Gates of Eden: Starter Library

by Theophilus Monroe

  "Please, young man. I have three children... I have no other way..."

  Sétanta nodded as he gripped his spear, now stained with blood on both ends. "Return to your family."

  Something struck Sétanta over his head from behind. The boulder one of the thieves struck him with shattered over his skull, sending him into a daze. The heat boiled up within him again...

  Then the anger... the same sensation he'd had before. The ríastrad. He couldn't control it.

  "Run! All of you!" Sétanta shouted as he felt his body contort, his bones cracking, his skin hardening. "This thing... it will kill you all! Run!"

  The thieves, the moonlight highlighting their terror-stricken faces, stepped back away from him. But they weren't running. Not yet... and even if they ran straight away their chances of escaping the ríastrad were slim.

  Sétanta knew what was going to happen. They'd die, each one of them. Nothing angered him more than that. But as the rage boiled up, the ríastrad only became stronger, more uncontrollable, more barbaric...

  Sétanta had no choice but to watch. He only had flashes between his blackouts. Chasing them down, one by one, through the woods. His jaws ripping through flesh. Bodies and blood. If he just gave up his attempts to control the beast, if he released the anger... he'd retreat into another blackout. At least that way he wouldn't have to see it... he'd only have to live with the bloody aftermath.

  7

  GRAINNE WAS GONE almost as quickly as she'd arrived. A shape-shifter, most likely a druid, fled with her at his arm. There was no mistaking it—when he looked at her, his love for her was unmistakable. He was the one from whom Babd's father, Fionn, had taken Grainne—Babd was sure of it—and now the mysterious dryad was gone.

  Together, she and her druid lover fled through the forests, escaping Fionn's rage. Babd watched the whole episode from her window. And then... somewhere in the forest, a giant cone of magic emerged, something powerful, something she'd never seen before. Whatever it was, Grainne had done it.

  And, while Babd had no idea what kind of magic it was, she sensed that Grainne was gone. Perhaps it was her gift, her sense of perception—but Grainne wasn't coming back. She'd never see her again.

  A tear cascaded down Babd's cheek.

  Grainne had barely been there a month. But in that time Babd felt like she'd finally met someone who understood her, who saw her for something more than a girl suited for chores. Not that Babd was opposed to doing chores—all young ladies had chores—but she did more than her share, twice what either of her sisters did. And still, her father hardly appreciated her.

  Fionn burst into the room, anger consuming his face as he tossed his magical Oxter bag into the corner. "Diarmid Ua Duibhne! I curse the day you were born!"

  Anand followed closely behind her father. "If it were not for him, father, you would not have defeated the Fomorians."

  "Is that what you believe, daughter? You and everyone else! But it is a lie!" Fionn was shouting as loudly as he ever had.

  Babd lowered her eyes—the last thing she wanted to do when her father was in such rage was give him a reason to acknowledge her existence. He'd probably take his rage out on her if he noticed her.

  "My apologies, father," Anand said, second-guessing her momentary boldness. "I am just a girl. Pay my words no heed."

  "A girl and a fool! I nearly killed Diarmid Ua Duibhne once! It is he who would be nothing were it not for me!"

  Anand shrugged. "Then go after him, again."

  Babd shot daggers at her sister through her eyes—going after Diarmid meant going after Grainne. While Babd wished Grainne never had to leave, the dryad had been a prisoner, a creature of beauty Fionn had hoped would eventually develop affection for him. Or, at least, he'd beat her down until she was resigned to accept her lot as his next wife. Either way, it was good Grainne had escaped.

  "Your Oxter bag," Macha piped up." You can pull anything from the bag." Babd pulled at her hair. Now Macha was helping him?

  Fionn took a deep breath. "I can retrieve whatever I desire from the Oxter. But it cannot change me... but perhaps... yes, that's it! Girls, prepare yourselves for a journey. Ensure you are well fed and bathed. This time, all three of you will be coming with me."

  "Will you take us to mother?" Babd asked.

  "To your mother," Fionn said, hanging his head. "I'll take you to the one who knows where your mother might be."

