Song of Ireland

by Juilene Osborne-McKnight

  “‘Ear me, Amer’in,” he said. “Once when I ‘as ’oung,” he struggled.

  “Young,” I said.

  He nodded. “We ’ere live ina t … tower by the sea. I woke dark.”

  “You woke in the dark?”

  He nodded. “You ’ere stand window, arms round Skena. I watch.” He took a deep breath. It was still difficult for him to string together multiple sentences. I had to hold myself back from saying it for him.

  He continued. “I ‘oped one day I love someun ’ike ’at.”

  “And you have found that with Illyn?”

  He nodded. “More. I wish two”—he held up his fingers, falling automatically into his old finger language—“arms, two wrap round Illyn I love.”

  “That is not possible,” I said. “And surely that does not matter to Illyn; she loves you as you are.”

  “I do,” she said softly, smiling up at Bile.

  “Is,” said Bile. “Possbe.”

  “What do you mean?” I looked at An Scail and Airmid.

  Airmed took a deep breath. “You know that we have physicians of great skill among us.”

  I waved my hand. “I know who you are and where you are from. I know how old you are.”

  She smiled and her whole mien relaxed. “Good,” she said. “She has told you everything.” She nodded. “We can restore his arm,” she said.

  “With a Silver Arm?”

  “No. A real arm with nerves and sinews and bones. It is a technique that my brother and I perfected … long, long ago.”

  “But we have been among you now for three years. Why did you not restore it before?”

  “In the beginning, to have done so would have frightened your people too much. But they have grown … accustomed to our oddities now, although they still see us in Metaphor. A new arm, more or less, will no longer frighten them.”

  I thought about this for a while and realized that it was true. I smiled, and shook my head. “True enough,” I said. “Will Bile be in danger or in pain?”

  “No.”

  “Then I say that it should be done.”

  “There is one other thing,” she said softly.

  Bile spoke then. “Go ’mong.”

  “To go through the portal?”

  He nodded.

  I looked at Airmid. “Will he be able to return?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I too have asked Eriu if I can travel through the portal; she has denied me.”

  Illyn smiled at me. “What do you see when you see me, Poet?”

  “I see a bright and beautiful girl of the Fir Bolg. I see my brother’s beloved. Why?”

  “Would it surprise you to know that when the Danu took me in I had a harelip and a clubfoot?”

  “They … repaired these, as they will Bile’s arm?”

  “They did.”

  “I am less fearful, then, seeing you here whole and well.”

  “Would it surprise you also to know that I was … slow and stunted, unable to speak?”

  “That would surprise me greatly. I see no trace of that young woman before me now.”

  “To repair those damages, it was necessary for the Danu to blend some of their braid with mine. I am Fir Bolg and Danu. This is why I can come and go through the portals as the Danu do.”

  “You are … as old as the Danu?”

  “No. Nor will I live to their age. But I will live much longer than you will live, Amergin. I am a Hybrid of the Braid.”

  I turned to Bile. “And this is what it will take to repair the arm? You too will be a Hybrid?”

  Airmid answered. “We will repair the arm and the pathways in the brain to make it work and we will clear the pathways of his thought and speech … . And yes, he will be a Hybrid of the Braid. He will be as Illyn is. He will live as long as she lives. He will have two good arms and perfect speech and he and Illyn will be together for a long life.”

  “I fear this,” I said softly. “And at the same time I wish it.”

  “Good,” said Airmid. “Because I am very old and have little time.”

  “You have been saying that for as long as I have known you,” said An Scail.

  “It has been true for at least that long. You are no blushing maiden yourself, Ancient.” The two burst into laughter.

  “For myself,” I said softly. The idea formed completely as soon as I spoke it. “I wish it for myself as well.”

  Airmid shook her head. “I cannot give you that gift,” she said softly. “We cannot tamper with what the Braid has made whole. You are well and strong. Our law permits us to repair that which is damaged; we do that in the name of the Braid, that all of her children be made whole. But I cannot tamper with what is not damaged. It is Danu law.”

