Ciara—The Last Daughter of Cearnach

	It was four in the morning and neither of them had slept much.  Being back in Cearnach gave Ciara nightmares and she had thrashed so much she’d tumbled herself out of bed.  She’d woken up under a pile of blankets with Niamh squatting over her, beautifully naked and ruffled from sleep, already unwinding a fresh bandage.  Afterward, they made love for the comfort it gave them.
	Ciara spent the rest of the morning in a hot bath, soaking the blood and dirt out of her fur.  Niamh stoked the fire to reheat the bath twice, but Ciara still felt cold.  Not that being back in her mother’s old apartments did anything to help that.  She had asked for them out of  nostalgia but now she wished she hadn't.  She'd forgotten how the stone walls sucked up the heat of her body without ever warming, and the drip in her bedroom ceiling that had turned to icicles every winter.  Now, she stood, naked, in front of Deirdre’s old full-length mirror while Niamh worked to rub her dry with a rough towel. Ciara felt bruised and sore wherever Niamh touched her, but just to have her girl standing there, solid and real and fussing over her as usual, made her heart sing.
	“I want you to swear to me you won't fight Sabia,” said Niamh.
	“She might not give me a choice,” said Ciara.
	“Don't let her do that to you.  A rabbit never does what her enemies expect.”
	“I'm not a rabbit,” said Ciara.
	“But you want to be,” said Niamh.
	There was a sharp knock at the door and Deirdre let herself in.  She carried a rolled up bundle of red and white cloth, and a sword that stirred unpleasant memories of hiding in her room while her parents fought.  The weapon was brightly polished and there were too many gemstones set into the hilt.  The last time Ciara had seen it, it had been hanging from her father's hip just a few days before she'd been sent into exile.
	Deirdre paused just inside the door with a look of raw of longing on her face.  Then she came the rest of the way in and dumped the clothes and the sword in the middle of the bed.  She fussed over the old uniform, unfolding it and smoothing out the wrinkles with her palm.  It was the same uniform that all of Cearnach’s soldiers wore, except that this one had gold buttons and a gold braid that went over one shoulder.
	“It’s as hideous as I remember.  I’d rather go out there dripping naked,” said Ciara.
	“I thought you'd want to wear it, for your father.  I had it adjusted to fit you, but I had to guess at your size a bit,” said Deirdre.
	“I'm not going to wear it,” said Ciara.
	“I think you have to,” said Deirdre.
	Niamh hung the towel over the edge of the copper bath and picked up the sling she had made out of an old sheet.  Ciara flattened her ears a bit at the sight of it but she didn’t resist when Niamh looped it around her neck and slid her arm into the cradle.  They had argued about this for an hour and Niamh had only won because Ciara had hurt too much to continue.
	“I’m not my father.  I’m not even his heir, not really.  I'm just the next best thing,” said Ciara.
	“No one is asking you to replace him.  Nobody could do that.  But you have to show people that the Cearnach bloodline still exists,” said Deirdre.
	“Sabia knows who I am.  So does that bloated priest,” said Ciara.
	“That's two.  There are thousands of people in this city,” said Deirdre.
	“What about Fithir?  She's still queen.  People should be looking to her, not me,” said Ciara.
	“You know better.  She was only queen while your father was alive,” said Deirdre.
	“But when this is over, I'm going home,” said Ciara
	“You might not be able to.”
	Deirdre picked up the uniform jacket and shook it so the gold buttons jangled.  Ciara grabbed it out of her mother's hands and threw it across the room.
	“What is it you think I can do?  This isn’t my home anymore.  I'm going out there today for my father, but then I'm going home,” said Ciara.
	“You’re the only chance that Cearnach has,” said Deirdre.
	Niamh retrieved the jacket from where it had landed and held it out for Ciara to take.
	“What happened to you wasn’t Fithir’s fault, or the fault of the people who live here.  Don’t punish them because of Marcan,” said Niamh.
	Ciara snorted and flopped down on the bed.  But she knew if she didn’t go Niamh  would be disappointed, and that was more than she could bear.
	“I sent you away.  Connor wanted you to stay here.  He was terrified of the idea of never seeing you again,” said Deirdre.
	“Then why didn’t he come and get me?” said Ciara.
	“Because I never told him where you were,” said Deirdre.
