Night of the Fifth Moon by Anna Ciddor Read Free Book Online

aside.
    â€˜Father!’ he called in a loud whisper.
    Ossian emerged, and waved. He was stooped now, and almost bald.
    â€˜Fáilte!’ he replied. ‘Still no anruth robes?’ He gestured at Ket’s short brown tunic.
    â€˜No, but soon, maybe.’ In an eager undertone, Ket told Ossian about the challenge. ‘Master Faelán is going to judge us, and choose one of us to be an anruth.’
    â€˜I’m sure he’ll choose you,’ said Ossian, patting his shoulder. ‘But if he doesn’t, no matter, Ragallach will still take you. Now . . .’ He held out a hand. ‘You’ve brought the offering, I see.’
    Ket hesitated. ‘Should I do it myself?’
    â€˜Time enough when you’re older,’ said Ossian.
    Ket nodded with relief. ‘When I’m a druid, nothing will frighten me! And I’ll know all sorts of spells to protect me.’
    â€˜But you must pay your respects to your ancestors out here,’ his father reminded him.
    As Ossian crouched down to ease his way back through the low portal, Ket turned reluctantly to the white stones standing sentinel around the grave. Slowly, he began to move around, resting his hands on each pillar. The stones were cool and moist and it seemed to Ket as if the coldness and heaviness of death were seeping inside his own skin.
    The tallest and broadest pillar was Grandfather Cormac’s memorial. Orange lichen dappled the bleached surface, and marks, half worn away by age and weather, were etched up one side.
    Ket stretched out his hand, then stopped, trans-fixed. Of course! Those marks were feda, just like Faelán had carved in the birch rod!

    â€˜Ogham,’ he whispered, shaking with excitement. He looked round wildly for something to copy them on. There was a flat stone near his foot, half-buried in the earth. He scrabbled it out, and using a piece of sharp rock, started to scratch the word on its surface.
    â€˜Well, that’s done then.’ Startled by the sound of Ossian’s voice, Ket almost stabbed his own hand. ‘Better get home . . .’ Ossian’s voice sharpened. ‘What are you doing , Ket?’
    Ket scrambled to his feet. ‘Sorry, no time to tell you now!’ he blurted. ‘Got to go!’
    Hugging the precious clue to his chest, he turned and sped back to camp.

SAMHAIN
    Nearing the sound of voices and the scent of aspen smoke, Ket forced himself to slow down and saunter into camp. Lorccán and Bran must never guess his secret.
    â€˜Hey,’ called Nessa. ‘What took you so long?’
    The fosterlings were clustered around the hollow oak, draping it with holly to keep out evil spirits.
    â€˜Yes, hurry, it’s getting late,’ cried Riona. She was on her knees, laying a ring of prickly leaves and red berries around the roots of the tree.
    â€˜Coming,’ said Ket. ‘I’ll just . . . I’ll just . . .’
    At that moment, there was a loud hiss and billow of smoke and Art and Bronal staggered away from the fire, coughing and flapping their hands. Ket grinned with delight. On Samhain Eve every flame in the land had to be extinguished, and the two anruth had just poured water over their campfire.
    Masked by the pall of smoke, Ket crept over to the Sacred Yew and squatted beside the ogham rod. He laid his stone on the ground and examined it eagerly.

    The word had to be Cormac , his grandfather’s name, so the four strokes at the top, pointing left, must be C , and the next was o . . . He peered from his stone to the message on the birch rod. The C wasn’t there. But the next feda was! And the two after that! He thrust his knuckle in his mouth and bit hard to stop himself crowing with excitement.
    â€˜Hey, what are you up to?’
    Ket jumped with shock, and threw himself on top of his stone. But it was too late. Lorccán had already reached out to grab it.
    â€˜Don’t!’ cried Ket. ‘That’s