  “What would happen if I went through the portal with Bile?”

  “You would never be able to come back again,” she said softly. “If you did, all that you knew and loved would be gone. You would instantly age into a withered and ancient old man and you would die among strangers. That is why Eriu denies you; it is her love for you that makes her say you nay.”

  “Then it must be my love for Bile that lets him go,” I said softly.

  The light in his face tore at my heart as he threw his arms around me.

  CEOLAS SINGS OF BELONGING

  When you go among them, Brother,

  Take my soul for keeping

  For I cannot go with you,

  I cannot be of them.

  Journey with my spirit

  To the children of the Light,

  Carry me into belonging.

  “Brother, awaken.” It was Colpa, his frame bending low to move through the doorway.

  “I am awake,” I said softly into the darkness. I had been lying awake for hours staring at the ceiling of my dwelling, my heart hammering with fear for Bile. I had stood with him as he stepped into the portal, lifted his good hand to me. Then he had raised the triangle that the Danu had given him, pressed it into the slot in the portal, and disappeared into an eclipse of blue light.

  Eriu had stood beside me, silent, her hand on my arm.

  “I am afraid,” I said softly. “And I am … envious. He goes where you go. And if all goes well he will be able to come and go, while I wait here, forever at a portal, waiting for your return, stealing little moments with you until I die.”

  “I will always come to you, love. Forever.”

  I bent my frame and closed my arms gently around her; even in Metaphor I was always aware of her delicate fragility. It was one, only one, of the reasons I loved her.

  “And all will go well. Bile will be back among you soon, with two good arms and a tongue as glib as that of his brother.”

  But it had been six weeks and Bile had not yet returned. Each time Eriu came through the portal I looked anxiously for Bile, for Airmid, but they did not accompany her. Though she protested that all was well, I wished to see my brother with my own eyes.

  “Amergin!”

  I bolted upright. “I am sorry, Colpa. I worry for our brother. Why do you keep such late hours?”

  “Eremon approaches at the headland. He is gravely wounded. He brings with him the wounded of his tribe and those of Eber Finn’s who have survived. He needs you to send for the Danu physicians.”

  “Oh no. O you gods! Eber Finn has gone against Eremon then. I will punish him dearly for this.”

  “I think not,” said Colpa quietly. “Eber Finn is dead.”

  “No. Oh no.”

  I threw on my braichs and ran from the dwelling. My bare feet drove against the stones as I ran. Eremon was staggering down the hillside, leading a horse on which one of his own warriors was draped. Blood ran down Eremon’s face and leg, down the side of the great beast.

  “He came in darkness,” he said softly. “Against his brother he came in darkness.”

  “Where is he?”

  He gestured back. I ran along the line of horses, of men supporting their wounded brothers. Eber Finn was dangling over the
back of a great black horse. His eyes were wide and white, his mouth surprised. His head was nearly severed from his neck. Perched on the flank of the horse was a large black raven.

  “Get you gone!” I screamed. I swatted at the bird, which rose into the darkness, cawing out.

  “Keep away from us, bringers of darkness,” I cried.

  “Amergin.” Colpa was beside me, Airioch straggling up the headland behind him. “You must find the Danu physicians or we will lose many more.

  I turned. I began to run toward the portal, my bare feet cut and bleeding now with trampling over stones.

  I saw a figure running toward me in the darkness. I reached for my sword and remembered that I had come away swordless.

  “Halt!” I cried. “Or I will cut you where you run.”

  The voice that came from the darkness was familiar, strong and whole.

  “It is I, Brother. Bile. We have heard of this tragedy. I bring the Danu physicians.”

  He emerged from the shadows and embraced me, his two strong arms closing around me.

  “Light!” he cried, and the Danu physicians lit their ice-blue torches as they followed us down the path.

