Aonachd - The Last Road [Editing]

Prologue: The First Bloom of Autumn

FINE, misting rain fell to the earth, hiding the distant hills behind a silver curtain. The wind softly whispered the arrival of autumn as it meandered among the living places of An Dùn. Most were inside their crofts, avoiding the dreary weather. Even the endless ringing of the forge was silent, the world left alone to the wind and rain. And Sioned.

Sioned McCladden strode down the miry street, his thirteen-year-old self feeling strong and determined that he was the only one outside, even as the wind laughingly tossed aside his wayward dark hair so that it resembled little more than a crow's nest. His mother, Annag, would have a fit if she saw him, but she was too tired to care now anyway, resting after her hard labour the day before with her fifth child, Malcolm, which was the fourth of them to survive so far.

Sioned remembered well the birth of his brother, Angus, who was now three. He had been nine then; Duncan, his other sibling, being seven and full of ignorant importance. His mother had miscarried one after Duncan, and Angus had barely survived himself, being a tiny, pale and sickly-looking child. But he had pulled through, and despite his small size was as tough as any of them, and possibly more so than Duncan, who preferred to play games rather than chase any sort of useful pursuit.

Angus had been confused the day before, Sioned thought with a wry smile as he turned the corner and passed the empty forge, the fire sending a thin trail of smoke into the misty air. His little brother had not understood why his mother seemed to be in so much pain, and it worried him, big tears falling down his trembling face.

But Malcolm, the newest addition, seemed to have stolen all the appearance of good health from his older brother, being very plump for a baby and red all over, with a scream even larger than his appearance.

Sioned had not known it was possible for a baby less than a day old to scream like that. But scream Malcolm did, and he was only quiet when sleeping or being fed.

Duncan complained of the noise, as he complained about most things, but Angus watched the sudden change to their household with quiet, large blue eyes, confused and hoping someone would explain, but too timid to ask himself.

Sioned opened the door to his family home and took off his cloak, whirling it around his arm and hanging it on the row of wooden pegs, turning and striding forward to warm his cold hands on the blazing hearth.

"Wha' kept ye?" Duncan said, looking up from the row of sticks he pretended were warriors. "Father's been here and gang again, and ye jist came home now. Mother was worried."

Sioned glanced at the stairway leading up to the second floor where all was quiet. Baby Malcolm must be sleeping. "I was out checking the rabbit traps, but there was nothing. I think they got away again since Thaermund played wi' them."

"Maybe ye jist didnae make them good enough." Duncan scowled.

"Och, wha's wrong wi' ye?" Sioned retorted. "Did ye nae get lunch?"

"I did, but I hae had to deal wi' Angus staring at me fer the last hour and tha's enough to make any man mad," Duncan snapped, throwing one of his stick-warriors across the room.

It hit the wall and then bounced off Angus' head, who had fallen asleep curled up in a blanket against the wall. Angus sat up in sleepy confusion and began to cry.

Sioned said nothing, biting his tongue against a scalding remark, and stepped over, picking up his little brother.

Angus flung his arms around Sioned's neck and then looked down triumphantly at Duncan, his tears now dry.

Still holding his little brother with one arm, Sioned dished himself some of the stew left in the pot hanging to the side of the hearth, and sat at the table to take a bite, promptly burning himself on the hot—if fulfilling—substance.