Table of Contents
Title Page
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
PART TWO
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
PART THREE
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
EPILOGUE
GLOSSARY AND PRONUNCIATIONS
Forge Books by Juilene Osborne-McKnight
HISTORICAL AND MYTHOLOGICAL BACKGROUND
Copyright Page
THIS ONE IS FOR IRELAND. FOR THE GIFT OF STORY.
I HAVE WANDERED THROUGH The RING FORTS AT kENMARE BAY
PASSED THROUGH THE DOLMENS ON THE BURREN,
STOOD IN THE SINGING WIND AT TARA,
PONDERED THE ANCIENT MOON MAPS AT KNOWTH.
BECAUSE AMERGIN GAVE DWELLING PLACES TO The OTHERS,
MAGIC STILL REMAINS IN IRELAND, SHIMMERING IN The WORLD.
MAY IT NEVER LEAVE YOU ON A WIND OF CHANGE.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, I would like to thank Father Caoimhin O’Neill, Father Conn O’-Maoldhomhnaigh, Dr. James Heaney, Ms. Cheri Conlon, and all of St. Patrick’s Carlow College, Ireland, for reading to me in Irish, for singing to me in Irish, for hiking us to the tops of the mountains and taking us to the fairy mounds and the monasteries, for dancing, for the singing pubs, for Jameson’s with red lemonade, for looking just like himself, a throwback, for adding such a layer to my life that both the book and I were reimbued with magic. Also, to Michael Norris, who got us to the ring fort on Kenmare Bay, and to Dr. Ellie Wymard of Carlow University in Pittsburgh, the Great Organizer, who is the person I would like to be when I grow up.
At Tor/Forge, I would like to thank Claire Eddy, the best editorial eye in the business, and Deborah Wood for all of her help and organizational assistance. At Curtis Brown, ongoing thanks to Maureen Walters, Dave Barbor, and Josie Schoel.
I would also like to thank my students at DeSales University, who see it all fresh, and make me laugh out loud.
Mostly I would like to thank my family and friends, who never abandon me, even though I dwell for most of each year in another time, in another language, in another world, with people who are just as real as me, but who never ever go with me to book signings, offer to do the dishes, take me out for coffee milkshakes, or pretend to be interested in hearing the stories just one more time.
Ah, now, just one more time.
PROLOGUE
Near the water’s edge, where the sea had thrown up round, speckled stones, Eriu halted. Behind her, her sisters stopped, Banba at her right shoulder, Fodla at her left. Mist from the sea dusted through the air, fell in crystalline drops on Eriu’s long copper curls, lighted like flickering gems on the black thickness of Banba’s hair, vanished into the white-gold mane of Fodla. Eriu sighed. The stones, the mist, the long green sweep to the sea. How she would miss it all. She sighed again, a long, deep exhalation. Nothing would stop what was to come.
“I will look for them now,” she said to her sisters.
Without even turning, she felt them close in behind her, form the perfect triangle, heard the soft reedy chant that issued from deep in their throats.
Eriu held her arms before her, formed her fingers in the triangle, symbol for the Journey. Next, she raised both hands with fingers spread, for the children of Maker in infinite variety. Finally, she placed her hands upright and palm to palm, then interlaced the fingers, turning her hands in opposite directions to symbolize the Braid.
“Mother,” she whispered, “clear my sight that I may see, clear my mind that I may understand, clear my spirit that I may choose wisely for my people.”
She closed her eyes, placed her palms together parallel to the ground, then thrust them forward like the prow of a ship. She followed their line in her mind, out, out, over the waters and south.
Nothing.
Not even the vision of the coastline of the great continent came to mind. She drew her hands back in, repeated her gesture, tried again.
Still nothing.
Eriu opened her eyes.
“What do you see?” asked Banba, impatient as always.
“Nothing.”
“But how can that be? You saw them when Ith first came among us.”
“I do not know. I thought that I saw them once again, after Ith departed from us, but now their ships are obscured in mist. Now I cannot see anything at all.”
“Well, what on the Green Orb is wrong with you? Your vision never fails you! The Danu rely upon it. Upon you.”
“Banba, when Ith came among us more than a year ago, I had not used my Journey vision for more than five hundred years. How should we know if it fails me or not? Ith promised us that he would try to persuade them not to return once he understood clearly who we were and from whence we came; I took him to be a man of his word. I sent his people the message of his return with its veiled warning. Why would I need my Journey vision for a people who promised us that they would not return? That is why I asked you to help me. Perhaps I only imagined a returning fleet, or dreamed it, an anomaly of vision that has seen nothing but the sea for centuries of their time. Perhaps there are no ships on the water, or, if there are, it is a fleet of some other country, going somewhere else and not to the Green Isle after all.”
She sighed and sat down hard on the bank. Oh, if only that could be true
From behind her Fodla spoke in her voice like soft wind.
“There is another possibility, Sisters.”
Eriu turned toward her sisters, who now sat opposite her, forming a triangle. Fodla was, as always, the voice of quiet reason.