	When Niamh held out the coat, Ciara took it.  Her father had died before she’d had a chance to tell him she'd forgiven him.  They'd spent most of their time together arguing, just like he'd always had to do with Deirdre.  But she knew she still had one more chance to make it up to him, if she was brave enough to take it.
	She let Niamh dress her in the uniform, with a little help from her mother on the buttons and straps.  It hung oddly from her shoulders, and made her itch in embarrassing places, but once it was on she found it fit her surprisingly well.
	“You never used to be able to sew,” she said.
	“You learn a few things when you're living on your own.  Like how to grow up,” said Deirdre.
	Deirdre fastened the last button at Ciara’s throat and picked the sword up off the bed.  She drew it  from its sheath and held up so Ciara could look at it.  It had a gilded  hilt set with small, round rubies, and the blade had been etched with the named of every king of Cearnach who had wielded it.  The edge was razor sharp.
	“Not that.  I’ll wear the uniform, if I have to, but I'm not going to fight,” said Ciara.
	“There are times when all you can do is fight,” said Deirdre.
	“I’ll have Embarr.  He’s all I need to stay safe,” said Ciara.
	“We want to stop the war.  Taking a sword would send the wrong message,” asked Niamh.
	“You’re meant to be Queen.  Whether you want to or not, you have to look the part.  You don’t have to use it, but you have to take it,” said Deirdre.
	Deirdre tied the belt around her waist and shifted the scabbard around until it fit comfortably against Ciara's hip.  It was lighter than she expected and there was something vaguely exciting about wearing it.  There had never been a ruling Queen of Cearnach before, only the wives and daughters of various Kings.  Until today, no vixen had ever touched it.  Her name would be added to the sword, right at the very tip.
	“Maybe I should come, too.  Sabia already killed your father, God only knows what she’ll try to do to you,” said Deirdre.
	“No.  If you want this to end peacefully, I have to go by myself.  That’s the only way it can work,” said Ciara.
	There was a pair of boots, too, which went with the uniform.  They were heavy brown leather things with deep scratches across the toes and rawhide laces.  Niamh lifted one of Ciara’s legs to slip one on, but she had hit her limit.  She kicked the boots away under the bed, where she wouldn’t have to look at them.
	“No more.  All these clothes are too heavy, and I have to be able to feel the way Embarr moves under me,” she said.
	“You still trust that horse too much.  He’s going to get you killed someday,” said Deirdre.
	There was another, more urgent knocking at the door. Deirdre opened it to find  Emer, who was standing out in the hall, blowing on her hands to keep them warm.  The child looked sleepy, like she had just gotten out of bed, but when she saw Ciara looking at her she gave a crisp little salute and ran into the room.  She stopped just before she ran into Ciara, who was too deeply embarrassed to move out of the way, and took hold of Ciara's wrist.
	“You have to come with me, right now.  Please.  Queen Sabia is outside and Lady Fithir can’t do anything to stop her anymore.  If  you don’t, Sabia will attack the city,” she said.
	“She might anyway.  You can’t trust cats.  You should consider that on your way out,” said Deirdre.
	“What about foxes?” said Niamh.
	Niamh gave Ciara a kiss and shoved her in Emer’s direction.  Emer grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the open door.  In the hall, the child started to go to the right, towards the front of the castle.  Ciara was in a hurry, and she pulled the girl to the left instead, toward the back door.  The stables that had been there when she had been young hadn’t been rebuilt since Cearnach had been burned, but the paddocks were still there, and she had left Embarr in one of them to keep him close.
	He was waiting for her at the bottom of the stone steps that ran down from the door, prancing excitedly back and forth.  She leaped from the top of the stairs onto his back and he wheeled in a tight circle and whinnied.  Emer stood at the top of the stairs, looking frightened.  The girl took a step forward, preparing to jump down as well, until Ciara held up a hand to stop her.
	“You go and look after my mother in case she gets any stupid ideas.  See that she and Niamh stay put, if you can.  They’ll be safer where they are than anywhere else in the city and they'll look after you,” said Ciara.
	She hardly needed to do anything to get Embarr moving.  She took hold of his mane and he shot forward into a gallop immediately.  She turned him towards the old back gate that they had used the last time they had left the city this way.  It was shut tight against the coming siege and she braced herself for Embarr to jump it, but he didn’t bother.  He smashed through it instead and pieces of wood bounced off of her knees.
