What was happening? His heart was beating so hard he feared it might tear itself out of his chest. Then he felt his bones crack and expand, his skin tightened. Rage consumed him—a fury beyond his control.
And whatever consumed him drove him beneath the waters... as if someone... or something else had possessed his body. His eyes open wide, even beneath the water, he felt his hand reach and catch something...
Everything was still a blur.
There was a struggle.
Then blood, so much blood...
The bitter flavor of blood assaulted his tongue as his own jaws ripped through flesh...
Everything went black.
The pounding in his head was nearly too much to bear.
He felt the heat of the sun radiating off of his face... the sun? He'd started the hunt in the evening...
How much time had passed?
Shielding his eyes and opening them he saw the body... the Fomorian's corpse, mangled, its abdomen was torn open as if by a bear.
A bear wasn't to blame... he'd done it...
He didn't mean to. He'd never killed anyone before. Not even a Fomorian... but still, the creature was almost human. It's skin, bark-like in appearance. His head, oddly shaped. A bit longer than a normal human head. The closest thing to a human, that wasn't one, he'd ever seen... and his guts... what had happened to his insides?
Sétanta's stomach churned... and a second later he'd inadvertently answered his own questions as he vomited blood and pieces of meat on the ground beside the Fomorian's mangled corpse.
Stumbling to the river, Sétanta cupped water into his hands and rinsed the vile taste from his mouth.
Returning to his feet he stepped back and examined the carnage that surrounded him. He cringed, spotting the half-eaten corpse of the boar he'd caught.
The people of Ulster didn't get their feast. But when he never returned they'd assume the worst. It would be only a matter of time before his mother would send a hunting party to track him down. They'd assume the worst... if only they knew...
It wasn't that he was afraid they'd discover he'd killed a Fomorian. If ever you encountered one, at least if the bardic legends were to be believed, you were lucky to survive at all. But if they knew how he'd done it... what he'd become...
What had he become?
3
"THIS IS YOUR new mother."
Babd exchanged incredulous glances with her two sisters. Her father was an emotionally stunted man—Babd accepted that—but did he really think he was going to just replace their mother?
And with this... whatever she was?
She seemed human, for the most part. Her skin pale and smooth, without blemish. Slight of frame with long, green hair and eyes to match. The hair and eyes proved it. She was something else.
"My name is Grainne," the mysterious woman-like creature said, a hint of sadness in her emerald eyes. "I do not expect you to call me mother."
When Grainne looked back at Babd's father, at Fionn, the empathy she'd had in her eyes when she looked at Babd and her sisters was instantly exchanged for fury. She didn't want to be here any more than Babd wanted a replacement mom.
Whoever she was, she'd been brought here by force. Wherever she came from, whomever her strange people were... all she'd known before was gone. She was the prize. A bounty Fionn had claimed for himself after another one of his senseless raids of the countryside's villages.
Babd barely thought of the man as "father" even though he'd punish her if she dared address him by his first name. To think Fionn thought to kidnap a creature, presumably because she was beautiful, and gain her affection after attacking her people betrayed his arrogance.
And to think to make her a wife without any sort of consequence? She was a small woman if she was a woman at all, but Grainne had some kind of magic about her.
Fionn was playing with fire, blinded by his pride, unable to imagine the consequences that might befall him if he ever rested his eyes or turned his back to this woman. At least, Babd thought, if she were in Grainne's position she'd be looking for the first opportunity to kill the man who'd probably destroyed, or at the very least took her from, everything she loved.
That's the thing about gold, gems, and treasure. It knows no other loyalty than to whoever happens to have seized it. But a woman... whether she be properly human, or something else... was more precious than gold, silver, or even diamonds. And despite Fionn's presumptions—and the blind ignorance of most powerful men—women were not a thing to be possessed at all. Quite the contrary, in fact.
