Forging the Runes

by Josepha Sherman

  "Actually . . . yes. I . . . let's just say that things were rather hectic. After that, I was just too weary—"

  "Stop that!"

  "What—"

  "Don't you think I've seen you do this before? Whenever you don't want to talk about something, you rush right by it in a torrent of smooth words. And by the time we humans catch up, we've forgotten the original subject."

  "There isn't . . ."

  "Ha, you can't continue, can you? You can't tell a lie. Ardagh, please, what happened?"

  "Osmod," he said in brusque surrender, "turned out to be a sorcerer. We fought. I won. Sorcha, that's past—"

  "A sorcerer!" Her voice sharpened. "You knew this from the first, didn't you? Telling me just that you didn't like the man, that he wasn't trustworthy or whatever other excuse you used—you knew what he was!"

  "Sorcha, it's over. No need to be afraid."

  "I'm not afraid, dammit, I'm furious! Why didn't you tell me the truth? Why weren't you honest with me?"

  Why, indeed? "I didn't want to worry you," Ardagh heard himself say lamely.

  "And instead you treated me like—like a half-wit who couldn't bear to hear the truth!"

  Ardagh winced, remembering Leofrun. "Never that."

  "What, then? You would never have been so—so— so condescending to a woman of the Sidhe, would you? Well, would you?"

  "No, of course not. But you—"

  "But I am just a human? Is that it?"

  "It wasn't—"

  "Wasn't it? Why were you shielding me, then? What, no answer? Come, come, be brave, my Sidhe love: Why were you shielding me?"

  "Because," Ardagh admitted angrily, "I was most stupidly trying to act like a human for your sake!"

  "For my sake? Och, Ardagh, do you think I'm so stupid I can't accept you for what you are? Och, Ardagh!"

  With that, Sorcha broke contact. Ardagh stood clutching the amulet, trying to steady his breathing and calm himself. Sorcha, ae Sorcha . . . what had she just told him, there between the hot words? That Sidhe and human could never, ever hope for happiness between them? Was that it? Was it?

  He came rigidly alert, staring, all at once sensing Darkness, Darkness here. "Osmod!"

  The sorcerer stood in the air before him, a lean grey flame no longer bearing even the most remote resemblance to the urbane courtier he'd been in life. Eyes wide and wild with hate beyond the merely human stared at Ardagh. "Osmod, indeed." It was a chill whisper. "Or what is left of Osmod. You have not won, my enemy. You are not free of me."

  "Oh now, this is too much, this is just too much. Don't you even have the good taste to stay dead?"

  "You are not free of me," the ghost insisted.

  Like hell I'm not! All his frustration and anger burst free, and Ardagh erupted. "Am I not? Ghost, you never have understood who and what I am. I am not human, ghost, I am Sidhe, of the Folk of Faerie. And as one of the Sidhe, I have no fear of ghosts—most surely not of you! I ban you, Osmod, I bar you from the waking world, the dreaming world, from all the living worlds. My will is strong, and I deny you! I forbid you the right to haunt me or any other! Now, go to Hell," he finished, and meant it quite literally. "Go to Hell and keep Gervinus company!"

  No drama to it; Osmod was simply gone, between one second and the next, and the night was once more tranquil and undisturbed.

  Ardagh looked up at the great earthen mound and wooden palisade that was Fremainn and felt a wild confusion of emotions: relief, yes, that his journey was done, but . . .

  Sorcha, he thought. To what have I returned? They were through the great gates before he could hesitate.

  There on the grassy slope of the royal enclosure waited King Aedh and what looked like all the court, a gaudy rainbow of bright brats and tunics. But Ardagh found himself hunting for one figure, his heart pounding so fiercely he thought he would fall from his horse there in front of them all, because she wasn't there, she wasn't. . . .

  She was. Sorcha was there. Sorcha was waiting for him. And all at once the last of his fatigue seemed to fly from Ardagh. He leaped from his horse, racing to his love, catching her in his arms, their lips meeting in a kiss so fierce it was nearly a mutual assault, the two of them heedless of the good-humored cheers around them.

  At last they had to draw back a little if they were to breathe. "I thought I'd lost your love," Ardagh murmured in Sorcha's ear.

