worse, she is dead or wed to another man. After ten years in the nemetons, Sibeal will have become like him, so deep in the study of lore and the love of the gods that she will have forgotten how it feels to weep and shout and laugh and be alive. If she remembers me, it will be with regret and kindness, not with love and longing.

I run. I cannot stop running. I run until my chest heaves, my breath whistles, my head reels. When I can go no further I stand on the cliff top and hurl stones over the edge. Each missile bears my anger out into the world. I have no words for what is in me; I only know my heart might burst with it. I run out of stones. All around me, gulls are rising in startled, squawking protest. I stand still, breathing. Slowly, piece by piece, Inis Eala comes into focus around me. The waves far below, crashing against the cliff’s base. The sea stretching out before me, transformed by the summer sun to a carpet of deep blue-green and glittering gold. The birds. The vast, open space. Smaller things: a fern-like plant between the rocks at my feet; a juniper some distance away, like a tenacious old woman, clinging on against the westerly wind. There must be something to learn from what has passed today. A druid finds learning in everything, success and catastrophe, triumph and bitter defeat. In the destruction of the lovely flowering thing that grew between Sibeal and me, I can find no wisdom at all.

It is some time before I return to the settlement; the sun is high. When I seek out Sibeal, I find she has disregarded Muirrin’s advice to rest, and has gone to the seer’s cave. She is not expected back until supper time. As I head back toward the men’s quarters, Sigurd comes to fetch me—Johnny wants to talk to me.

Sigurd leads me into the practice area, through the iron gate. Pairs of men are locked in intense, expert-looking battles all over the open area. Swords seem to be the weapon of the day. Rat is up on one of the benches, arms folded, eyes narrowed as he watches. Snake stands at the other side in a similar pose.