  Babd nodded. A small consolation—but if there was a chance they might recover their mother, then what harm was there to allow Fionn to chance some fantasy of being able to catch up to Diarmid and Grainne? Babd knew the truth—they'd fled, not just the countryside, but they'd fled to some other world. If Fionn figured out some way to pursue them, at the very least, it would mean that he would be gone. Not a bad thing in Babd's mind. But why did he want Babd and her sisters to go with him? Sure, if daddy dearest disappeared it wouldn't be the end of the world. But what in the name of the gods did he have planned for them?

  Babd tossed and turned all night trying to imagine what in the world her father had planned. Usually, following her gifts, she anticipated what he was up to. She found most people's behaviors predictable. But on this occasion, she was completely stumped.

  Babd forced her eyes shut. Just stop thinking! She told herself. That's why she couldn't sleep. She didn't have answers but she couldn't stop concocting theories. Someone grabbed Babd by the arm, yanking her out of her bed.

  "What are you doing!" Babd protested.

  She wasn't sure who the man was—probably one of her father's lackeys. He had a hood over his head, the sort a thief might wear. Two other men stormed into the room and grabbed Anand and Macha. Both girls shrieked as the men who'd broken into their bedroom carried them out of the room.

  Babd didn't struggle. What was the point? She was just a young girl—not even a full-grown woman—her chances of overpowering an adult man were slim to none. The man holding her covered her eyes with his hand. What's the purpose of that? No sooner did she think it and something squeaked—something like a door on hinges. Babd felt her body tumble onto a cold, hard surface. Opening her eyes she saw another man throw Anand inside and then a third man toss in Macha. The last man slammed the cage door shut.

  "What is going on!?" Babd shouted at the three men as they walked away, ignoring her question.

  The sound of a cracking whip startled the attentions of all three sisters. The next thing Babd realized they were moving—caged like slaves when they traveled by carriage. As moonlight struck the carriage she noticed her father holding the reigns... where was he taking them?

  "Dad!" Babd screamed. "Why are we caged! We aren't slaves! We're your daughters!"

  Anand nudged Babd, hinting that she best shut her mouth. Fionn ignored Babd's protest, cracked the reigns again. The carriage picked up speed. Moving faster meant a louder thud of hooves, more squealing from a poorly oiled axle.

  The planks of the carriage rattled against each other. All sounds that likely made it easier for Fionn to ignore his daughters' screams. After a while, even Anand who'd had the utmost faith in her father's intentions began demanding answers.

  All three girls knew better than to speak to their father in such a tone. But how many hours had passed? Most of the night... the sun was likely to rise soon. The longer the ride went, the more anxious Babd felt. The more her sisters, too, were emboldened to protest. After all, the most Fionn had ever done to his daughters for addressing him in such a tone before was give them a whipping.

  Whatever he planned now... it wasn't good. And while Macha and Anand lacked Babd's gifts of craftiness and perception, even they realized that their father's plans weren't beneficent.

  "Father, I have to go..."

  Fionn pulled on the reins, slowing it to a halt. Finally, Babd thought... she could get out of the cage. For just a minute...

  Dismounting the carriage, Fionn grabbed an animal hide and threw it over the cage. Resuming his place, he cracked the whip and they were o
ff again.

  Babd sighed. She wasn't fibbing. She really had to go... So she did.

  She expected her sisters to protest. They didn't. They probably had to pee, too.

  What other choice did she have?

  8

  THE NEXT THING Sétanta felt was something cold and wet pressed to his brow. He opened his eyes. A beautiful woman, her face radiating with a golden glow, stood over him dabbing his forehead gently with a moist rag.

  "Dearest woman," Sétanta said. "You should not tend to me. I do not deserve such care."

  The woman said nothing. She smiled. But the glow... it glittered all around her like some kind of magic. Something he'd never seen.

  Sétanta grabbed the woman by the wrist as she reached to dab his forehead again. "Tell me, woman. What are you?"

  "My name is Fand," the woman said.

  "Fand? What sort of name is that?"

  Fand pressed her lips together. "Our people have always attended those consumed by the ríastrad."