Babd had seen it many times. Blinded by their lusts, men often lost all sense when it came to women. You didn't have to be magical, like whatever Grainne was, to realize the power this afforded a woman should she arrest the passions of a man in such a way. The bards told many tales of whole wars fought and whole kingdoms that fell on account of mighty men who'd fallen into a woman's snare.
Men might think they rule the world. But women have the power to destroy the mightiest of kingdoms. If the All-Father had made man to rule the earth, the Mother Goddess had made woman to rule man.
A clever woman, if she had the slightest beauty to her, needn't take up arms to do it. A well-timed smile, a giggle, or a wink was all that was needed for certain men to be taken in such a manner. Babd, through her keen sense of perception, had discovered the secret—the more powerful the man the more susceptible he was to a woman's charms.
Babd wasn't as beautiful as her sister, Macha. But Macha was too naive to use her beauty to her advantage. And while Babd wasn't as intelligent as Anand, there is a difference between the sort of knowledge that memorizes facts and the kind of perception Babd had.
Yes, that was Babd's gift. Not beauty or intelligence—but craftiness. To Fionn and even her sisters, she was good for little more than housework. Babd was fine with that. If they didn't see her, if they didn't realize what she was capable of. She'd use that to her advantage.
Not even her sisters, who had shared a womb with Babd, understood her. No one did. Except, perhaps, this mysterious woman, Grainne, whom Fionn would force to become his wife and presume to make the girls' mother.
Something about the way Grainne looked at her—at Babd, not at Macha or Anand—suggested she saw Babd for who she was. Perhaps that was Grainne's magic. Something not unlike the kind of perception that Babd had, herself. The kind capable of discerning another's true nature, their motives, and predict their next steps.
Not a prophecy. Babd was no oracle. The gift she had was better than that. Oracles do little more than reveal inevitabilities. They proclaim events fated to be. But with craftiness, with perception, Babd could discern someone's character, their motives, and from that, she predicted what they would likely do next, not what they were destined to do.
That made her more powerful than an oracle. After all, once one knows fate one is thereafter powerless to change it. But if one knows what is likely, not certain, and has a certain degree of craftiness—well, that woman could change the future and craft her own destiny.
Fionn didn't say another word. So bold—to show up and declare Grainne their new "mother" and leave, as if his word defined the laws of nature itself.
Neither Macha nor Anand would have any of it. Not even acknowledging their would-be mother's presence. They each met Grainne's cordial greeting with a cold shoulder. But Babd didn't blame Grainne. She wasn't the one who'd presumed to make herself their mother. She was, quite likely, more a victim here than they were.
A slight grin cracked Babd's face as her eyes met Grainne's. It wasn't that Babd was happy about what her father had done. But, unlike her sisters, Babd understood what Grainne was going through... and she felt that for some reason this beautiful woman-like creature understood her, too.
"Would you like me to show you around?" Babd asked.
"That would be nice," Grainne said, returning Babd's grin with one of her own.
"Don't sweat Macha and Anand. They'll come around. They're just a bit
put off by the whole idea that dad thinks he can just up and replace mom..."
"I get it," Grainne said. "If I were in their shoes, I would likely act the same way."
Babd cocked her head. They never wore shoes at all in the house. One of her father's many rules.
Sensing Babd's confusion Grainne piped up. "My apologies. I used an expression from another time. A time yet to come to pass."
Babd scrunched her brow. Grainne's attempt to explain her strange idiom hadn't done much to assuage her puzzlement. "What are you, anyway?"
Grainne laughed. Babd wasn't one to mince words. "I am a dryad, dear."
Babd squinted. "What's a dryad? I've never seen anyone like you in any of our villages..."
"I'm not from any of the surrounding villages. Your father took me, I think, as much out of vengeance against a druid... the druid who brought me to this world."
Babd sighed. So many questions. What to ask first? Unsure where to start, she just asked them at once, in rapid succession. "Wait, why did my dad want revenge on a druid? The druids are peaceable people... and what do you mean a druid summoned you? Summoned you from where?"
Grainne pressed her lips together. "From Annwn."
