I tried to re-enter the fugue state I had been in before stumbling across the body of that dead child. Heal, search for the next person wounded and heal again. It helped keep the distractions, the anger at the senseless deaths and carnage I had to wade through to find those victims that still clung to life from overwhelming me. By this point, anyone still living, would survive. Their natural regenerative abilities making sure of that, but I refused to stop until Ag managed to break through the mindset I found myself in.

Her gentle nudging of my hand with her snout, and her quiet whimpering, finally broke through the almost robotic actions that had become my focus. As my mind cleared, I forced myself to ignore the pain of seeing a Sidhe child slaughtered, and to discount the carnage of blood and broken bodies.

“Are there any left that needs healing?” I asked as Caraid and Tia approached now that Ag had broken me free from my obsession, their worry about me evident.

“No, Your Majesty,” Tia said, “even the minor injuries have healed thanks to your Aura.”

“I think we should dispense with titles,” I said, “I am no king here. Teigh is well enough between us.” I didn’t mean my words as an admonishment, simply a statement of fact. It would be better to dispense with titles and Rank, especially in a world without System.

“Have you been able to identify who was protecting this convey, or whatever this is?”

“They were refugees,” Caraid informed me. “The Sidhe have been engaged in a losing battle with the Fomorians and Man. The battlefront has moved recently, the Fomorians advancing and seizing areas the Sidhe had controlled. These people were being escorted to a safer area when they were ambushed.”

“What of those tasked with protecting them?” I demanded. “A century of Fomorians were able to set an ambush, in what I would assume is Sidhe territory and they did it with no warning?”

“The Lord leading them was killed almost immediately. There are a few of his retainers left alive, but no one of any actual rank or power, and I haven’t been able to get much information from those still living. They are mistrustful, uncertain who we are, or if they should share information with us,” Caraid said.

“Do you know where they were headed?” I asked.

“We haven’t been able to find out,” Caraid admitted, “the information we did get came from the people you healed. Those in charge have refused to speak with us. Without their Lord providing leadership, those that have survived are too afraid of something to make a decision.”

“I can shape change, sneak into what remains of their command center, and listen in on their discussions,” Tia offered.

“It might come to that,” I admitted, “but for now let’s try the direct approach. You say their leadership was killed in this attack? It shouldn’t take much to convince them they are better off accepting our aid and offer of protection to get these people where they need to be.”

As I had spent the past few hours healing, some order had been restored and a camp of sorts established. There had been someone with enough wherewithal to collect the dead, set up a cooking site to feed people and organize those people that could still fight into guard details.

The ground where the battle had taken place had transformed into a quagmire of mud as the blood that people had spilled had pooled. Too much for the land to accept. The Sidhe, being effectively immortal, must have bled rivers to create enough liquid to transform the ground to mud.

That the people that had survived, those that required healing spells, were testament to how badly their bodies' regenerative abilities had been stressed. Even that child that had been slaughtered by being cut into four pieces might have survived if there had been a lull in battle long enough to allow someone to join the pieces of his body back together.

That was the genuine horror of finding that body. Knowing that young boy hadn’t died immediately, even from such grievous wounds. Instead, he had laid there in agony, his body trying to restore him, to heal him. His mind-shattering as he slowly went insane. It was perhaps the biggest curse of immortality, that moment when the body straddled the point between life and death. The soul flayed as the body fought to survive. The kindest thing would be to let go, and die, but the magic that made you Sidhe refused you that grace.

For a child, he had to have spent the better part of the day trying to heal the wounds he had taken. His heart-stopping, his brain stopping, only for the magic to jump-start both organs and attempt time after time to restore him. I had seen signs of fresh growth, each part of his body attempting to regenerate.

That attempt only made it worse. The boy was forced to endure that moment between life and death as each section of his body lived and died. His soul, not only driven insane but shattered into pieces, unable to determine which of the four segments of the body was primary.

The Sidhe understood how cruel the gift of our bloodline could be. We understood it so well that some of us used it as a method of torture. The Morrigu were believed to make trophies out of their enemies. Men and women left to linger between life and death as a warning to anyone who might think to contest their rule.

I’d seen no signs of it whenever I’d visited the Unseelie Court. But considering what I had done to Mab and the Seelie Court because of the torture they had inflicted on one of mine, I wouldn’t be surprised if those trophies existed and were well hidden whenever I or one of mine had business with their court.

Most of the people we passed barely glanced at us. Those that did, did so with the pain of defeat etched across their faces, their eyes lost to the world around them, turned inward and reliving the horrors of the past battle. The moaning and wailing had quieted during the hours I had spent healing, so when a burst of despair broke out to break the silence it was all the more heart-wrenching.

It was hard to tell how many people had survived. We must have arrived in the late afternoon because the sun had just set, it was too dark for me to make even a guess. Still, there were signs of life, of continuity. A few of the less traumatized people were lighting fire pits. Even though those attempts were unorganized and scattered throughout the camp, it was a start. Proof that life would go on if nothing else.

The command tent was the only actual sign of order in this field of disorder. A blazing beacon of light shining so bright that it was almost blinding. As I crossed the border, slipping easily past the guard that had been stationed at the entrance, I felt none of the Divine grace of Danu, none of the blessings that I would have expected to find.

The Goddess had not been invoked for some reason, and that was worrisome. I knew I was tasked with saving the Sidhe, with establishing a Sithern and a World Tree, but I had assumed that the Tuatha de Danaan were known. That even in Sleep their touch reached this world.

If the Goddess had not been invoked after a battle of such magnitude, if the blood that made the fields grow had not been given as an offering to the Tuatha de Danaan Pantheon, then I had more work to do than I’d thought. I would have to make known to the Sidhe of this world who they were, in order to save them.

The sacrifice had to be made. The moon would rise, but I could ignore that for now. Not for long. By midnight, if no one else knew the ritual to bless the field and give an offering to Danu with the blood that was spilled, I would perform the ritual.

If Danu was not known, if the Tuatha de Danaan had been forgotten or never acknowledged, I would see that error rectified.