  "Your people? Are you a part of the bardic troop from Emain Macha? They are the ones I seek..."

  "No, I am not a bard," Fand giggled. "But they are aware of your presence. They shall be here soon."

  "Again, I beg of you, tell me what you are... your beauty, Fand, exceeds that of any woman..."

  Fand's pale cheeks blushed. Her eyes... they were golden to match the glow that adorned her countenance.

  Sétanta's heart raced as Fand ran her cool rag across his chest. He'd never felt so enthralled by a woman. Yes, he'd had his crushes. What boy hadn't? He'd even enjoyed few youthful flings. But he'd never fallen under a woman's spell, never felt the kind of allure that welled up in his chest as Fand's eyes met his.

  "I am of the Fae. And though I must say, I am not without desire for you, my young warrior poet, I'm already betrothed to Manannán mac Lir."

  Sétanta raised his brow. How did she know so much about him to declare him both a warrior and a poet? Still, while Fand's knowledge of him was curious, his greater concern was Fand's would-be husband. "Manannán mac Lir... The son of the sea?"

  "You know of him?"

  Sétanta shook his head. "No, I simply know what the name means. Why would a creature so beautiful as you choose to marry a sailor?"

  Fand laughed. "He's not a sailor... and he was not my choice. He's the king of the Sea Fae. Though he now rules many realms of land and sea."

  Sétanta rolled his eyes. "So, I have to compete with a king..."

  "There is no competition," Fand said. "No matter what my heart might desire... I cannot..."

  Sétanta grabbed Fand and kissed her. The connection—whatever magic he had, whatever the ríastrad was, seemed to dance within him, sending his heart into a flutter, even as her magic tingled on his lips.

  As Fand pulled away Sétanta's eyes met hers. "Are you sure about that? No competition, I mean?"

  Fand stood and stepped away from the young warrior poet. "There cannot be... there could never be... what I feel for you, it is but lust. Love cannot possibly spark over such a brief encounter."

  Sétanta bit his lip. "Did you feel it? The magic between us..."

  "I did," Fand said hesitantly, glancing back at Sétanta over her shoulder.

  "That has to mean something..."

  Fand sighed. "It means you are with the ríastrad and I am faerie. Nothing more."

  "I wasn't talking about the magic that passed between our lips... I was talking about the magic in our hearts. Tell me, I was not the only one who felt it."

  "I cannot..."

  "You cannot what?"

  "I cannot say that you are the only one who felt it. But we cannot entertain such feelings... I am here for one reason, to help you master the ríastrad."

  "My love, your grace has quelled my rage."

  "I am not your love. I cannot be your love..."

  Sétanta sighed. "I was under the impression that it was the bards, here, the troop... they were to teach me the bardic arts..."

  "And they shall," Fand said. "Once I've attuned the ríastrad to your soul, that it might be one with you... in harmony with your spirit."

  "If you could do that, of what use are the bards?"

  Fand smiled. "My magic will unite your spirit with that of the ríastrad. But thereafter the beast within you will respond to the dominant condition of your soul. Should anger prevail, the ríastrad will act in kind. But should your spirit know serenity and peace, the ríastrad will emerge as an instrument of valor, of justice, as a guardian of peace."

  Sétanta reached out his hand. "Take my hand, kiss me again."

  "I desire it... but I cannot... please, you must receive my gift that I might depart before you are found."

  "Before I'm found?"

  "The bards... they are the ones who brought you here..."

  "They brought me to you? Then why must you leave?"

  "They brought you here... but they do not know of my presence. If others knew what we could do, how we could influence the ríastrad... your enemies would come after us..."

  "Why would my enemies attack fairies?"

  "Because in our presence, the ríastrad knows only calm... our magic pacifies the beast within you. It is also why we can never be... were we to be together..."

  "I would be vulnerable, perhaps. But I do not need the ríastrad to survive, Fand. I do not wish to be a warrior at all. Allow me to be your lover and I will do more than survive, I will live!"

  Fand shook her head. "You cannot escape what you are... I only hope you can find the happiness you seek in my absence. All of Ulster depends on it."

