Hero's Song

by Edith Pattou

  "There are two kinds," Talisen explained in an animated voice. "One is the ancient music that works what we humans call magic. The Ellylon call it draiocht. Only a select few have the gift for, and are trained in, draoicht. You see, the Ellylon believe that in the same way all things bear a name, so does each thing bear a song. A song unique only to it. There are songs for rocks, for clouds, for men, and for animals. To learn and be able to sing that song gives power. You remember when Silien kindled the light in his hand in the labyrinth? He used the song of a flame. Even an Ellyl with the gift takes many years of training to learn the songs and to sing them well. Amergin, they told me, was the only non-Ellyl ever to learn draoicht, and he only understood very little.

  "The other kind of Ellyl music," Talisen continued, "is like the music we know in Eirren, except that it is more—more beautiful, more wrenching. This kind they call ceol, and it is my belief that ceol is the kind of music the ancient bards of Eirren knew. The kind that can make you weep, laugh, dance, and even sleep. And it is the kind that I am going to learn. One way or another, Collun, I am going to learn this ceol music." The expression on Talisen's face was resolute.

  Collun did not see much of Talisen in the next two days. He would return to their quarters only to eat an occasional meal and to sleep, though he seemed to do little of the latter. Every time Collun woke in the night, he could hear harp music coming from Talisen's room.

  Ebba was teaching Brie the Ellyl way of carving wood, and Collun watched as she worked on a new bow. Ebba supplied her with a soft, white wood, perfect for carving. And through the curls of wood shavings, a delicate, long-necked bird began to take form. It was a tine-ean, Ebba said, a flame-bird.

  Collun felt restless, anxious to resume his search for Nessa. He found himself returning to the cavern of the horses. At each visit he and the white-and-gray horse went through the same ritual. As the horse nibbled the flowers from his hand, Collun couldn't help wondering what it would be like to ride such a magnificent animal. But he could not imagine the proud horse allowing anyone to climb on his back.

  On the afternoon of their fifth day in Tir a Ceol, Talisen came to Collun's room and sat wordlessly in front of him. He closed his eyes and let his fingers play over the strings of his harp. Collun listened with pleasure to the delicate, haunting tune, and when Talisen had finished, he complimented him enthusiastically. "You have learned an Ellyl song!"

  "Several," Talisen replied carelessly. "But this was not one." And suddenly there was an uncharacteristic shyness in Talisen's manner.

  "But that did not sound like a song I have heard. Something you learned in Temair?"

  "No. Collun, I made this song myself." Talisen's face glowed.

  Collun's eyes widened. "You mean...?"

  "Yes. I have learned how to make songs, and without going to any stuffy school with a name that sounds like a sneeze."

  Collun was filled with pride for his friend. "I am pleased for you, Talisen."

  "And well you should be." Talisen laughed. And he was the old Talisen again, full of impossible boasts and carefree laughter.

  The evening Crann had promised to come, Silien appeared instead. He said the wizard had been delayed and would be there the next morning.

  "I came to say good-bye," said the Ellyl. "Much has happened in the past few days. I am bound for Temair, where, on behalf of my father, I will propose a comhairle, a council, with King Gwynn and Queen Aine."

  Talisen let out a sound of wonderment. "This is indeed an historic event."

  Silien nodded. "I must leave now. Time is precious. But I wish you well on your quest," Silien said, gazing at Collun. Collun thought he read sympathy in the silver eyes.

  "I hope to meet you again." The Ellyl shook each of their hands gravely. Then with his familiar half-smile, he turned and left the room.

  That night Collun had trouble getting to sleep, and when he did, he dreamed of the pile of bones in the labyrinth. He woke up, shivering uncontrollably.

  SIXTEEN

  Hero's Son

  The next morning after breakfast, Collun began to pace the stone floor. "Where is Crann? What can be keeping him?" he said. To distract him, Brie said she would teach him an Ellyl game called ficheall that Ebba had taught her. It was played with a board, dice, and small figures carved of black spinel. Collun reluctantly sat, and they began to play. Talisen watched, harp in hand, and he made them laugh with a song he improvised about Farmer Whicklow and his enormous appetite for partridge pie.

