Song of Ireland

by Juilene Osborne-McKnight

  She faced back out to sea, caught at her sisters’ hands. Together, they touched the triangles at their throats.

  At sea, off the southern coast of the island, a group of voyagers saw a flash of white light, followed by a blue ovoid.

  “Heat lightning,” said one of the Greek sailors, though the night was cold.

  In the stern, Amergin looked up from the strings of Ceolas.

  “Skena?” he whispered, his voice half strangled with sorrow.

  19

  “Why did the Fir Bolg give away their children?” asked Illyn. She was seated with the Sisters in a garden near a small water fountain, dipping apples into sweet sauces.

  Eriu had known that this day would come, that Illyn would need to know why she had been abandoned so long ago. She had practiced her answer for many years.

  “Long ago,” she said softly, “long, long before you were born, there came a time when no summer came here to the island. The trees did not grow, nor give birth to leaves. No flowers budded forth in spring and no berries grew on the bushes. The animals grew thin; many of them died. There was nothing for the Fir Bolg to eat.”

  “Just one summer?” asked Illyn.

  “No, sweeting; it lasted for eighteen summers. The Fir Bolg starved; it was cold all the time. In some summers, snow fell. So when they could no longer raise their children, the Fir Bolg began to select some to leave on the mountains and in the cold rivers, that the tribe might be thinned and those who were left could survive.”

  “But if it happened long before my birth, why are they still leaving the children?”

  Eriu drew breath, felt her way carefully through the answer.

  “The life of the Fir Bolg is hard. Sometimes children are born to them who are special—different from the other children of the tribe. The Fir Bolg have a memory of the cold years and so they leave their children for us so that we can care for them and keep them well.”

  “And so they save us.”

  “Yes,” said Eriu. “Exactly.”

  “My mother saved me.”

  “She did.”

  Illyn pondered this for a moment. “Eriu, what would cause winter in summer? Did the Fir Bolg do something to anger the Mother?”

  “No, child, surely not. The Mother loves her children. She does not punish them. Do you remember the story of the Journey of Exile of our people?”

  Illyn nodded.

  “Do you remember our first home on the island in the south?”

  “Yes, the one that sank into the sea. Oh … I see … a volcano caused the winter.”

  “It may be so,” said Eriu. “Or it may be that a … star … fell from the sky and scattered the cold into the air. After our own island was destroyed, the Danu have studied these things. Sometimes there is danger in the Green Orb itself.”

  “Is that why the Fir Bolg feared the Fomor so? Because they brought another kind of darkness?”

  “Oh, you grow wiser by the day, little daughter. But we of the Danu feared them too. The Fomorians were the scourge of the Green Isle for many a year. They brought much grief to both Fir Bolg and Danu.”

  “How could they have any sway over the Danu?”

  “Well, they had help from one of our own,” said Banba as she worked a piece of apple.

  “A traitor?” asked Illyn with a gasp.

  “So we have always been told. But the histories have shown us a different picture,” said Eriu. “Perhaps we should know more.”

  “Why?” asked Illyn.

  “To know history is to profit from its lessons in this time. We learned of at least one way to deal with the Invaders just by watching the Fir Bolg war.”

  “You began the war on my people?” Illyn was on her feet gasping.

  Banba shook her head at Eriu. “So I am not the only one with a loose and simple tongue.”

  Eriu sighed. She held out her hand to the little girl.

  “Sweeting, we will watch the histories and we will tell you the truth of them ourselves. Then you can judge for yourself.”

  “Can I watch with you in the Chamber of Memory?” asked Illyn.

  “You cannot,” said Eriu, “for there are … dangers in the chamber that—”

  “You are in danger?”

  “Of course not,” said Fodla.

  “Do not be angry with us, Illyn,” said Banba. “Eriu protects you only; she will not keep the truth from you.”

  “I know that,” said Illyn. “Eriu only fears that she will disappoint me.” She turned to Eriu. “You could not lose my love; you are my little mother.”

