Song of Ireland

by Juilene Osborne-McKnight

  He nodded, but before he could speak again, Macha broke in.

  “How did it occur, for we do not know.” She gave a strange sidelong smile to Eriu.

  “We were hiking in the forest last night when we came upon a door.”

  “Why?” said Macha. Eriu saw with a start that even in Metaphor Macha was not as tall as Amergin.

  “Why …” Amergin seemed confused by the question, but he did not retreat before Macha. He seemed untroubled by her approach, though he shook his head.

  “Why were you hiking in the forest? The forests of the Green Island are most dangerous, especially in darkness.” Macha turned toward Eriu. “Did you not tell him, sweeting?”

  Eriu ignored the gambit, looked directly into Amergin’s eyes. “She was struck by a bolt of white lightning?”

  “More than struck,” said Amergin. “She was immersed in it, bathed. She held her hand to the stone and seemed to be caught in the light. It killed her.”

  Eriu closed her eyes. She nodded. “These are ancient doorways, Amergin. They are … harnessed with lightning for the protection of my people. Had you asked me before you wandered, I would have warned you from them. No one has tried to enter them for … many years.”

  Amergin let out a long breath, shook his head as if he searched for something to say. A long silence prevailed.

  “Doorways to where?” he asked at last.

  It was not what Eriu had expected. She thought for a moment, then answered honestly. “Into our city.”

  “I saw no city, though Scota said that she had seen it.”

  “It is there; you will not see it. Nor can any of your people pass through the doorway into the city.”

  Amergin thought about this in silence.

  “So much for Greece,” he said at last, softly. He met Eriu’s eyes.

  “We came here from Thrace as we told you,” she said. She could hear the defensiveness, the panic in her own voice.

  Macha spoke. “Any who try to pass through the doorway will be wounded or die. We are quite skilled at weapons, Amergin. Would you like to see more?” She grinned, easy in her superiority and enjoying her masculine Metaphor.

  “Do you threaten the sons of Mil?” Anger moved across Amergin as suddenly as a thundercloud and he stepped toward Macha. She actually stepped back, so sudden was his movement. It struck Eriu that it would be most unwise to underestimate these Galaeci. Both their intelligence and their anger seemed swift.

  “She does not threaten,” said Eriu, holding up her hands.

  “She?”

  “Macha. He. You frighten me! Both of you.” She leaned against the rock and pressed her hands over her face, her knees weak with terror, with the certainty of trouble. Suddenly she heard familiar voices from the other side of the hill.

  “She said that she would be here.”

  “Eriu, where are you, dear? We bring the morning repast.”

  Fodla and Banba came up over the hill. Each maintained her original Metaphor, but they were dressed as Greek peasants might be and swinging between them a woven basket full of bread and skins of wine.

  Eriu nearly collapsed with relief. She ran to them, embracing them both. “I am glad to see you,” she said loudly. “The men are threatening war.”

  “The men?” said Banba.

  “Amergin and Macha. They posture with each other like stags.”

  She saw Banba’s eyes widen, saw Fodla turn a white face in the direction of Macha. Suddenly, Banba ran toward Macha, raising up high on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  “Macha,” she said. “How wonderful you look; we haven’t seen you looking this good for so long.”

  Macha burst into laughter, rich and masculine. “You Sisters never cease to surprise me,” she said.

  “Well good, for we bring the morning feast. Will you join us, Amergin?”

  “I cannot.” He shook his head. “My mother stepped into one of your doorways. She was … wounded unto death.”

  Banba ran to him and took both of his hands in hers. “No. Oh, the doorways. Your mother. Oh, Amergin, we should have warned you about the lightning. Sister, we must speak to the Ancients. Surely we must change the doorways. We would not wish for any more of the sons of Mil to be injured.”

  “I shall do that,” said Eriu. She was working hard to keep a straight face, her true sorrow for Amergin’s loss at war with her sister’s overdone performance. Still, the arrival of Banba and Fodla had broken the tension of the moment.