  The door abruptly swung open and Crann entered. Wearily he lowered himself into a chair that was too small for his long body. He took up one of the small figures from the game board and began absently to roll it between his fingers.

  "You look terrible," said Talisen.

  "Thank you," replied Crann dryly.

  "Have you and the king not paused for rest at all?"

  "Midir is proud and strong-willed, and my tongue is not so graceful with words as once it was. Still, he finally sees the darkness that threatens and the need for an alliance with Eirren," said Crann.

  "Surely that is good news," remarked Talisen.

  "Yes," replied Crann. "But there has been news that is not good, I'm afraid. An Ellyl who lives underneath a lake in upper Scath arrived a day ago to seek counsel from his king." Crann paused. "It is the Firewurme. The Ellyl spotted it off the shores of the Northern Sea. It is worse even than I had feared. Medb has called up the Wurme—or Naid, as the Ellylon call it."

  Collun felt a chill. Silien had spoken of a Firewurme when he was telling them about the wizard Cruachan, and Collun remembered stories told to him as a child about a monstrous white Wurme that had laid waste to Eirren in the days of Amergin.

  "The Firewurme," Crann continued, "was Cruachan's most powerful, most deadly creation. It destroyed countless Eirrenians and Ellylon alike. It was the Wurme that ultimately turned on Cruachan and killed him when he could no longer control it.

  "I had hoped Medb would not dare awaken the Firewurme, but she has grown more reckless and arrogant than I had believed possible. If she chooses to let the Firewurme loose, then there is little hope any of us will survive its coming.

  "As Silien no doubt told you, Midir has agreed to a comhairle with the king and queen of Eirren. I doubt not the Eirrenians will be eager for such an alliance."

  Silence filled the room. Crann gazed fixedly at the small spinel figurine in his hand, then looked up at Collun. "But I did not come to speak of this alone. Collun, the time has come to tell you all."

  "Do you wish us to leave?" asked Brie, half rising.

  "That is up to Collun," replied the wizard.

  "Stay," Collun said. "Is it because Emer is dead that you can now speak?"

  The wizard nodded. "I am released from the oath I gave to her." He paused. "Give me your dagger," Crann said abruptly.

  With a bewildered expression Collun reached for the dagger at his waist and passed it to Crann. The wizard laid it on the table amidst the spinel figures and the dice. The stone in the handle glowed faintly, as it had the last time Crann held it.

  "As I told you in the Forest of Eld, I believe this stone to be one of the three shards of the Cailceadon Lir. The fact that it killed Moccus's sow and injured the creature Nemian confirms my belief." Crann paused. "As I also said, it is my guess that this is the shard that Amergin lost on one of his sea voyages. Collun, did your mother ever tell you where she got the lucky stone?"

  Collun shook his head. "I have been trying to puzzle it out. What happened to the shard after Amergin lost it? To a woman, you said?"

  "Yes. And she, in turn, sold it to an adventurer and explorer who called himself Lleann. Like Lir before him, Lleann recognized this stone would bring luck to him and to his family. So he, too, began a tradition of passing it on to his firstborn child, and each succeeding generation did the same."

  "Then Emer is a descendant of Lleann?" Collun asked.

  The wizard shook his head, and Collun saw a look pass between him
and Brie.

  "Then Goban...?" Collun asked in confusion.

  "Collun," Crann interrupted. "What do you know of the hero Cuillean?"

  Puzzled, Collun answered slowly. "Only what I have learned from Talisen's songs. And then I heard more in Temair. Why?"

  "Tell me what you do know."

  "Let's see ... That as a youth he showed great courage and prowess. That he was a hero in the Eamh War..." Collun trailed off.

  "That he loved a lady and lost her shortly after they were wed," spoke up Talisen. "Remember the song 'Lady of the Silver Fir,' Collun? It has always been one of my favorites."

  "Yes, I remember. He mourned her death for many years. And then, most recently, it is said that he disappeared, a year ago or so, and may be dead."

  "That is all?"