  All three sisters gaped openmouthed at Illyn. Banba walked to her and took the little face between her hands. “Where did you come from, Little Wisdom Mother?” She turned her around and around, then made a show of patting the air around her. “What doorway did you come through?”

  Illyn giggled, a little girl again. “You are always silly, Banba. Call me for the memories when you are finished.” She flounced away.

  Eriu turned to her sisters. She arched her eyebrows in amazement and surprise. The gesture made her ears go up and down and the feathered tips looked as though they might take flight.

  Banba and Fodla burst into laughter.

  From the front of the group Illyn spoke again. “Don’t make faces behind my back; it isn’t nice.”

  A door opened in the wall and she disappeared up the hall.

  “She enters that period in humans when they are most dangerous,” said Fodla. “I have seen it before in Hybrid children.”

  “Nearly as dangerous as Morrigu,” said Banba. “I certainly feel small and stupid.”

  “That is what they do,” said Eriu.

  “For how long?”

  “For years.”

  “O Danu, spare us,” said Banba.

  The walls of the room shimmered and became viscous. From the northern sea a fleet of ships moved toward the land, their tall prows carved and dangerous, the rhythmic drop and rise of their oars the only sound on the water.

  They drew up on the beaches. From them stepped the Fomor.

  “By the Braid. Look at them!” Banba hissed.

  From the boats stepped men larger than any of them in the chamber had ever seen, human or otherwise. Most of them were seven feet or taller, broad of shoulder, with thick, muscular legs. Their hair was long, red and gold, and they were bearded and mustached. Together they bore more hair upon their bodies than the Danu owned collectively. They wore worked leather tunics and they carried huge battleaxes in hand. Long broadswords cascaded down their backs, and their belts bristled with dirks and daggers.

  “Each man his own army,” breathed Banba.

  “No wonder Illyn’s people feared them,” whispered Fodla. “I fear them, even now.”

  “Our people feared them as well,” said Eriu.

  “But for Bres the Beautiful,” said Banba. “See where he comes.”

  The Fomorian Invaders had built a small fire on the beach, its flames hidden behind the cliff wall. There they were grilling fish on long skewers. Bres came into their midst.

  “So. You return to us, little brother, king of the Danu.”

  Bres came into view, his face lighted by the flames.

  “I do,” he said softly. “Not king but Council Leader.”

  “To us, you are their king.”

  Bres preened a little in the praise.

  “And you have asked your mother for the truth of the story?” one of the Fomor asked.

  “I have wrested it from her. She admits that I am of you, just as you said. Danu and Fomor.”

  “A blind man could see the likeness. Balor himself could see that you are one of us, a handsome Fomor lad.”

  From the darkness came a huge, rumbling laugh. A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness and unfolded. Taller and taller it grew. Ponderous and fearsome, it moved from the darkness into the firelight. It was a man, more than nine feet tall. His hair was black, the planes of his face hidden by a massive mustache and beard. One
eye was hidden behind a patch. He approached Bres.

  Though Bres was the tallest by far of the Danu, this giant was twice his size. He leaned down and down, peered into the face of Bres the Beautiful. Bres did not shrink back.

  “I remember you, boy. The spawn of Eri.”

  “Eri’s son.”

  “And ours, boy. And ours.” The giant laughed. “We are proud of that boy. Proud of you. I am told you are king of the Danu.”

  “Only Council Leader. And I think they plot to take that from me.”

  “They did not like our Fomor boy?” The giant sounded angry at this, as if he were personally offended.

  “I am not Danu. Some say I do not make decisions that befit their people.”

  “What decisions do you make?”

  “I have asked them for chambers, for fine clothing, for some of the jewels of their travels.”