	She went around the outside of the city because she wasn’t willing to trust Sabia any further than she had to.  The old lynx might be willing to talk, or she might attack as soon as the gates were open.  This way, Ciara could make sure that she was the only person in any danger.  It also gave her the advantage of surprise.  Whatever happened, keeping Sabia off-balance would be her best defense.
	She forced Embarr to slow down as they approached the front of the city, so she could see what kind of a force she would have to deal with.  But, as she came around the corner, she was the one who was surprised.  The first thing she saw was Fiachra, perched awkwardly on Connor’s yellow mare in the middle of a wide ring of lynxes.  Sabia was beside him, mounted on a red stallion that was almost as big as Embarr was.  She held a long tube of metal in her hands and had one end of it pointed at Fiachra’s chest.  It didn't look much like a weapon, but there was a heavy stink of chemicals in the air that made her uneasy.  During the Summer Fair in Oseille, she'd heard talk of a new sort of weapon that could fire pellets of metal through even steel armor.
	Not wanting to risk Fiachra’s life, or her own, she touched the side of Embarr’s neck to slow him to a walk.  Thirteen whinnied a greeting to him, and pranced in place, but Embarr didn’t even flick an ear in return.  His whole body was tensed to run at the slightest touch from Ciara's hand.  The ring of lynxes opened up to let them through and Ciara rode past them, with her head up and her hands plainly visible on Embarr’s neck. She let Embarr keep going until they were only a few feet away from Sabia before she clucked her tongue, once, to stop him.  Sabia swung the tube around so it was pointed at Ciara, but she didn’t look at that, either.  She kept her eyes on Sabia and returned the old lynx’s glare with as calm an expression as she could manage.
	“Here you are again.  I want you to tell me that you meant what you said when you came looking to end the war.  Tell me you weren’t just there to waste my time and distract me while fat Marcan was sneaking around behind my back,” said Sabia.
	“Of course I did.  There’s nothing on Earth that could convince me to work for Bishop Marcan,” said Ciara.
	Sabia raised the tube higher so it was pointed right at Ciara’s heart.  The end of it wavered so much that, if it was a weapon, Ciara thought she was sure to miss if she was fired.
	“Why are you armed?” said Sabia.
	“I'm not a fool,” said Ciara. 
	“What about Alana?  Your talk of peace murdered my daughter,” said Sabia.
	“Your war killed her.  All she wanted was a mother who loved her and would listen to her just once,” said Ciara.
	The tube in Sabia’s hands drooped and she looked down at her horse’s neck like she was looking for answers in his mane.  The sun was starting to rise now and the thin light it spread over the field made Sabia look old and fragile.  Then the tube rose again, and Sabia's teeth were red in the sunrise.
	“It doesn't matter who fired the arrow.  It wouldn't have been necessary if she'd just done what I said,” said Sabia.
	“You shot her?” said Ciara.
	“I told her that betrayal is death.  No quarter can be spared, for mother or daughter.  How many times did I make her repeat those words to me?” said Sabia.
	Fiachra snatched at his reins, struggling to hold them with hands that had been tied together, and he shouted in Thirteen's ear.  The yellow mare surged forward with a scream like Embarr's, but she didn't have her father's training.  The mare shied when she hit the ring of lynxes, most of whom had raised their swords.  Fiachra only managed to stay in the saddle by abandoning all his efforts to control his horse.  Thirteen trotted around the circle first one way, and then the other.  She finally stopped beside Embarr, who gave her an affectionate nuzzle.  Ciara leaned over, in a show of helping Fiachra to right himself, and pulled at the ropes around his wrist.
	“What was that?” she said.
	“Why are you just talking to her?  Haven't you learned anything yet?” he said.
	“Yes.  I've learned caution,” said Ciara.
	She pulled the rope around his wrists free and dropped it on the ground.  In all this time Sabia hadn't moved, except to steady the tube.
	“Now, you should go home.  There’s no place for children or rabbits on a battlefield,” said Sabia.
	“I agree.  But this isn't a battlefield,” said Ciara.
	“Your father said the same thing.”
	“Did you kill him?”
	“There isn’t any time for that,” said Sabia.
	She raised the tube higher and pointed it over Ciara's shoulder.  Ciara heard the lynxes stirring restlessly all around her, and a brief clash of metal.  But nothing was important right now, except Sabia's answer.
	“Did you kill my father?” said Ciara.
	“What else do you want me to say?  That I didn’t mean to?  I didn’t want to, he was much more fun to play with than Marcan will be.  But he got in the way and then it was too late to take it back,” said Sabia.