  Collun nodded slowly. "My mother did not like songs of the Eamh War or of Cuillean. She lost a brother in the fighting, and the pain ran deep."

  "Once," agreed Talisen, "Emer heard me singing a song of the war and of one of Cuillean's most spectacular battles, and she bade me never to sing it or any others like it on the farmhold Aonarach."

  The old wizard was quiet for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "Before he went off to fight for Eirren in the Eamh War, Cuillean did indeed love a maiden. He pledged himself to this maiden, and she to him, and when he returned from battle, they were to be wed. In the songs about them she is called Eilm, or the Lady of the Silver Fir. But her true name was Emer."

  Collun felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He stared at the wizard's moon white beard.

  "Emer was the daughter of a powerful lord, Fogal. She had two brothers, one older and one younger. The younger, Neill, was his father's favorite, the apple of his eye. Neill worshiped his sister's betrothed, the hero Cuillean. He wished to be exactly like his idol. Though he was young—barely older than yourself, Collun—he ran off to join the army in its northward march to fight Medb. Neill was brave, but he was also impulsive and unschooled in the ways of war. Despite Cuillean's efforts to watch over the stripling—indeed, putting his own life in danger more than once—Neill was one of the first to die in the Eamh War.

  "When his father received word of Neill's death, he went half mad with grief, and in his madness Fogal blamed Cuillean. He withdrew his blessing from the proposed marriage between Emer and Cuillean and forbade her to see him. When Cuillean returned from the war and found himself barred from the maiden he loved, he acted in haste and anger and, with a handful of men, assailed the dun of Emer's father. Under the cover of darkness he stole Emer away, killing several of Fogal's men. Cuillean took Emer off with him to his dun by Siar Muir, the Western Sea. There they were wed.

  "Fogal was now left completely alone, his own wife long dead, both sons dead in the Eamh War—the elder killed in the waning months of the fighting—and Emer taken from him by Cuillean, whom he now saw as his most bitter enemy. He gathered an army and waged battle with Cuillean. Fogal was ultimately killed in the fight, and it was Cuillean himself who killed him.

  "Emer stayed with Cuillean for a year after that, but the pain of seeing her father killed by the man she loved, on top of the deaths of both her brothers, proved to be more than she could bear. Finally she left Cuillean, taking with her their newborn son." Crann paused.

  "You are that son, Collun."

  Collun's breath stopped for a moment. He felt as if he must be in a dream. Numbly he watched the wizard's lips move. Collun did not speak, and the wizard continued his tale, his eyes carefully watching the boy.

  "Emer hid her true identity and found peace in Inkberrow, a small town some distance from Temair and Cuillean, and from the life she had known. She met the local blacksmith, and he became her friend. When she told him her story, he offered to live with her as husband and be a father to her son. They never were wed, as Emer was already wife to Cuillean, but they let the people of Inkberrow believe they were married. Emer found she was expecting another child, and though Goban knew the baby was also Cuillean's, he felt a special attachment to the girl-child he himself helped into the world.

  "At first the union between Emer and Goban was a healing one. The blacksmith helped Emer to forget. But somewhere inside she still loved Cuillean, though she could not admit it even to herself. Goban sensed it, and it ate away at him. It turned his feelings against Cuillean's son.

  "Before leaving Temair, Emer went to her only living relative, her elder brother's widow, Fial, and told her what she intended to do. By threatening to kill herself rather than remain with Cuillean, she forced Fial to tell everyone at court that Emer had been found dead—that she and the baby had both been drowned trying to cross the River Haw. A few bedraggled remains of Emer's belongings were produced as evidence, and the story was believed. Cuillean was heart-stricken and hid in his dun, refusing to see anyone for months.

  "There were only two people besides Emer and Goban who knew the truth: Fial and myself. I had been a friend to both Fogal and Cuillean. At first I, too, believed Emer was dead. It was only by accident that I discovered otherwise. It has long been a practice with me to disguise myself as a kesil. One day my travels took me through the town of Inkberrow. Passing your lonely farmhold Aonarach, I caught a glimpse of a woman's face that was familiar to me. Her hair had turned gray, and she looked careworn. I almost did not recognize her. But when our eyes met, I saw the Lady of the Silver Fir. Emer recognized me as well, despite my own appearance. She was terrified I would give away her secret.

