Song of Ireland

by Juilene Osborne-McKnight

  I nodded. “My clan is impossible to control as always. We should not have come. Ith had died and my father … So many of them wished to come, some for vengeance, some for gain.”

  “And you?”

  “Where Skena was, I was home. It would not have mattered where. You must understand that, Eriu.”

  “No.”

  I turned to look at her, surprised by her answer. “You are beautiful, gentle, and wise. I cannot believe no man has spoken for you.”

  “We were bonded once, my sisters and I, but those to whom we were wed have died. They were good men and kind.”

  “It was arranged for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “We do not arrange among the Galaeci. We choose, each for the other and both must agree.”

  “And the tribe as well?”

  “Not so much agree as see what is before them and recognize it.”

  “And if they do not agree?”

  I shrugged. “I have not seen it happen. We are … a strong-willed people.”

  “I envy you so great a love. Even in her leaving, your Skena remains with you in the chamber of your memory.”

  “Yes.” I drew in a raggedy breath; Eriu touched my hand lightly with her own.

  “Our ancient, Airmid, whom you saw tonight?”

  I nodded. “She who resembles An Scail.”

  Eriu laughed aloud. “She does, doesn’t she?”

  “Your Ancient has told An Scail that she can restore her sight. Can you imagine?”

  “If she says that she can do so, then it is so. Airmid is a healer of great skill.”

  “Why do you bring up her name?”

  Eriu smiled. “Because once she had so great a love as yours.” She was silent for a while, and then she spoke softly beside me. “So surely you are thinking that if you had not come here, you would still have your great love to you. And your uncle, your father, your brother.”

  “And my child.”

  She turned suddenly and looked up the hill toward the headland. Her face, which had been open, suddenly shuttered.

  “Do they watch us?”

  “No, we are alone.”

  “What do you fear?”

  “Fear?”

  “Something has made you suddenly afraid.”

  She shook her head and stood.

  “Wait,” I said.

  She turned back toward me. I was struck again by the fact that her eyes did not quite fit her face, that even here in the shadows they looked overlarge. I found that I wanted her to remain, that the thought of being alone again with my sorrows gaped before me like the vast cold sea. I composed a hasty question.

  “What will you do while we are at sea?”

  “We will destroy all of the doors between our … cities and yours. They will vanish from this place; you will not see them again. We will depart and leave the land to you.”

  “Depart? Forever?” I felt suddenly bereft. “I shall miss you. And I am deeply sorry for the grief my clan has caused you with our arrival.”

  She looked surprised and then nodded. “I shall miss you too, Amergin. We are a strange pair, are we not, two outsiders who bear the weight of their peoples? Here in the shadows we have unburdened to each other. I thank you for bearing my troubles.”

  “And you for bearing mine.”

  “We shall try, Amergin, that our people do no more harm to each other, but I think that is a battle that we two will fight alone.”

  She turned and walked into the darkness.

  31

  “How shall this be done?” Eriu spoke to the assembled company of the Danu.

  “It should not be done at all! We have had the run of the Green Isle for nearly a thousand years. Ever since we vanquished those disgusting Fomor.” Macha had resumed for the occasion her true aspect; the huge dark almonds of her eyes snapped, the cloudy nimbus of her darkness crackled with electricity. To either side, Banbh and Nemhain regarded the assemblage with their unblinking predatory eyes.

  “This we know,” said Eriu. “But change has come among us; they do not know that our numbers are barely double theirs, nor do they know that we are not a warlike people. They are; I see it clearly. We cannot vanquish them, so we must change to accommodate them. That is wisdom, Ravener.”

  “No! Wisdom says that we should go among them now, before they set foot on their ships. Of course we can vanquish them. We should use the arms, destroy them all, but for a few souls who can race back to Galicia with the terrible news and frighten the rest of their company away forever.”

  Eriu could hear some agreement among the Raveners, but most of her people would, she knew, seal up the cities and vanish like the mist before they would destroy the Invaders. She faced Macha.