  "Fand, please..."

  The faerie extended her hand—a wand appeared and as she waved it over Sétanta he felt something inside him change. The ríastrad... it was now one with his soul. He felt, for the first time since the ríastrad had first emerged, something akin to peace. But this peace... it would not endure. Not even the bardic arts compared to this desire, the passion he sensed in Fand's presence. She had been his cure, but if she leaves and returns to her betrothed, he feared he'd never find the peace he required.

  Leaping to his feet Sétanta reached to embrace Fand... but as his arms enveloped her she disappeared in a cloud of golden dust.

  Sétanta sighed. "Until we meet again... we will meet again, my love..."

  "My love?" a smooth, deep voice said from near the tent's entrance where Sétanta stood. He turned, and there stood an older man, dressed as most bards tended to dress. Yes, he wore a pair of brógs, fancier than the pair Sétanta had brought with him. He had a long, red beard, untangled and well-trimmed. His shirt had more frills than Sétanta was accustomed to seeing the men of Ulster wear—warriors and hunters, which most of Ulster's men were, dressed with more simplicity. Still, this was a kind man.

  "My love..." Sétanta chuckled. "That wasn't meant for you."

  "I should hope not!" the bard released a deep-bellied laugh. "But if you have love on your heart, you already have an ingredient that has made for many great bards before you."

  "And your name?"

  "You may call me Iolo, Sétanta."

  Sétanta cocked his head. "You know my name, already?"

  "Of course," Iolo said. "Taliesin sent word of your impending arrival."

  Sétanta shook his head. "How did he send word? I came here straight away after he told me to see you out.""He sent us word many cycles ago of your arrival, Sétanta. He's not like any other bard. While we learn to tell the tales of old, Taliesin can tell tales still to be told."

  "How is that even possible?" Sétanta asked.

  "The mysteries of Awen are many," Iolo said. "And Taliesin was born of the cauldron of Awen before he was born of Ceridwen's womb."

  Sétanta smiled. "I know the tale. How young Gwion was tending the cauldron of Awen... a brew Ceridwen had meant for her disfigured son."

  "Indeed," Iolo said. "Then you know how by mere accident the young Gwion's thumb was scalded, and the first three drops—the only three drops of the br
ew that could bestow the gift of Awen—blessed him when he nursed of his burned thumb."

  "How he shifted into different creatures to escape Ceridwen's wrath..."

  Iolo nodded. "He became a hare. She became a hound and chased him to the water's edge. He became a salmon, and she became an otter bitch. He shifted again, this time into a bird."

  "Yes," Sétanta said smiling wide. "But Ceridwen shifted, too, this time into a hawk. And young Gwion, finding a store of corn, turned into a single grain in hopes that she might give up her pursuit. But she didn't."

  "She became a hen and swallowed every grain until she finally consumed Gwion whole."

  "But that was not the end of Gwion's tale. He grew in Ceridwen's womb until he was born anew. But she could neither bring herself to kill the child she'd nourished in her womb for months nor could she bear to keep him... so she cast him in a basket in the river."

  "Until the child was rescued by prince Elffin ap Gwyddno..."

  "And retrieving the child from the basket he saw his radiant brow... and named him..."

  "Taliesin," both Sétanta and Iolo said in unison before sharing a laugh.

  "That's one of my favorite tales," Sétanta said.

  "Mine, too," Iolo replied. "And it seems you already have the gifts a good bard requires... a good cadence in your voice, a fine tenor..."

  Sétanta nodded, smiling wide. "Yes, but I still lack something... my heart aches... for I met the love of my life and was turned away. For she was already betrothed by another."

  "This is not something you lack," Iolo said. "No bard would ever again tell a single tale if he were not seeking something. Our tales are not ways by which we merely preserve the legends of our people. Our tales do more than entertain crowds. They also shed light on the future... and you do not need a full dose of Taliesin's Awen to do it. From our tales we can illuminate paths forward, teach people the ways of wisdom and insight that they might live fulfilled lives."

  Sétanta nodded. "And the bard... he is destined to always seek, but never find? If I never find my love again... I don't know what I shall do."