  “And they begrudge you these? We begrudge our kings nothing!” The giant shook his head. “I remember the Danu well. They came here long ago, built cities on the plains. They were a people full of themselves, truly. All self-importance and wisdom. This was long, long ago, before these boys here were born. When the Nemedians dwelled here. Weak fools those! A puny race of no numbers. We demanded of them their corn and their cattle and their children, and they gave them all. We were rich in both food and slaves. And then one day we came to raid and they were gone. They had a king—Britan, I think his name was. The rumor was that he went east.” The giant shrugged. “No matter.

  “So we needed more volunteers, and there were your mother’s people, ripe for the picking. I did so love Danu slaves. My favorite of all the peoples we have raided. They knew how to do so much and they seemed so healthy. I suppose we overused them some; we were surprised that they died as easily as they did. And oh, those Danu women; so small and light that you could bounce them on your lap. I did it often, boy! I’ll wager you do too. And then on one of our raiding parties your little mother escaped us. It was a great loss to us. A great loss.” He shook the massive head.

  “Danu women do not mate with me,” Bres said.

  “You are large enough. Simply take them.”

  “Danu women do not find my looks pleasing.”

  “How could this be?” said Banba. “I find his looks pleasing. I have said so.”

  Eriu shrugged. “This was long, long ago. Our ancestors had only just come here. When he was born among them, think how strange he looked. And Eri. Arriving from nowhere with a strange story of having lived among giants. At the very least Bres would have been regarded as suspect. From what he says, it seems that he became greedy soon after the Council Triad chose him.”

  “Nuada seemed to love him.”

  “Then why did he betray Nuada?”

  “We shall see,” said Eriu.

  In the firelight, Bres shifted from foot to foot. He lowered his head. “What did you bring?” he asked.

  “You liked what we brought you on our first visit?” asked the giant. “The jewels and the daggers?”

  “I liked the woman.”

  “Oh, lad, we bring lavish gifts for those of our own. Lads!” he called. Some of the giant men stepped forward with bags. They spilled jewels and gold before him. One carried forward a sword, richly incised with symbols.

  “I thank you,” said Bres. “But these are not necessary.” He kept looking toward the darkness.

  “They are our gifts to the great king of the Danu,” the giant said softly; “you will offend us if you do not take them.” He jerked his head back toward the shadows. “Don’t worry, boy. We have our special gift for you. Well, a pair of special gifts really.”

  “A pair?” said Bres. His eyes flicked toward the shadows. He licked his lips.

  “Better than before, eh? We will provide more each time we come.”

  “What do you need in return?” So Bres had not lost his senses entirely.

  From the darkness came the sound of feminine laughter, followed by a low, sweet moan. Bres closed his eyes.

  “We need only the simplest thing, boy. When first we came among your people, they lived in villages on the land. We took slaves and children from them; such are necessary to manage our farms when we are at sea. Now these Danu have disappeared. Where did they go?”

  “I will not give you slaves or children!” said Bres. He turned to go.

  “Oh no no!” the giant said hastily. “You mistake me. We will find our servants elsewhere. But that requires money. Levy a tax on your people. You can explain to them why you do so; it will keep us from them. Let your mother speak to the assembly. She will tell them well. They will accept the tax, I think.” He smiled, a slow baring of his yellow and scraggly teeth.

  “And then you will go.”

  “We have a camp on Tober Mor. From time to time we will return to collect that tax and to bring gifts to you. After all, we are proud of our kinsman, the king of the Danu!”

  Bres thought for a time; from the darkness came the soft sound of moans and giggles. At last he nodded. “A tax is fair; it is really all that I myself have asked for,” he said.

  The one-eyed giant slapped his knee. “Good lad.” He signaled with his hand. From the shadows beyond the boats stepped two women, both Fomor, taller than Bres. As they approached they threw off their voluminous cloaks. They were naked but for two golden girdles that rode at their hips. Their breasts were large and pendulous. They wrapped their arms around each other and flicked their tongues as they approached. Then they surrounded Bres, nuzzling and undulating against him.

  “The girdles are yours,” said the giant, his voice teasing. “And of course what comes with them.” He waved off toward the darkness. “Go and enjoy; they have many plans for you, these two. And we will bring more on our next visit. Just you tell us what you want.”