  “Can you change the doors?” asked Amergin.

  “We can,” said Eriu, “though we have not done it for many … years. There was no need until you came. Certainly we will try.”

  “Will you come before our Council? Will you say so?”

  “Does their anger move them toward war?” Eriu asked. She met his eyes directly, saw the answering response. He nodded.

  “Will they be in any danger if they come among you?” asked Macha. “I would not want the Sisters put at risk.”

  “Come with them then,” said Amergin. “And bring as many warriors as you like. Come armed if you like.”

  Eriu understood. Amergin too was worried, thought that perhaps a show of strength might calm—or frighten—the warlike Galaeci. Before she could speak, Macha responded.

  “So we shall,” said Macha. “We will be among you at the noon hour.”

  Amergin turned and walked down the hill, his shoulders bowed.

  Eriu turned angrily on Macha. “You make a mockery of his sorrow!”

  “I care not for his sorrow. I am playing a game. I am sorry that you did not enjoy it. Banba did.”

  Banba shook her head. “One does not enjoy you, Dark One. One plays with you, like a fidchell board, moving the pieces, vying for position.”

  Macha inclined her head. “You play well. Next time you should kiss me here.” She tapped her lips and grinned.

  “There will be no next time.”

  “But there will. For we will accompany you at noon. My sisters and I. Warriors to protect the beloved Sisters from the sons of Mil. He’s a thick one, this Amergin, though surely not as thick as the Fir Bolg. Although he saw through none of us, I did think the question about the city was well chosen and well timed. And he will not be accepting Greece as our origin place. He might prove an enjoyable player. Still, if he is the best of his lot, they are ripe for the picking.”

  Eriu closed her eyes. “This becomes too tangled,” she said softly. “O Danu, if only they had not come.”

  30

  I saw them assemble at the crest of the hill, a huge company of them this time.

  I alone climbed the hill to meet them, our people gathered below on the beach in a tight semicircle, weapons at the ready.

  The Sisters stood to the forefront; Eriu’s eyes seemed overwide and fearful. With them was an ancient little woman with gray hair and gray eyes who looked remarkably like An Scail. Behind that quartet was a phalanx of warriors, among them the man Macha whom I had already met. Flanking him were two dark-haired warriors who looked as tall and fierce as any I had encountered in my travels and had in their bearing and their blank facial expressions the look of professional soldiers. Macha and his companions each wore on his arm an elaborate silver gauntlet, a mark, I supposed, of their military rank within the company.

  To either side of that cluster were dozens of warriors, men and women, all surpassingly beautiful, all carrying slender spears which looked to be made of some kind of crystal. I wondered at the efficacy of such weapons.

  I took in a deep breath and steadied my hand, then raised it to the company. “I am Amergin, poet of the Milesians. I give you greeting and guarantee of peace.”

  “How will you guarantee that, poet?” asked Macha.

  “I will,” I said simply. “I have spoken to my people. If any of them moves against you, you may have my life.”

  Behind Macha, the two dark soldiers exchanged a glance.

  I heard Eriu inhale sharply.

  “No such penalty will
be necessary, poet,” she said. “We will take our safety at your word.”

  “Nor are we without recourse of our own,” said Macha.

  “Hush!” said Eriu.

  Macha shifted his stance, met my eyes. His eyes seemed to hold some dark amusement in their depths.

  “Come among us and we will talk as civilized peoples do,” I said.

  Eriu nodded.

  I moved to the head of this great parade and led the people of the Danu down among my own people, feeling somehow as though I were leading wolves into the fold, although my own people were larger and better armed than these.

  When we had everyone seated on opposite sides of the circle, I stood. I drew my longsword from over my back and drove it upright into a bale of hay that Bile had covered with fabric for the occasion.

  “Here I draw erbe ndruad,” I intoned, “the fence of battle. None shall cross it.”

  My people raised their hands, palms out, to indicate their agreement. I saw Eriu watch the gesture, raise her own hand. Her people followed, though Macha and his warriors seemed reluctant and he looked at me with insolence as he complied.