  “You have given me your word.”

  “I have. I wish that I had not. But I have said that I will not injure them until they come against us in battle. And they will, people of the Danu. Believe me on this; they will!”

  She stormed from the chamber, Nemhain and Banbh hissing along in her wake.

  Eriu sighed. “Can any speak to us of how we might seal our cities and hide our doorways?”

  Airmid stood. “I can,” she said softly. “But oh, my people, you will not like what I will say. The doorways must be destroyed. All the dolmens and the sarsen circles. All the passageways. They must be razed so that stone no longer stands on stone. All the triangle portals must be ground to dust, for it is in touching those that the woman was killed. Then we will dwell in complete safety here on our leaf of time. None will see us.”

  “Speak to us of the benefits and of the sacrifice,” Eriu said quietly.

  “None on the Green Isle dwell on our leaf of time; we will be able to frolic in the fields and the forests alone. None will molest us or trouble our children. These are the benefits. But we will be alone. We are fewer than a thousand people. We who are Ancients among you will die soon. We will have to abandon the Fir Bolg because to remove them with us would be too terrifying and too lonely for them. We will no longer be able to heal their children; those who are abandoned will die. Should the Invader come against them, we cannot defend them. We will also have to make a difficult decision for our own Hybrid children. Will they seal themselves into this time with us? If so, they will never see their parents again. Or will they go alone into their own time on the Green Island, a tribe at once neither Fir Bolg nor Milesian, brilliant and long-lived, but few in number and vulnerable, in danger from both their own clan and from the sons of Mil, fitting in nowhere.” Airmid sighed.

  “Speak the worst, Ancient.”

  Airmid nodded. “We were many, many more when first we came to this world. For our safety, our company divided. In our own part of the world, we have lost all who came here before us. Of our own number, we lost many when the volcano sent our island into the sea. We no longer have the numbers to rebuild great cities beneath the sea or elaborate cities in their world. Our race is depleted. The Danu create few children and those slowly. Our numbers will begin to diminish. Even when our numbers were larger, the Danu have depended, since we arrived on this world, on our contact with humans, on the blending of their Braid with ours and also on their knowledge and their need for our knowledge. Without them, our line will die out, little by little, but as surely as the trees grow ancient and then die. We will be alone, unheard of and unseen, a diminished race of people on an empty leaf of time. And then we will vanish entirely.”

  One of the historians stood. “Can we raise the Light Ships, go elsewhere?”

  Airmid replied. “Surely we can go. The question is where would we go? We are familiar with the world of the Internum Mare, but it is too crowded for our return. When first we came to this world, we chose three directions. Some of our company traveled here before us; they are gone. Some traveled to the far west; are they also gone? Are there Danu elsewhere in this world? We know not.”

  Eriu held her hands out. “What say you, people of the Danu? I am but young in wisdom. Shall we journey? Shall
we depart from the Green Isle? Or shall we seal our cities shut?”

  “Perhaps a delegation,” said the historian. “Those who have no children here, who are not healers for the Fir Bolg. We could take one or two of the small Light Ships, look for our lost brothers and sisters.”

  General agreement moved across the company. A dozen volunteers assembled themselves before the Danu.

  “Go now,” said Eriu. “While the sons of Mil put out to sea. While they stand no chance of seeing either our ships or their hiding places.”

  The group departed from the chamber.

  Soft weeping moved across the room, and Eriu felt like joining them, like dropping into sorrow for their lost companions.

  “How will they return to us if all the doorways are sealed?” Eriu asked softly, turning to Airmid.

  Airmid just shook her head. “They will not,” she said softly. “Once the doorways are destroyed, there can be no return. These twelve will be alone in the great world unless they find our lost companions.”

  “Perhaps Macha is right,” said Eriu softly. “Perhaps the time has come to use Nuada’s Silver Arms.”

  Airmid regarded her quietly. “Many will die, both Danu and Milesian.”