  "I told her of Cuillean's grief and tried to convince her to return to him, but she would not. She had made an oath to the goddess Eira, she said, and would not break it. She begged me to tell no one that I had seen her, and finally I agreed. And I pledged to say nothing of her children's true parentage, to them or to anyone. Only if she was to die, and I deemed it important to their safety, was I to be released from the oath. Fial had been made to swear a similar pledge."

  "Why? Why didn't she tell us?" asked Collun, his voice barely audible.

  "It is difficult to explain. The pain of losing her brothers and then seeing her father killed by the man she loved altered Emer. She came to despise violence and war, and she sought to protect her children from this world—a world that, in her eyes, was embodied by Cuillean, the man she had once loved above all.

  "She also told me that in a moment of her deepest pain, she had had a vision of the goddess Eira. Eira, she said, told Emer that any children she had that were begotten by Cuillean would meet the same fate as Emer's father and brothers if Emer did not leave Cuillean forever. That was when she swore to take you away to a place where you would be safe and where she would never tell you of your true identity.

  "But Emer did not know there were events unfolding, with their beginnings in the distant past, that would make it impossible for her children to remain safe and hidden in Inkberrow.

  "You see, it is Cuillean who is descended from Lleann. And like his ancestors before him, Cuillean intended to pass the lucky stone on to his firstborn. To you, Collun. Cuillean, of course, knew nothing of the chalcedony's true origin. Nor did Emer. Before she fled his dun, Cuillean had given it to her to fashion into a pendant or arm circlet for you to wear, and she took the Cailceadon Lir with her when she left. So, you see, as far as Cuillean knew the stone was lost in the River Haw with Emer and their child. It did not matter to him, for in his grief he swore he would never take another wife; therefore, there would be no other child to whom to pass the stone.

  "But the cailceadon was not lost in the River Haw. It was in Inkberrow, and Emer did pass it on to Cuillean's son when she thought the time was right. As far as she knew, it was merely a lucky talisman that had been in her son's father's family for generations."

  All eyes were on the dagger lying on the game board before them.

  "I do not know when, but sometime after the Eamh War, Medb must have discovered the first of the lost shards of the Cailceadon Lir," continued the wizard. "When this stone was whole it bore the power to se
al the Cave of Cruachan and defeat its creatures. Is it any wonder then that Medb conceived a desire to possess all three shards? To make whole the original Cailceadon Lir?

  "The Eirrenian shard of the stone is too well hidden for her to trace, though I advised the king and queen early on of the danger so that they might augment the cailceadon's security if necessary.

  "But, and I do not know how, Medb discovered the other shard was in Cuillean's possession. He used to wear it in an armband of silver, and perhaps the traitor Bricriu saw it. But before Medb could go after Cuillean's stone, Bricriu relayed the news that Cuillean no longer had it. That in fact it lay at the bottom of the River Haw where Emer and Cuillean's firstborn child had drowned. This must have been a blow to Medb. But then, many years later, Nessa came to Temair.

  "It surprises me that Emer allowed Nessa to leave Inkberrow, much less journey to Temair. Her vows to protect the two of you were so deeply felt."

  "Once Fial made the offer, Nessa would not listen to Emer. She was determined to go," replied Collun.

  Crann nodded. "Emer must have hoped enough time had passed that no one would see the resemblance. Indeed there was none between the girl and Cuillean, and little between mother and daughter, except in the eyes. Queen Aine felt an immediate liking for the girl, yet did not know her as the daughter of her old friend. But Bricriu, with his sharp eyes, saw the resemblance. He noted the few slips of the tongue Nessa no doubt made about her family and the village she came from, and he relayed his suspicions to Medb. The two must have guessed that Emer had had another child, and if a second one lived, so might the first. Even if the firstborn son had died, perhaps Emer herself still lived and had given the chalcedony to her daughter.