  "Och, Ardagh. Never." She drew back slightly to study him. "You really were afraid of that."

  "Yes."

  "Ah. Human and Sidhe: We really don't always understand each other's way of thinking, do we?"

  "It would seem not." Half-afraid of the answer, he added, "Is that . . . is that a problem for you?"

  Sorcha laughed, brushing his cheek with a quick, tender hand. "They do say that every romance needs its share of mystery and surprise."

  "And of chaos and—"

  "And fierce arguments, yes, and," she added with a sly quirk of an eyebrow, "fiercer reconciliations."

  He had to laugh at that, but Sorcha poked him sharply in the ribs. "I really was angry with you, though, no joke about that."

  "Nor do I blame you. I had no intention of patronizing you, I hope you can accept that. And I certainly won't belittle you again."

  "I know." Her voice was smug. "I know." Sorcha smiled up at him, her eyes warm. "And never mind the past. It's enough that you've come home to me."

  Home? Ardagh wondered. Not exactly. There were still so many questions left unanswered. Why, for one thing, was the Darkness so interested in him? What was truly happening in the Sidhe Realm? And oh, by all the Powers, would he ever find his way back there?

  But Sorcha was warm and loving in his arms. And for the moment, Ardagh told himself, for the moment Fremainn was home enough.

  Afterword

  Although this is, naturally, a work of fiction, a good deal of it is based on fact.

  In the year 799 a.d., a horrendous storm really did sweep across Ireland; the Annals of the Irish Kingdoms describes the devastation. That year, the historic King Aedh did fight a battle—possibly two—against the King of Leinster, who did enter a monastery after his defeat. The chronicles of the time make it unclear whether the battle came before or after the storm; I have chosen to make it afterwards, giving Leinster the motive of trying to strike while the High Kings guard was down. And yes, the historic Fothad mac Ailin really did proclaim his poem, which is quoted in part in Chapter Two, against involving the clergy.

  In the English land of Wessex, King Beortric, who had, indeed, wed Edburga, daughter of the powerful Offa of Mercia, did have a favorite, Worr (Asser, chronicler of the life of King Alfred, says tactfully only that Worr was "very dear to the king"), and did rule for an untroubled sixteen years before dying unexpectedly; rumors suggested poison, and named Edburga as the murderer, deliberate on the part of Worr, accidental on the part of Beortric—particularly since she fled to France shortly after. Edburga, incidentally, came to a bad end; put in charge of a nunnery, she was expelled for "lewd" behavior and ended up a beggar on the streets of Paris.

  Egbert did spend the years of Beortric's reign in exile, mostly in Charlemagne's court. Since it seems unlikely that even an easygoing ruler like Beortric would allow an adult rival to live, and since Egbert is described as being fairly young when taking the Wessex throne, I have made him a child-exile. The year of his accession to the throne is in doubt: some sources say 800, some 802 a.d. I have taken the author's privilege and chosen 800.

  Egbert did, by the way, go on to conquer a good deal of what is now England, though he never did take on the Welsh Celts.

  Osmod is fiction. The Saxon blood-drinking cult is not.

  The author makes no claims for the validity or usability of the rune-magics in this book, Saxon or Norse or, for that matter, that of any other magics in this book. This is, after all, a work of fiction!

  Anyone looking for Neolithic circles near modern Winchester is going to be sadly disappointed. However, there are sever
al hundred circles in Britain, most two to three thousand years old, for the curious tourist to investigate. While the majority are stone, there are a few, like the famous Woodhenge near the even more famous Stonehenge, that were made of wood. Archaeologists excavating Woodhenge uncovered perhaps the only human sacrifice to be found buried within a circle; I've taken the liberty of creating a second such site—and sacrifice.

  Just as the Sidhe are said to be the Irish Folk, so the Tylwyth Teg are the Faerie Folk of Wales. They are said to take the occasional changeling—and the occasional human lovers.

  Yes, Viking raiders would sometimes put ashore in isolated spots to cook themselves some hot meals! And raids on Ireland really did drop off to practically none from 800 to about 830 a.d., after the end of Aedh's reign.

