Night of the Fifth Moon by Anna Ciddor Page A

muttered.
    â€˜I’m sure you’ll be fine.’ Goll patted his shoulder.
    All eyes turned to the druid as he began to speak. ‘Tonight is the second new moon, and once again, one of you fosterlings must be sent away.’ There was no sound in the camp. Even the fire seemed to have ceased its crackling. He looked at the five tense figures in front of him. ‘Lorccán . . .’ he said.
    Lorccán?! The blood pounded in Ket’s head. ‘You have shown you are a strong, confident leader,’ Faelán continued, nodding approval and Ket felt a flood of disappointment. ‘And Nessa, you are a highly capable and reliable young lady. As for Nath-í . . .’ The druid shook his head, but he was smiling at the same time. ‘Nath-í, I am impressed by your skill with words,’ said Faelán.
    Ket clenched his hands. His palms were sweaty. There was only himself and Bran left. He held his breath as the druid spoke the next name.
    â€˜Bran . . .’ he said.
    Ket felt the air whoosh from his lungs. He was the last! He was . . . A roaring filled his ears, almost blocking out Faelán’s voice. He was vaguely aware of Goll grabbing him as he swayed.
    â€˜Bran,’ said Faelán, ‘you do not have the temperament to be a druid.’
    Bran hurled his bells at the fire, his face livid. He sprang to his feet, shooting darts of hatred at the other fosterlings.
    Ket watched in shock as he stormed away. ‘But . . . but . . . what about me?’ croaked Ket. ‘Faelán forgot about me.’

NESSA’S CLAN
    Next morning, Ket was still anxious and bewildered.
    â€˜Faelán left me out,’ he railed. ‘He praised Nessa, and Lorccán and Nath-í, but he didn’t have anything nice to say about me.’
    â€˜So?’ Goll was peering into the bronze cauldron used for brewing remedies. ‘Probably, there were so many good things to say, he didn’t know where to begin.’
    Ket scowled. ‘There isn’t anything special to say about me. I’m not best at anything.’
    â€˜Don’t be so dismal. You’re good at listening, and you try hard, and . . . and . . .’ Goll dropped some large furry mullein leaves into the pot, and stirred them with a stick. ‘And you’re good at sharing,’ he finished lamely.
    Ket picked up a stone and stabbed angrily at the ground. ‘None of those things are special. I know I’ll be the next one he sends away.’
    Goll was concentrating on his potion. He lifted the steaming leaves out of the cauldron, and let them drip for a moment off the end of the stick.
    â€˜All right, hold out your toes.’
    Ket flinched as the hot poultice was slapped onto his bare feet. ‘Now, leave it there all day,’ ordered Goll, binding a length of twine around. ‘And keep your brogues on too.’
    Then he was gone, following the druid between the trees, and Ket watched moodily as the two of them glided off over the plain. When they passed the cairn of the Shadow Ones, Ket fancied he heard murmuring from the grave. He turned with a shudder and crossed the clearing to the Sacred Yew to lour at the ogham rod with its baffling message.
    â€˜We need more clues!’ he exclaimed in frustration as Nessa strolled over to join him.
    But Nessa seemed uninterested in the rod. She eyed Ket, chewing her lip, and tugging one of her braids.
    â€˜Ket, I . . . I made up a poem about you.’
    He stared at her.
    Nessa puffed out her cheeks. ‘Well . . . Here it is. It’s not very good.
    Brave as a spear
    He’s straight of aim.
    He faces fear
    And dares shame.
    He joins a fight
    With all his might . . .’
    Her voice trailed away and she cleared her throat. ‘That’s all, so far.’
    Ket tried to answer. He swallowed.
    â€˜Hey, what have you found out?’ Lorccán came rushing over and looked down eagerly at the birch rod.
    Nessa blinked at him.