Babd rolled her eyes. Of course, Grainne would only answer one of her questions. The last one she asked. Which, it seemed to her, might have been the least important one. "Annwn? Like the otherworld? The bards speak of such a place... father says Annwn is but a faerie tale."
"It is a place likely to be featured in tales told by faeries," Grainne said. "I imagine that it is from the fairies that your bards have learned such tales. So, in that respect, I suppose your father is correct."
Babd squinted again. "You speak of faeries as if they are real..."
"Of course they are, dear child. You don't believe in fairies?"
"Father says they are made-up creatures, a people of myth the common people believe that they might cope with their miserable existences."
Grainne sighed. "It is not my place to say this... but your father knows better than that."
Babd nodded. Not that her father actually believed in faeries. But he believed in magic. The strange bag she'd seen him use proved that much. But where had he gotten it from? "My dad... he has an item... a bag..."
"An oxter bag," Grainne said.
"You've seen it?" Babd said, her jaw dropped.
Grainne took a deep breath. "He used it to intimidate the druid who'd summoned me."
"Is it... the oxter bag... something from your people? Something from dryads, or maybe faeries?"
Grainne shook her head. "How your father acquired the Oxter... it isn't my place to put the burden of such a truth on your shoulders."
Babd rolled her eyes. "Come on. You think I'm going to tell dad? You think I'm some kind of snitch?"
"Not at all," Grainne said. "I can see your truth. And your questions are genuine, your quest for truth is real. And your pain... I do not wish to add to it."
"My pain," Babd said, "is only on account of not knowing the truth... you said it yourself, my quest for truth is real."
"Be that as it may," Grainne said. "In this case, knowing the truth will only exacerbate your pain."
Babd shook her head. "I'd rather hurt from the truth than remain restless in ignorance."
"He acquired the Oxter from a sorcerer..."
"A sorcerer... you mean, like a druid?"
"Yes and no. A druid wields the natural, benevolent forces of the earth. A sorcerer... he touches something darker... he manipulates the forces of the earth, arrests them to his destructive will."
"Tell me who this sorcerer was!" Babd demanded.
"His name is Fear Doidrich," Grainne said. "But he only acts in concert with another... a force greater than any common sorcerer or druid might wield alone."
"What force are you talking about?"
"The Dagda," Grainne said. "At least that's the greatest source of his power."
"The good God?"
Grainne nodded. "That is what his name means, yes. But his goodness... it is contingent on sacrifice..."
A sharp pain struck Babd in the chest. A sacrifice... The worth of a sacrifice was not found in a god's value of an offering, but in the loss of the one who offered it. And there was only one thing Fionn had ever valued apart from his own power. Only one thing he might offer in exchange for something so powerful as the Oxter...
"Dad sacrificed mom..."
Grainne pressed her lips together. She would not confirm Babd's suspicion. But she didn't need to. Her silence spoke loudly enough. And Grainne had been right. The truth hurt... it was nearly too much to bear.
4
SÉTANTA TOOK A deep breath. He hoped Taliesin would have answers. If any bard would know what the hell it was he'd turned into when he killed the Fomorian, it was Taliesin. According to the lesser bards, Awen—the elixir of the gods—flowed through Taliesin like blood. And if anyone knew the tale about how he'd become the bard of bard's they'd believe it was true.
Sétanta had only heard Taliesin speak once before—if anything, it was that encounter that convinced him he wanted to be a bard. Sitting around a fire, his eyes wide, goosebumps on his arms, as the master bard told tale after tale, each more haunting than the last.
Sétanta was the king's nephew. The bastard child of Deichtine, King Conchobar's sister, and a man whom Sétanta had never met. His mother never spoke of his father, and Sétanta didn't bother to ask.
As the king's nephew, he got away with most things. As a bastard, most people didn't pay him much mind. It was an odd combination, but one Sétanta had often used to his advantage. Not like he was up to mischief—he'd never been whipped at all as a child—but if he were anyone else leaving Ulster with a war steed might have raised some eyebrows.