  On the naming of names: Eriu is an ancient name for Ireland; Gaeilge is the language (we call it Gaelic). Cymru was—and is—the proper name for Wales, while Cymreig is the language. Uintacaester is the Saxon name for Winchester, based on the Celtic name "Uinta" and the Roman suffix "caster" or city. The modern city has pretty much covered up the remnants of the Saxon/ Roman city. Hamwic, or Hamwih, which was a major trading site of the Saxon era, is now mostly buried under modem Southampton. The Lochlannach are, of course, the Vikings; Lochlannach is the Irish Gaelic word for them.

  For the linguistic purists: There really wasn't a Gaelic word for "rudder" until the Viking invasion.

  There are many books available on the culture of the Vikings ca. 800 a.d., fewer about the Irish or Saxons of that period, and almost too many often contradictory books on runes. Some of the books consulted for this story include:

  Aswynn, Freya. Leaves of Yggdrasil. St. Paul: Llewellyn Publications, 1992.

  Blair, Peter Hunter. An Introduction to Anglo-Saxon England. Cambridge: The Cambridge University Press, 1956.

  Campbell, James, ed. The Anglo-Saxons. London and New York: Penguin Books, 1991.

  Chickering, Howell D., Jr., trans. Beowulf: A Dual-Language Edition. New York: Anchor Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, 1977.

  Davies, John. A History of Wales. London and New York: Penguin Books, 1994.

  Davies, Wendy. Wales in the Early Middle Ages. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1982.

  Donovan, John O., trans. Annals of the Kingdom of Ireland, 7 volumes. New York: AMS Press, 1966.

  Fell, Christine. Women in Anglo-Saxon England. Oxford and New York: Basil Blackwell Ltd., 1986. Originally published by British Museum Publications Ltd., 1984.

  Hagen, Ann. A Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Food: Processing and Consumption. Norfolk: Anglo-Saxon Books, 1992.

  --------. A Second Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Food & Drink: Production & Distribution. Norfolk: Anglo-Saxon Books, 1995.

  Harrison, Mark. Viking Hersir: 793-1066 a.d. London: Osprey Publications, 1993.

  Heath, Ian. The Vikings. London: Osprey Publications, 1985.

  Hill, David. An Atlas of Anglo-Saxon England. Toronto and Buffalo: University of Toronto Press, 1981.

  Ingram, The Reverend James, trans. The Saxon Chronicle: ad 1 to ad 1154. London: Studio Editions Ltd., 1993. Originally published in 1823 by Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown.

  Jackson, Robert. Dark Age Britain: What to See and Where. Cambridge: Patrick Stephens Ltd., 1984.

  Keynes, Simon and Michael Lapridge. Alfred the Great: Asser's Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources. London and New York: Penguin Books, 1983.

  Laing, Lloyd and Jennifer. Anglo-Saxon England. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd., 1979.

  Linsell, Tony. Anglo-Saxon Mythology, Migration & Magic. Pinner: Anglo-Saxon Books, 1994.

  Quennell, Marjorie and C.H.B. Everyday Life in Roman and Anglo-Saxon Times. London: B.T. Batsford Ltd., 1959.

  Roesdahl, Else. Translated by Susan M. Margeson and Kirsten Williams. The Vikings. London and New York: Penguin Books, 1991.

  Simpson, Jacqueline. Everyday Life in the Viking Age. London: Carousel Books, 1971.

  Thorsson, Edred. At the Well of Wyrd: A Handbook of Runic Divination. York Beach: Samuel Weiser, Inc., 1988.

  ---------. Futhark: A Handbook of Rune Magic. York Beach: Samuel Weiser, Inc., 1984.

  Tryckare, Tre. The Viking. New York: Crescent Books, 1972.

  Walker, David. Medieval Wales. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990.

  Welch, Martin. Discovering Anglo-Saxon England. University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992.

  Whitlock, Ralph. The Warrior Kings of Saxon England. New York: Barnes & Noble Books, 1993.

  Wiseman, John. The SAS Survival Handbook. London: Colins Harvill, 1986.

  Wood, Margaret. The English Medieval House. London: J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd., 1965.

  Wood, Michael. In Search of the Dark Ages. New York and Oxford: Facts on File Publications, 1987.