  Bile was gathering his drawings and some of the tools that he used to etch in metal and stone. We had sent Eremon, healed and much saddened, back to his rath, which he had called Tara. The wounded of Eber Finn’s tribe had remained here among us at Inver Skena. Now that several days had passed, they seemed to be shaking off some horrible malaise, to be themselves shocked that the sons of Mil had turned against each other. I had seen great warriors standing by the sea, their arms around each other’s shoulders locked in shame and weeping. I shook my head.

  “It will be well,” said Bile.

  “Will it? Sometimes I think it will never be well, that the smallest time of joy will always be followed by sorrow or crisis.”

  He smiled at me. “This is not the Amergin who raised me,” he said softly.

  “I know,” I said. “I suppose that I am lonely.”

  He knelt before me and clasped my upper arms.

  “Do you think I would ever abandon you, Brother? You who have loved me from the start, and in all my imperfections?”

  I shook my head at the beauty of him, at the completeness of his arms and his speech. “I cannot believe it is you,” I said softly.

  “Nor I,” he replied. “I dwell in this body with such joy and gratitude.” He jammed a few more tools into his leather pack.

  “You will dwell among them now?”

  Bile smiled. “No, Brother. Do not fear. I will go back and forth with my goods and my gear. The portal will be snapping so often that you will forget that there is any other kind of doorway.”

  “What are their cities like?” I asked. I knew I sounded like a lost and plaintive child, but Bile seemed to understand.

  “How you would love it,” he said softly. “This world is … the same world, but … different. It is so hard to explain. The cities are beautiful, Brother, crystal and soft fabrics billowing and music as soft as wind and chambers where memory is stored like the stories of Ceolas.” He shook his head. “I cannot describe it; I will bring you a sketch when next I come.”

  “I will miss you,” I said softly. It was not that he seemed different, so much, but that he seemed so much himself, so much the young man that I had thought he would grow to be before we left Egypt, before the wagon. And that he would now become different. And that the new man would come to prefer the country of the Danu. How strange and simplistic our journey must seem to him now, our wagons and our ships. He had gone beyond us, beyond our knowledge.

  “How Skena would delight for you. For your recovery. How she would love to see you this way, restored.”

  “She would delight for you too, Brother. For your love for Eriu.”

  “It seems a long, long time ago, does it not?”

  “To you too?” Bile said softly. “How often I wished to talk to you about it, Amergin. All of it. Egypt and the isles. Uncle Ith. Our tower by the sea. And Skena … oh, I … brought you something, Brother, while I remember.” He rummaged around in his bag and brought up a roll of fresh parchment. “They have supplies for me to draw again. Although I’m still drawing with my left hand, that being the hand I’m accustomed to. Maybe soon I’ll draw with both hands,” he said, grinning.

  He spread out his roll of sketches and began to page through them. “There is a child among them. Perhaps two years old or a little more … Ah, here she is.”

  He drew forth a sketch and laid it before me.

  I stared at the little face, the thick, curling hair. “O you gods!”

  “So you do see what I see? Does she not look like Skena?”

  “She is the portrait of Skena. Who is she?”

  “Illyn did not know. She said she thought she was a Fir Bolg child, a new Hybrid of the Braid. She said the Three Sisters themselves care for the child as they did for Illyn. I would have asked Airmid, but then Eber Finn went against our brother.” He shrugged. “Illyn and I will ask her when I return.”

  I looked long at the little sketch.

  “May I keep it?” I asked quietly. “Perhaps Eriu will know.”

  41

  Criu came through the portal in Metaphor. She looked around her, as she always did, for any of the sons of Mil who might have accompanied Amergin. When she saw none, she tapped her triangle and folded down into herself, the tiny wide-eyed woman of the Danu.

  Amergin looked into her eyes. “You are troubled, love.”

  “Have I become that easy to read?”

  “Yes; your eyes are their own story. Is Bile unwell?”