He was seeking Taliesin—and the rumor was the master bard often tagged along with a particularly powerful druid named Diarmid who, some believed, commanded the very forest, the great oaks, bidding them to come to his aid. It was this druid's power, many believed, that had given Fionn MacCumhail—chief of the Fianna—a decided victory over the Fir Bolg. But why would a druid ever help such an abominable man? It didn't make sense. But as the nephew of a king, Sétanta rarely found that good sense had anything to do with politics.
Pulling back on the reigns, Sétanta slowed his horse from a gallop to a trot. There was something in the distance, something in the forest. A flame? Too colorful. Yes, there were reds and oranges, but what Sétanta saw also swirled with green and blue energies, forming something of a cone over the trees. One moment it was spinning with a fury of power, a second later it was completely gone.
Sétanta rubbed his eyes. What by the name of the good god was that?
Brilliant, whatever it was.
The trees were too dense and the pathways through the forest too cluttered to go through on horseback. Dismounting his borrowed steed Sétanta tied its reins to one of the trees. It was risky tying up a horse—horse thieves were common in these parts—but these weren't heavily traveled glades. It was a risk to leave his horse behind, but a calculated risk Sétanta deemed worth taking.
Whatever that magical cone was he saw before—chances were if Taliesin was in the area he was involved in whatever was going on. Bards had a way of showing up whenever things were about to happen to inspire new tales. And the magical cone of energy Sétanta saw... he couldn't imagine there wasn't a story behind it.
Sétanta whisked his way through the forest. He moved like a deer—fast and graceful, dodging, ducking under, and leaping over tree branches as he moved toward where he'd seen the mystical cone. As he drew nearer, a drumbeat echoed in the distance. With it, voices—were they shouting, or singing? Sétanta wasn't sure, but there was a rhythm, a purpose, to their chants.
As an avid hunter, Sétanta was no stranger to the forests. But these trees... it was almost like they were aiding him, speaking to him, guiding him to his desired destination. The drumming ended. The singing faded to a murmur—what was
a chorus of voices now resounded, muffled, through the trees as if only two voices remained, to men in conversation. Pray one of these men be the master bard! Sétanta thought as the trees seemed to usher him forward, parting their branches as he entered a clearing.
Massive stones, boulders, perfectly arranged in a circle formed what appeared to be a kind of temple—a giant Oak in the middle.
"May I help you, child?"
Sétanta turned and there he was—Taliesin, adorned in bearskins, a small lyre in his hand.
"It's you!" Sétanta exclaimed.
The master bard chucked. "Indeed, it is. I've always been me."
Sétanta shook his head. "Taliesin! You're the one I've come to find!"
The bard smiled wide. He had a kind face and a radiant brow. There were only a few torches in the clearing, but the light seemed to all gather upon the master bard's brow. It was a glow bright enough that when Sétanta gazed upon the bard, it was as if the rest of the world faded to black by contrast. "I expected you would find me soon enough."
"Wait, you know who I am?"
"I know who you will become."
Sétanta scrunched his brow. The bards told tell tales, but divining the future was not a skill he was aware the bards typically possessed. Of course, Taliesin wasn't your average bard. He was the master bard, the bard of bards, one born of both cauldron and the womb of a goddess. At least, if the tales the lesser bards told about Taliesin were true. "If you know what I will become, do you know what it is I have become?"
"You have the blessing of the ríastrad."
Sétanta squinted. He'd heard of the ríastrad. No child possessing the ríastrad had been born to the people of the Ulster in more than a generation. One who had the ríastrad was known to transform in combat—to become something of both beast and man.
But in the tales, the legendary warriors who had the ríastrad weren't possessed by a whatever creature like the one that overtook him when he slew the Fomorian thief. And, so far as he knew, those with the ríastrad didn't feed upon their enemies. "What I experienced, it was no blessing. It was more like a beast, an animal, that claimed my body..."
Gates of Eden: Starter Library Page 116