	All of the lynxes had their weapons raised now, and the ones closest to Ciara looked nervous.  Afraid of what she would see, Ciara clucked her tongue at Embarr and turned him just enough so that she could see Cearnach without turning her back on Sabia.  The city gates were open and armed foxes were pouring out of them.  In front of all of them was Marcan.  He had on a suit of chain that must have been specially made to fit over his fat belly.  Over that he wore his ceremonial Church robes, which trailed the ground behind him.  He was on foot but flanked by two large foxes in heavy breastplates, both of whom were armed with things that looked more like oversized butcher's cleavers than swords.  Marcan smiled nastily when Ciara shrank from him and he gave her a mocking salute.
	“You were thrown out,” said Ciara.  Her voice was little more than a squeak, and she hated herself for it.
	“By a Queen who no longer held the throne.  Your family is finished here, and it’s just as well.  I’d rather see the bloodline dead than to have it tainted with filth,” said Marcan.
	“It wouldn’t be dead if not for you.  Or is that what you wanted all along?  You said you planned all of this out.  I think you knew exactly what would happen,” said Ciara.
	The foxes on either side of him shifted uneasily, and one of them raised his sword a little and cast a sideways glance at Marcan.  Even his own bodyguards didn’t like him, and this sparked a little hope in Ciara’s breast that she didn’t dare cling to.
	“That you can even think that way shows how degenerate you are.  I did this to help your father, to cleanse his soul.  If you weren’t such a wicked child you would see that,” said Marcan.
	There was a small, metallic click behind them, and Ciara saw Fiachra go rigid with fear.  The skin on the back of her neck prickled and she wanted to run, but she clenched her teeth and stayed put.  Marcan was much more dangerous than Sabia was.
	“I told you to leave.  I don’t care what happens to you, but Alana did.  I’m going to give you one last chance because she loved you,” said Sabia.
	“I see more clearly than you think.  You used my father's guilt to kill him and now you're blaming him for it, too.  I never used to believe in evil until I met you,” said Ciara.
	Sabia’s weapon went off with a bang that made Ciara’s ears ring like they had been boxed.  The chemical stink of it burned her nose and made her sneeze.  Thirteen screamed and reared in protest.  Fiachra grabbed her mane to keep himself on her back, and this pulled her head around so she spun in a tight little circle on her hind legs.  When she came down, her front hooves hit the ground just in front of one of Marcan’s bodyguards.  The startled fox dropped his sword and leaped back.
	Most of Marcan’s followers, however, took this as the signal to charge.  There weren’t that many of them, but there didn’t need to be.  All of the foxes who had stayed home were the best fighters in the city and the lynxes were tired from their long march.  Several of the cats turned and ran, abandoning their weapons behind them.  Sabia shouted after them, ordering them to return, but none of them looked back.  The cats who were left rallied around their Queen, falling back from the wall to tighten their circle around her while she worked to re-load the gun.  Marcan picked up the sword his guard had dropped and swished it through the air.
	“Better leave, little girl.  Once the old bitch is dead I'll give you to my boys as a reward,” said Marcan.
	Then he ran after his army, screaming wordless threats and waving his sword.  Ciara watched him go, and hoped he would get spitted on a lynx’s sword.  Feeling slightly ashamed of herself, she turned back to face the guards he had left behind.  One of them, after a moment’s reflection, ran after Marcan, though he didn’t show the same  enthusiasm for the fight as his employer.  The other one, the guard who had dropped his weapon, stayed put.  He put his hands up in front of him, palms forward, asking for peace.
	“You don’t look like an abomination to me,” he said.
	“What should I look like, then?  Tell me, and I’ll try harder to live up to your expectations,” said Ciara, and she put her hand on the hilt of her sword.  The guard crouched a little, to make himself look smaller and held his hands up higher.
	“I didn’t mean it like that.  Bishop Marcan has lied to us.  He says that you are evil because of what you are, but I've heard of the things you’ve done.  I followed him, because I thought I had no choice, but now that I’ve seen you I know I was wrong,” he said.
	“A fox with a brain,” said Fiachra, and he spat on the ground.
	“Anyone with eyes can see who that you have the Cearnach blood in you.  You have to help us,” he said.
	“But I don’t want to be Queen.  I just wanted to keep people safe, and stop the fighting,” said Ciara.
	“Then stop it,” said the soldier.
	“How?  Nobody ever listens to me,” said Ciara.