  “I invoke the right of Poet. All will hear!” I called out. The company came to immediate silence. “People of the Danu, people of the Galaeci.” I nodded at the assembled tribes. “I will speak truth before you. Teangu do dhia, teanges mo thuath. This I swear by the god by whom my people swear. Hear me.

  “We need not come together as enemies if we will reason with wisdom. The Galaeci have come here to Inisfail as journeyers. Yes, we have seen this place ever as our destiny, but we know now that these, the people of the Danu, have preceded us. Surely that gives them first rights on the land.”

  Eber Finn and Eremon bristled and twisted in their seats, but I raised my hand. They remained silent.

  “Although we do not know your numbers, the land and sea seem vast to us. If there be an empty space upon this isle, send us there. There we will raise our cattle and ride our horses. There our women will give birth to our children. We have sustained many sorrows in recent days.”

  I drew in a deep breath to steady my voice; for a moment I felt overwhelmed by the thought of our dead—Skena and Ir, Ith, my father and mother. Surely this was a fool’s journey, a journey of sorrows. But what should we do now; turn around and go back upon the sea from whence we came? I shook my head.

  “We wish only for pasturage and a green hill on which to build our villages. We wish to bind our wounds and increase our clans. We will not trouble the people of the Danu, nor will we attempt to enter your doorways.” Behind me Airioch cleared his throat. I gestured at the upraised sword; he remained silent. I continued.

  “Eriu of the Danu, what response do you make?”

  Eriu stood among the company. She closed her eyes and raised her hands. Her sisters stood suddenly and took them. They issued forth the deep, throaty chant that sounded so like the bass note of the pipes. Though I had heard it before, none of my people had heard it. I saw them move restlessly in their places; one or two made the signs against enchantment.

  Eriu spoke. “People of the Galaeci. The Children of the Danu have lived here on the Green Isle for hundreds of years. When your heralds came among us, we explained our ways to Ith, your druid. Ith decided that it was best for the sons of Mil to remain in Galicia, where their ways were known and loved. Yet now you tell us Ith has died. Here you are among us with your goods and your gear, and on your first night among us one of your number is wounded unto death by the doorway to our city. This brings us great sorrow. It seems but a poor welcome to ask you to return to the sea, but this is what we ask.”

  A wave of angry murmuring swept over the Milesians.

  Eber Donn jumped to his feet. “We will not return to the sea! Here we are and here we will remain!” Some of our people cheered him; I saw others turn and look longingly for the water.

  Eriu raised her hand.

  I put my hand on the hilt of my longsword. “She has not finished her argument!” I thundered it out. “I have commanded silence. Silence will prevail.”

  A complete silence fell over the company; Eber Donn dropped to his seat. Eriu met my eyes, and I saw something that resembled surprise move across her face. She nodded, continued.

  “Sons of Mil. We do not ask you to return to the sea forever. Nor do we ask you to sail back from whence you came. We ask you for three days. Three little days. Retreat to the ninth wave of the sea; give us time. In those three days we will change our doorways that none will wound you anymore; this we have not done for many years, and it requires time. There will be some danger while we work.

  “We will select from the great fields and forests of the Green Isle pasturage and fortified hills where you may build your cities.”

  “Our cargo ships have departed,” shouted Eber Donn.

  Eriu nodded. “Leave your cattle and your horses here on shore; none of the Danu will trouble them. We do not herd cattle, nor do we own horses. You need not reload your ships. Only take yourselves to sea that our … lightning … will not trouble you. When you return, we will retreat into our cities. Perhaps in time, our peoples can learn of each other’s ways. Perhaps in time we will encounter each other without fear. But until that day comes, Danu will keep to Danu cities, Galaeci to Galaeci.”

  I looked at my brothers and at our assembled clan. Eber Donn was shaking his head. Eber Finn and Eremon, having heard of pasturage and hillsides, were debating with each other whether or not it was safe to leave the cattle and horses with the Danu. Airioch was doing his best to catch the eye of Banba, the dark-haired sister. I noted with surprise that our youngest brother, Colpa, was seated beside him, his hand clasped firmly in Airioch’s. I felt a sudden wash of shame for not considering him, suddenly motherless and fatherless at not quite ten years. Too many sorrows.