“The Council recommended that all of us adopt the Metaphor again, as we did with Ith and the brothers. And so we have. Perhaps the Metaphor prevents the vision from congealing, because in it, we are not our true selves.”
Banba shook her head impatiently. “For Danu’s sake, Fodla. We have used the Metaphor for five centuries when we have approached the Fir Bolg who dwell here in the western bogs. Have we ever frightened the Fir Bolg? And they are known for being easily frightened. The bogs in which they dwell may well describe their entire thought process. Has the Metaphor ever prevented us from interacting with them?”
“You do not hear me, Banba,” said Fodla quietly. “I do not say that the Metaphor is a bad choice. All who dwell on the Green Orb would be frightened by our true appearance. And the Fir Bolg are known for being easily frightened. But we have never attempted vision in the Metaphor. Perhaps it blocks our ability to see.”
Eriu nodded. “I think Fodla is wise. How can we look out into the future if we are not who we are?”
Banba shook her head emphatically. “We dare not abandon it. The Council has said that we must all practice the Metaphor until we can keep it in place, until no slipping occurs. These who come will be travelers, the clan of Ith. Unlike the Fir Bolg, they will have gone beyond the bogs. These new travelers may be more sophisticated. They may well know the Greeks!”
Fodla laughed. “Admit it
, Sister. You find the Greek Metaphor beautiful. You like to look like a tall Greek woman with sweeping hair. You liked the one who came among us who looked like a Greek. Airioch Feabhruadh. Speak the Truth. You like the appearance of the humans.”
Banba snorted, but she cast a sidelong smile at Fodla. “They are beautiful, these creatures, with their long limbs and their thick hair and their eyes like interior rainbows.”
“You are beautiful too, Sister, just as you are.”
“Fodla, you love the humans too. I have seen your gentle care of the Fir Bolg.”
“They are like little children, so trusting, their sweet gratitude for the smallest binding of wounds, the simplest medicaments for their children. How do they see us, do you suppose?”
“As gods,” said Eriu.
Banba and Fodla gasped as one.
“I mean no sacrilege, Sisters. This is how they speak of us. We are the gods of the place. Illyn has told me this.”
“Then Danu forgive us,” said Fodla. “For there is only one Weaver of the Braid.”
“But how would we explain that to children such as these? These are not the Greeks.”
“Ah,” said Banba. “You see, Fodla. Eriu loved the Greeks as well.”
“I did love them,” Eriu said, lifting her chin. “How well their spirits contended citizenship, the nature of the state, the purpose of man, the choices of good and evil. Their minds turned on all the great questions, and so often they came right to the core of the argument. They were minds of great sophistication, spirits of great striving. And we could not have chosen a better place than the Greek Isles for our first dwelling place when we arrived here on the Green Orb.”
“And yet when the Metaphor slipped and some of the Greeks saw us as we truly are, all their sophistication left them. They were as terrified as these Fir Bolg would be,” said Banba.
“Illyn says that the Fir Bolg might be less terrified to see us true. She makes a good point that the Greeks were so sophisticated that they had an expectation for the behavior of the world. Our appearance violated that expectation. Hence their terror. But the Fir Bolg think in small bursts and dwell in darkness and superstition. Our true appearance might be less frightening to them.”
“And what of these new ones who come?” asked Fodla.
“I know not,” Eriu answered. “I saw ships. Greek biremes. Accompanied by cargo ships. Hired ships for traveling great distances. I did not see those who manned them. Nor those who visited us before.”
“Still, we raise interesting questions Sisters,” Banba interrupted. “Where shall we tell them we are from? Metaphor or no, our appearance here, the apparent sophistication of our civilization, will surprise them.”
“We shall say we are from Greece,” said Fodla.
Eriu nodded. “It is not untrue, after all. It was the most recent stop on our journey. And the Metaphor emulates the people of that country.”
“And what of those like Illyn? How shall we explain them?” Banba raised her fingers, one at a time. “First these were human. Then we altered their braiding. Now they are Hybrids. No human in all the history of the Green Orb could comprehend such a thing.”
Fodla shook her head. “Banba, what would you have had us do? When the Fir Bolg left their cripples and their sickling infants on the hills to die, should we have walked past them in the darkness, shrugged our shoulders? All life is of the Braid, and our physicians have the knowledge to make them well and whole. Sometimes that required rebraiding. The Hybrids who resulted are a joy among us.”
“And what of our own Raveners? How shall we explain them?”
“Their darkness came within them, surely,” said Fodla. “As it will undoubtedly come with the Invaders. Perhaps they will understand our Raveners best of all.”
Eriu sighed. “Sisters, you debate well, and as always I thank you for your clear articulation. But we will not answer all of these questions today.”
Banba and Fodla grew silent, knowing that Eriu was about to choose.
“I think that perhaps Fodla was right. It is the Metaphor which stops the vision. To see well and truly we must stand before Maker as she made us.”
No argument ensued. The sisters simply stood together and turned toward the sea, forming again the triangle with Eriu at its prow.
“Sisters, remove the Metaphor,” Eriu commanded softly.
As one, the three sisters touched the luminous crystal triangles with their twining spiral vines, that dangled as pendants around their necks.