  Banba whispered softly. “It is our duty to protect the Danu, Ancient. Help us to choose.”

  Airmid smiled sadly. “I cannot. Only that I tell you that each choice has consequences; this I well know.”

  “Come, Sisters,” said Fodla softly. “Together, we must decide.”

  Eriu stood before the company, raised her hands. Behind her, Banba and Fodla stepped up, linked with her arms.

  “People of the Danu!” she said. “We have examined all of the choices. We have heard all of the arguments. Now, the Council Triad will decide the course of the Danu. Prepare yourselves to enter the Braid.” Behind her, Banba and Fodla began the deep, nasal chant. In the room the people began to chant with them, to counterpoint the sound. They linked hands over and under, their eyes closed. In a high sweet voice, Eriu began Braidsong.

  “Mother of the World,

  All-Maker, hear us.

  Bringer of Fire,

  Singer of Song,

  Keeper of Creation’s Forge,

  Womb Cradle of the World,

  Cradle are you,

  Comfort are you,

  Hear our cry.

  We call upon you,

  Children of the Mother.

  Sing wisdom to the Danu,

  O Weaver of the Braid.”

  Eriu could feel her people entering the deep state of awe, the reverence in which they would wait upon the wisdom of the Braid. Eriu closed her eyes, tipped her head back. She felt herself begin to slip from her body, to enter the stream of the Braid, where wisdom dwelled.

  Suddenly, the chamber door slid open.

  Illyn rushed into the room. “People of the Danu,” she cried. “Forgive me for interrupting Braidsong. We Hybrids have been watching from the headland; the Morrigu is there, pointing her Silver Arms at the water. There is a great storm at sea; the Milesian ships are in danger of the rocks; they will drown in the sea!”

  32

  “You trusted them! See what a fool you are.” Eber Donn shrieked it over the wind.

  “It is a storm!” I cried. “Do you assume that these Danu control the wind and the sea?”

  “Perhaps they do not control it, but perhaps they knew that it would come. Why else send us out to sea, vulnerable to wind and weather? It was a strange request, and you assented to it.”

  I could not deny his point, turned from him to hasten our company belowdecks, where at least they would not be washed overboard. I was glad that An Scail had refused to accompany us, had insisted that she would remain on shore. I looked out at the roiling water.

  “I will prove it to you, Amergin!” shouted Eber Donn. “This is a Danu trick. And when I have shown you, we will attack them. We will kill every Danu on the island. That you will owe me, you great fool.”

  He began to clamber up the rigging toward the crow’s nest.

  “Eber Donn,” I called into the wind. “The ship pitches. Do not go aloft.”

  But he scrambled higher. The fog was so thick that in a moment I could barely see him.

  “Come down, Brother!” I called into the tearing wind. Suddenly and without warning, all went still. The ship ceased its pitching, the fog began to clear away from the rigging. I could see Eber Donn dangling high above me though I could not yet see our other two ships on the sea around us. Eber Donn looked down from his perch.

  “Now do you see?” he called.

  I nodded. How could I help but see? The very suddenness of the change was proof enough. No storm ceased in midrage, sudden as a cry. The Danu had sent us to the waters and they had stirred the waters, hoping that we would drown. Just as suddenly they had stopped them. We were nine waves from shore and completely at their mercy; at any moment they could stir the tempest again. And I had trusted them. I had led the whole of our tribe out to sea on that trust.

  Rage coursed through me then, hot as fire. I felt it shake my very core.

  “I see!” I called up to my brother. “We will kill them all! Come down, Brother. Before they set the sea to raging once again.”

  Eber Donn screamed in toward the shore, shaking his fist, clinging with one hand to the rigging. “We will destroy you, Children of the Danu. Prepare yourselves for the sons of Mil! Prepare yourselves for the thunder of battle!”

  Airioch Feabhruadh came up from below, Colpa by his side, as he had been since the death of our mother. They stood looking up at Eber Donn.

