One warrior could kill a hundred of his foe, but should she or he die before having offspring, the death would lead to an inevitable shrinking of the race. Some Pictish clans and those recognized by other names in other parts of the world had already died out rather than submit to the inferior, but multitudinous, humans around them.
The Faol of Scotland’s Highlands were too smart to face the end of their race rather than blend. These wolf shifters saw the way of the future. In the ninth century AD, Keneth MacAlpin ascended to the Scottish throne. Of Faol Chrechte descent through his mother, nevertheless, his human nature had dominated.
He was not capable of “the change,” but that did not stop him from laying claim to the Pictish throne (as it was called then) as well. In order to guarantee his kingship, he betrayed his Chrechte brethren at a dinner, killing all of the remaining royals of their people—and forever entrenched a distrust of humans by their Chrechte counterparts.
Despite this distrust but bitterly aware of the cost of MacAlpin’s betrayal, the Faol of the Chrechte realized that they could die out fighting an ever-increasing and encroaching race of humanity, or they could join the Celtic clans.
They joined.
As far as the rest of the world knew, though much existed to attest to their former existence, what had been considered the Pictish people were no more.
Because it was not in their nature to be ruled by any but their own, within two generations, the Celtic clans that had assimilated the Chrechte were ruled by shape-changing clan chiefs who shared their natures with wolves. Though most of the fully human among them did not know it, a sparse few were entrusted with the secrets of their kinsmen. Those that did were aware that to betray the code of silence meant certain and immediate death.
Stories of other shifter races, the Éan and Paindeal, were told around the campfire, or to the little ones before bed. However, since the wolves had not seen a shifter except their own in generations, they began to believe the other races only a myth.
But myths did not take to the sky on black wings glinting an iridescent blue under the sun. Myths did not live as ghosts in the forest, but breathing air just as any other man or animal. The Éan were no myth; they were birds with abilities beyond that of merely changing their shape.
Many could be forgiven for believing tales of their prince nothing more than legend. For who had heard of a man shifting not only into the form of a raven but that of the mystic dragon from ancient tales as well?
ONE
The Forests of the Éan, Highlands of Scotland
1144 AD, Reign of Dabíd mac Maíl Choluim, King of Scots, and the Reign of Prince Eirik Taran Gra Gealach, Ruler of the Éan
Una stood in shock, terror coursing through her like fire in her veins, burning away reason, destroying the façade of peace she had worked so hard to foster for the past five years.
Her eagle screamed to be released. She wanted to take to the skies and fly as far as her wings could carry her until the sun sank over the waters and the moon rose and set again in the sky.
The high priestess, Anya Gra, smiled on the assembled Éan like she had not just made a pronouncement that could well spell their doom.
Faol were coming here? To the forest of the Éan? To their homeland kept secret for generations. For very good reason.
Reason Una had learned to appreciate to the very marrow of her bones five years before.
“No,” she whispered into air laden with smoke from the feast’s cooking fires. “This cannot be.”
Other noises of dissent sounded around her, but her mind could not take them in. It was too busy replaying images she’d tried to bury under years of proper and obedient behavior. Years of not taking chances and staying far away from the human clans that had once intrigued her so.
She’d even avoided Lais, one of the few other eagle shifters among her people. Because he’d come from the outside. From the clan of the Donegal, the clan that spawned devils who called themselves men.
She’d not spoken to him once in the three years he’d lived among their people.
The grumbling around Una grew to such a level, even her own tormented thoughts could not keep it out.
For the first time in her memory, the Éan of their tribe looked on their high priestess with disfavor. Many outright glared at the woman whose face might be lined with age, but maintained a translucent beauty that proclaimed her both princess and spiritual leader.
Others were yelling their displeasure toward the prince of the people, but their monarch let no emotion show on his handsome though young features. He merely looked on, his expression stoic, his thoughts hidden behind his amber gaze.
The dissension grew more heated. This was unheard of. In any other circumstance, Una would have been appalled by the behavior of her fellow Chrechte, but not this day.
She hoped beyond hope that the anger and dissent would sway their leaders toward reason.
“Enough!” The prince’s sudden bellow was loud and commanding despite the fact he was only a few summers older than Una.
Silence fell like the blacksmith’s anvil.
Emotion showed now, his amber eyes glowing like the sacred stone during a ceremony. “We have had the Faol among us on many occasions these past three years.”
Those wolves had only come to visit. Una, and many like her—justifiably frightened by the race that had done so much to eradicate their own, had stayed away from the visitors. She’d avoided all contact and had not even stolen so much as a peek at any of them.
Not like when she was younger and let her curiosity rule her common sense.
But Anya Gra said these ones, these emissaries from the Sinclair, Balmoral and Donegal clans, would live among the Éan for the foreseeable future.
Live. Among. Them. With no end in sight.
Una’s breath grew shorter as panic clawed at her insides with the sharpness of her eagle’s talons.
“It is time the Chrechte brethren are reunited.” Prince Eirik’s tone brooked no argument. “It has been foretold that this is the only chance for our people to survive as a race. Do you suddenly doubt the visions of your high priestess?”
Many shook their head, but not Una. Because for the first time in her life, she did doubt the wisdom of the woman who had led their people spiritually since before Una was born.
“Emissaries are coming to live among us, to learn our ways and teach us the way of the Faol.” This time it was another of the royal family who spoke, the head healer. “We will all benefit.”
“We know the way of the Faol,” one brave soul shouted out. “They kill, maim and destroy the Éan. That is the way of the Faol.”
“Not these wolves. The Balmoral, the Sinclair and the Donegal lairds are as committed to keeping our people safe as I am.” The prince’s tone rang with sincerity.
The man believed his own words. That was clear.
But Una couldn’t bring herself to do so. No wolf would ever care for the Éan as a true brother. It was not in their violent, often sadistic and deceitful natures.
“It is only a few among the Faol today who would harm our people. Far more would see us joined with the clans for our safety and all our advantage.”
Join with the clans? Who had conceived of that horrific notion? First they were talking about having wolves come to live among them, and now their leaders were mentioning leaving the forest so the Éan could join the clans?