  I took a deep breath. I spoke for the company.

  “It is decided. We will retreat to the ninth wave of the sea. At sunset, we will send Scota’s spirit to join our father’s. When we have waked the dead, we will depart. We will return at dawn in three days’ time.”

  Across the circle, Eriu nodded at me, her face a mixture of relief and sorrow. Behind her, Macha was shaking his head.

  CEOLAS SINGS FAREWELL

  Proud spirit, Scota,

  mother of many sons,

  go into the West,

  seek there our father, Mil;

  say that his sons remember.

  Seek there our uncle Ith;

  say that we will try

  to bear wisdom in a new place.

  Seek out our brother Ir,

  say that Bile misses his laughter.

  Seek out Skena my beloved,

  who will bear our child in the West;

  say only that I love her,

  say only that my song is for her.

  From the darkness at the far edge of the beach, I watched quietly as the sparks carried the last of my mother’s spirit skyward, as the drums began the waking that would last throughout the night. In the quiet bay, our Greek companions began the process that would allow us to go to sea on the remaining three biremes. They muttered among themselves, perhaps worried at being in the employ of the crazy Galaeci, who could not decide whether to go or stay. I sat down heavily against a sea rock. I dropped my head down on my knees and let the tears spill. “Amergin?”

  I leaped to my feet and wheeled around, the tears still making rivers on my cheeks. Eriu was standing right behind me, the sea wind moving her long gown. I could not imagine that I had not heard her approach. I realized suddenly that I towered over her, saw her sudden fear of my size flare up in her eyes. She waved me back to a sitting position; I dropped to the sand so as not to frighten her further. I motioned for her to sit beside me; to my surprise she did so unhesitatingly.

  “I have heard your song. I grieve your many losses. We of the Danu are sorry for the loss of your mother,” she said softly. “We did not anticipate the … curiosity … of your people. The Fir Bolg ar
e not a curious folk.”

  I smiled sadly. “It is our strongest trait. We roam the world and we learn the world. We question and we voyage. It brings us always to trouble and to grief, but that is the way of the sons of Mil.” I shrugged. “But speak to me of these Fir Bolg.”

  She smiled suddenly, and I knew that her smile made reference to my curiosity even in the midst of my grief. I smiled back through the glistening water in my eyes, nodded my head, shrugged.

  “They are the others who dwell on this island, in the far, stony north. They are a simple people; they hunt and gather, farm a little. I would ask that you not mention them to your clan. They are under our protection and I would not want them harmed.”

  “And you trust me not to do this?”

  She nodded. “You are a man of honor; this I know.”

  I met her eyes. “I have thought that same thing of you. Yesterday when you spoke to Bile. I do not know who injured our uncle Ith, but I know that it was not you or your sisters.”

  “I thank you for this trust. I will give you something in return. I also do not know who injured Ith, but I give you warning; do not trust the Macha in any of her guises.”

  “Her? This is the second time you have referred to this warrior as a woman”.

  She shrugged. “Like my sisters and me, Macha comes always in her … threesome. I tend to think of her … that way. As I think of my sisters,” she amended.

  “The threesome with the silver gauntlets! They are companions.”

  “They are … a warrior triad. Be wary.”

  “Macha seems to favor you. Is he your … beloved?”

  “No! Never! Macha plays games with everyone; even I am not immune to them.”

  “Ah. I have a brother cut from that cloth.”

  “Yes, Airioch Feabhruadh. We see that as well.”

  “Do you think it was Macha who injured my uncle Ith?”

  “I do not know. There are some among you who also move with dark, specific purpose.”

  I leaned back against the rock and sighed deeply.

  “You are troubled, Amergin,” she said. “You have good reason. Your griefs crowd around you like gulls, and your clan will be hard to control.”