There was a flashing snap of blue light. The air around the threesome congealed and grew viscous. Tiny sparkles of light and color coalesced and then dispersed. Standing on the shore were three beings who could never be mistaken for human. Their slender bodies did not look strong enough to support the weight of their large heads, of their huge oval eyes colored the deep blue-gray of the sea. Their warm golden skin was luminous, as if an aura of soft blue and gold light, constantly changing and sparkling, surrounded their little frames. Their ears folded back and up in a shape like the feathers of a bird’s wing. Soft tufts of silver hair grew from each sharp triangle of bone. Around their skulls, a cloudy cap of silver-white curls seemed to catch the light in blue and gold, no more substantial than a mist upon the sea. Their mouths were their most human feature, for their lips were full and rosy and seemed curved into a permanent expression of joy. An observer might have guessed at gender, but their own people would have known them as female by their long, slender hands and delicate fingers, by the soft feathering at their ears.
From Banba and Fodla issued the deep sustained sound of the chant, the base note for Vision. Again, Eriu made the signs, Triangle, Children, Braid. Again she placed her palms parallel to the ground and sent them before her like the prow of a ship. Over the water. South and south.
And there! Seven great ships with sails unfurled. Greek biremes with the forward square sails. Cargo ships. Not hugging the coast as the non-seafaring people did but dipping and heaving, fearless in the open sea.
Destination, she must find destination.
Ith had said that they would not return; she had known him to be a man of honor. So who were these approaching travelers?
With her hands she navigated, deck to deck. Huge men, more than six feet tall. Long, braided hair. Bearded and laughing. Shouting to each other. Weapons at their belts. Women, tall and broad of shoulder, their braided hair festooned with bells. How lovely the sound in the wind! And on their backs, great swords, tall and broad. Swords down the backs of the women! No, these were not the Greeks, these loud and massive voyagers. Nor were these like the simple Fir Bolg who dwelled in the stony boglands of the Green Island. These were warrior people. Eriu shuddered. Warrior people. Against her people, who had not made war for five hundred years. Who had put away Nuada’s Silver Arm. She searched among the voyagers. Was Ith among them? Or Airioch, who had made her so wary with his wandering and his watchful eyes? Was there anywhere a sign that her Green Isle was their destination? What made her think it so?
Again she navigated her hands, back to the last large ship of the fleet. Seated in the stern, a huge man, unbearded, dark hair spilling behind him in the wind. Alone. Upon him the mark of the outsider, the dreamer. Before him a map. Crudely drawn and raw, but clearly marked. The starting point on the peninsula in the south, the long coast, the island to their east, the Green Isle.
Eriu closed her eyes. There was no mistaking the map. Would her people die? Where would they go? Would any choose for war, call for the use of Nuada’s Silver Arm? O Weaver of Worlds! The children of the Braid should not make war! So great grew her terror that it began to affect the chant of her sisters. It raced among the ships; some of the sailors, always superstitious, looked behind them or shaded their eyes at the sea ahead. Eriu drew a deep breath. She must not make them aware; they must not sense the presence of the Danu here on the Green Isle. Her people must have time to prepare.
Eriu opened her eyes. The one with the map was looking in her dire
ction.
No!
She pulled her hands back, began the slow withdrawal of the vision.
He stood, stepped forward. His dark eyes fastened on her own.
By the Danu!
This one could see her. And not in Metaphor. He kept his eyes locked to hers. He lifted the map, pointed to the Green Isle. He was waiting for her to nod, to confirm, to tell him that yes, they were here, waiting. Her heart beat so fast that it felt as if it would burst out of her chest wall.
Another man approached across the deck of the ship.
“Amergin! What are you staring at now?”
It was Airioch Feabhruadh, he who had come with Ith! Then this was Amergin, the nephew Ith had spoken of with such obvious love.
Amergin broke gaze with her. “Staring?”
“We need you to watch the sea, look for the coastline, interpret the map. This is not the time for one of your strange fugues. There will be plenty of time for that on the Green Isle.”
Amergin nodded.
Eriu blessed the Danu for the distraction. She withdrew her hands, navigated backward toward safety, toward the sweet ground beneath her feet. She brought her palms in against her chest, cradled them in a gesture of thanks to Maker, closed her eyes, and dropped to the ground.
“Resume the Metaphor,” Banba commanded.
“Sister, she cannot. She trembles and is weak as a child.” Fodla rushed to cradle Eriu in her arms. “Hush now, hush.”
Banba knelt next to them. “Tell us what you saw. Now.”
“There are seven ships. Airioch Feabhruadh is with them. The nephew of Ith.”
“He who tried to enter our cities?”
“The very one.”
“Was Ith among them?” asked Fodla.
“I did not see him.”
“Then surely we are doomed,” said Banba.
“Doomed I cannot say, but surely we must consider it an invasion force. They are garbed as warriors.”
Eriu fell silent; her eyes were thoughtful and clouded.
“There is more,” said Fodla.
“There is,” said Eriu, “but I do not know what to make of it.”
Song of Ireland Page 1