	“Then you have to make them.  Do you think your mother would let anyone get in her way?” said Fiachra.
	“But I don't even belong here anymore,” said Ciara.
	“I think you do.  This is your home, every bit as much as Oseille is.  These are your people, even if they did abandon you.  They need you to do this for them,” said Fiachra.
	The guard pulled a dagger from his belt and looked out at the battlefield.  His hands shook, but his breathing was even and Ciara thought he looked more resigned than frightened.
	“I have to go.  You have my loyalty, but Bishop Marcan has promised to hang anyone who runs away.  I only stayed because I wanted you to have a chance,” he said.
	Before their new friend was halfway across the field, the noise of combat ceased, and the battle came to an uneasy halt.  The lynxes were still holding their circle around Sabia, though most of them were wounded and a few of them had been killed.  The foxes, for their part, were milling uncertainly, just outside of range of the Blackpool swords.  By now, Sabia had gotten her gun reloaded and she was waving it in circles all around her, trying to keep as many foxes covered as she could.  Ciara could see Marcan standing in the middle of everything, one hand raised to hold his fighters back.  Ciara could see that he was furious, but not even he was foolish enough to risk getting shot by Sabia’s new weapon.
	Ciara undid the top button of her coat, and shivered from the cold.  Parts of it were white, as was the fur over her chest, and with nothing else available she would have to make her own flag.  She undid three more, to expose the fur over her heart, and she clucked her tongue at Embarr.  She intended for him to walk towards the circle, so Sabia could get a good look at her, but Embarr, who had already been upset by the noise and the stink from the gun, spooked at her command and took off at a full gallop.  She shouted at him, and threw herself forward to catch his mane and stop him, but he just laid back his ears and ran faster.
	In spite of her fear, Ciara made herself sit up straight so that her makeshift white flag would still be visible.  She saw Sabia’s gun snap up to point at her and she heard Marcan shout commands to his soldiers.  Almost at the same time, the rear half of Sabia’s circle collapsed.  Embarr was coming up on all of them too fast, and Ciara pulled back hard on his mane to get him to turn.  He did, but not soon enough, and he slipped sideways on a patch of mud and plowed into the circle of lynxes.  
	Ciara was thrown from Embarr’s back to land in the mud.  Her left arm screamed with pain all the way down to her wrist and her wound itched like mad.  She was sure it had started bleeding again, too.  She scrambled up heart thumping, and froze when she heard another metallic click right beside her.
	In the confusion, Blackpool’s circle had split wide open.  Lynxes, trying to get out of the way of Embarr's mad charge, had abandoned their positions and now they were scattered and held at bay by wary foxes.  Sabia was alone and exposed in the middle of all of her enemies.  She had dropped her gun and and her hands were tangled in the reins which she’d grabbed to stay mounted.  Ciara forced herself to look away from her to find Marcan.  He had Sabia's weapon and he stoode over the body of the lynx he had stabbed to get it.  He had it pointed right at Sabia’s stomach and, in his hands, the barrel of the gun stayed quite still.  What surprised Ciara was that he wasn’t smiling.  She would have expected him to gloat, but, mostly, he just looked tired.
	“You murdered my brother,” said Marcan.
	“I might have.  I’ve killed more people than I care to think about.  But what about the people you've killed Their lives as worth as much as your brother's was,” said Sabia.
	“They were soldiers, they knew what to expect.  My brother was only seventeen.  He was innocent,” said. Marcan.
	His voice hitched, and Ciara thought he might have the decency to cry.  She could have felt some sympathy for him if he had.  But he just flattened his ears and adjusted his grip on the gun.
	“Seventeen is old enough to know what you’re getting yourself into.  My mother had been a soldier for a two years by the time she was that age.  Your brother didn’t deserve to die, but neither does anyone else,” said Ciara.
	“You would defend the old bitch.  I wouldn’t expect any sympathy from a thing like you.  Your heart is as hard as hers, and God has turned away from you both,” said Marcan, and he pulled the trigger.
	Ciara flung herself at him to stop him, knowing she was already too late.  She hit him just as the gun fired and knocked the barrel away.  The shot missed Sabia and Ciara felt a great wave of relief wash over her, until she saw Embarr fall to the ground.  The whole battlefield froze as Ciara ran to her friend's side and fell on her knees beside him.  She knew, before she ever touched him, that he was already dead and she buried her face in his mane so she wouldn't shame him with her tears.