  “He believes that they brought the storm?” he asked softly.

  I nodded. “What else could he believe?”

  Suddenly and without warning, the storm came howling down upon us again, a huge wind catching at our sails. Our ship tilted on its keel.

  Colpa was thrown to the deck, began to slide toward the water.

  “No! No!”

  I heard Airioch scream, saw him throw himself across the deck, reaching for Colpa. At the same time I saw Eber Donn, clinging with a single arm to the mast. I saw him swing out over the sea, hanging by a thread over the surging water. I saw precisely the moment when his great arm would no longer hold. He plunged into the sea, looking for all the world like a child’s doll of rags.

  “No!” Rage coursed through me, stronger than the storm.

  “Beware, O Danu!” I cried. “Beware the vengeance of the sons of Mil.”

  As suddenly as it had begun, the storm ceased again. The sea was quiet. At first I could see nothing, but slowly the fog began to lift. Against the wall of the ship I saw Airioch, his body curled around a thick rope. I ran to where he lay. Curled in his arm was Colpa, coughing seawater and looking anxiously at Airioch. I knelt and held my hand to his neck.

  “He lives,” I said to Colpa; “he has banged his head.”

  Airioch moaned and opened his eyes.

  “You’ll be all right in a moment,” I said softly. “But Eber Donn is gone from us.”

  Airioch dragged himself to his feet and stared up at the mast. “My brother,” he whispered. “Oh, my brother. O you gods, what have I done?”

  The wives of Eber Donn surged up from below the deck, looking around for his presence, their many children clinging to them.

  I told them what had happened; the deck was filled with their high keening wails.

  I stood; one of our ships, its sails broken, limped toward us across the water.

  “Where is our third bireme?” I called across the water to the Greek captain.

  “We do not know; we could see nothing.”

  “Make for shore!” I cried. “We will anchor in the bay.”

  An Scail came to meet us on the shore, her hand shading her eyes.

  “You were wise to elect to remain on shore, Wise One. See what they have wrought with their false promises. We arm for war!”

  “Are you certain they have done this?”

  “Who els
e could raise a storm and make it cease, all in but three hours’ time?”

  “What of the three days the Danu requested?”

  “It is they who began this storm,” I said, my fists clenched in fury. “They no longer deserve our trust or our promise.”

  An Scail shook her head. She turned and walked toward the headland, her hand still shading her eyes.

  “Do not go among them,” I shouted, but she continued, raising the back of her hand against me.

  “Someone must make wisdom if you will not,” she called. Her voice carried out over the sea, above the watery grave of the Milesian dead.

  By nightfall, our Greek sailors began to ready themselves for departure in the remaining two biremes. The sons of Mil would now be residents of Inisfail, like it or no.

  33

  On the headland, Eriu ran at Macha, pushed her hard from behind. Macha staggered under the blow, dropped to her knees. The Silver Arm pointed downward at the rocky beach and carved a long trench into the sand. For a moment Nemhain and Banbh ceased their work with the arms, turned in their sister’s direction.

  At sea, the storm suddenly abated.

  “You gave me your word!” Eriu screamed. “What will you bring upon the people of the Danu?”

  “I said that I would not harm them and I did not; I stirred the sea and that is all.”

  “What, will you dance words with me? Cease now!”

  She screamed it at Nemhain and Banbh, who had begun to direct their streams of light at the sea once again, roiling the water and thickening the fog. Nemhain’s lips curled in a smile. Suddenly a burst of light struck Nemhain’s arm. Another grazed the shoulder of her sister Banbh. Banbh screamed. Simultaneously, the two sisters shook their arms free; the silver gauntlets crashed to the ground.

  Banba and Fodla swept in from either side, Light Spears in their hands. Lightning swift, they gathered the abandoned Silver Arms into their hands and ran toward Airmid, who stood silhouetted in a doorway.

  Airmid held out both arms; the Sisters slotted the gauntlets down over her hands.