  “No. Bile is well and happy and sends you greetings. He and Illyn will come through the portal at the new moon.”

  “Then what? Speak quickly or my mind will anticipate the worst.”

  “It is Airmid. She has taken to her chamber. She says that soon she will return to the Braid. She wishes to see An Scail.”

  “I will tell our An Scail.”

  “No! You cannot! Airmid is not well enough to come through the portal, and if An Scail were to go to her …”

  “She too would die?”

  “She would, Amergin. She could never return through the portal. The minute she returned, she would die.”

  “Then Airmid will die without her. They are as twin daughters of two different worlds. An Scail will never forgive me if Airmid departs this world without her, and yet, I cannot put An Scail in danger. I don’t know what to do. What is the right thing to do?” He stood and began to pace around the tiny hut, rapping a rolled scroll of papers on his hand.

  “What do you carry, love?”

  He looked down, surprised. “Oh, I forgot that I carried it. It is some sketches that Bile made for me among your people.”

  “Let me see.”

  Amergin opened the sketches out onto the little table in the hut. The first was of a city, all spires and intricate scrollwork, all crystalline light and color.

  “Tara,” said Eriu softly. “How beautifully he captures its magic. But you must hide these, Amergin. Your people would be frightened to see so vast and complex a city in a place where they could not ‘see’ it at all.”

  He folded out the next one.

  “O Danu,” said Eriu softly.

  “Who is she?”

  Eriu drew a deep breath. She closed her eyes. “I have feared this day for so long, and now that it has come, I find that I am glad.”

  “Speak clearly; you frighten me.”

  “Clearly then. She is Skena’s child. We call her Skena. Skena’s child and yours.”

  “This is not possible. I saw Skena and Ir. I burned their bodies on the seashore. What have you done? Have your people worked some dark magic?”

  “No magic, love. Their bodies washed up on the shore. Skena and Ir were gone; their bodies had been too long without breathsong. But the child in the womb; she lived, Amergin! Her heart beat. But she was too small to yet live outside the womb, s
o … Airmid took her from the womb and took her into our cities and kept her alive there until she was ready to come into the world.”

  “Kept her alive?”

  “Yes, love, in a Danu womb cradle.”

  “She was born of a Danu woman?”

  “No. No. It is a womb cradle, a cradle of life fluid. Airmid used Skena’s life fluid. She is a beautiful child, Amergin. Happy and sweet and loving. She is as Skena must have been.”

  He stood staring down at her, his expression horrified. Suddenly, he leaned forward and lifted her into the air with his great hands, until her eyes were level with his.

  “Are you telling me that I have a child of almost three years? That she lives and is well? And that you never told me?”

  Eriu spoke very softly. “Yes,” she said. “That is what I am telling you.”

  “O you gods!” He released her, staggered backward, away from her. “I see now that you are like Morrigu after all. All deception. All subterfuge. All this time that you have proclaimed your love for me. And instead you have been keeping this secret. This terrible secret. You have been keeping me from my child. You knew how much I loved Skena. You knew. Oh, my child!”

  The sound wrenched from him like a cry thrown to the heavens.

  Eriu began to weep, the huge tears falling from her eyes. She tapped her triangle and folded into Metaphor, the tall red-haired woman of old.

  “I am sorry, Amergin,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”

  “How can I forgive this? Oh, my child. I would see my child.”

  Suddenly his hand flashed forward; he closed it around Eriu’s triangle and yanked with all his might. Her head jerked forward, but the pendant did not come loose.

  “Please, love,” she whispered. “Please do not make me hurt you further. You cannot go into our world.”

  Amergin yanked again hard, the triangle in his palm.

  Eriu reached into his palm. She touched the triangle once. A bolt of lightning shot up Amergin’s arm. He was knocked back onto the ground; the cloth of his tunic smelled of burning.

  Eriu was weeping, her tiny body shaken with sobs. She stepped into the portal, leaned against it weeping.