  “I will,” said Bres. His arms were already encircling those of the girls. He was nuzzling at the white breasts.

  “Well now we know how he was suborned.” Eriu rested her hand on the stone; the picture froze on Bres, his arms around the pale women of the north, the giant looking on. She sighed. “We must blame ourselves, surely. Among the Danu, he was pariah.”

  “Blame his appetites; obviously they were large,” said Banba, her voice caustic.

  The door slid open and Illyn entered bearing a tray with steaming mugs of liquid. She gasped at the frozen picture; at her inattention the steaming mugs began to slide to the edge of the tray. Banba launched herself from her chair to catch the tray. She moaned aloud at the motion.

  Her cry reminded Illyn of her burden; she righted the tray and lowered it carefully to the table.

  “Banba!” said Fodla. “What ails?”

  “It is my knees. They actually … ached … as I stood from the chair. I have never experienced such a thing.”

  “Time lies upon them like the damp, Sister,” Eriu said carefully so that she would not frighten the little girl. “The … damp … of the room wears at your … bones, Banba.”

  Illyn nodded. “Airmid said that the damp of the chamber might give you aches and pains. She sends this tisane to ease them. She says to drink it all and right away.” She handed a mug to each of the Sisters, but her eyes returned to the picture.

  “Am I in danger to see it?” asked Illyn. “No, sweeting,” said Eriu. “It no longer moves in time.”

  “Will I have those?” asked Illyn.

  “Those … breasts?” asked Eriu. She drank the potion, sighed with relief as its warmth spread through her. Among her own people, the indicators of female gender were small and subtle. She had seen larger markings among humans. She looked at Illyn, took the question seriously.

  “Stand before me,” she said. Illyn complied. Eriu shook her head. “No,” she said. “You are slight of bone. Remember your mother.”

  “She was slender and tall.”

  “Then so will you be.”

  “Good,” said Illyn. “Those are …”

  “Overwhelming,” said Banba. “Like the mountai
ns of the Green Isle. But obviously an interesting climb for Bres.”

  Illyn giggled. Mating was no secret among the Danu, nor was it among the Fir Bolg, but Banba made it all seem funny and dry.

  “Well, Illyn, are we safe now?” asked Banba, seeking to distract the little girl.

  “Safe from the Fomor?” asked Illyn.

  The picture faded from the walls, returning the chamber to its stony appearance.

  “No, safe from your tart tongue of earlier,” Banba replied.

  “As safe as we are from yours,” Illyn answered innocently.

  All three sisters burst into laughter.

  “Oh, keep her with us always,” Fodla said to Eriu. “She saves us the trouble.”

  Banba made a face. “Perhaps our little daughter just sees the wisdom of being just like me. She emulates her hero.”

  “What say you, Illyn?” asked Eriu. “Will your voice be Banba’s voice?”

  Illyn was quiet for a moment. Then a smile crept across her face. “I will take the sweetness of Fodla’s voice and the wisdom of Eriu’s voice and the bluntness of Banba’s voice and I will speak in a voice all my own.”

  At this all three sisters applauded.

  “By the Danu,” said Banba. “I believe that you will!”

  “My mother found a voice,” said Illyn. “She told me that she wrapped me and placed me among the stones so you would find me.”

  “So she did,” said Eriu, “for you were bundled into wolfskins and laid between the portals of a stone circle. And someone had surrounded you with stones, perhaps so the wolves would not find you.”

  “And which of you found me?”

  “I did,” said Eriu. “On the night of a full moon.”

  “She said that she had arranged it so that the Danu would find me. She called you the Fair Folk.”

  “Then I’m glad that we could return her gift to her.”

  “Gift?”

  “You are my gift,” said Eriu, seriously. “The gift your mother gave to me. The best gift of all my life.”

  Illyn kissed the tiny woman’s cheek gently. “Thank you, Little Mother,” she whispered.