“Lest it be splashed,” he said-and rebuckled his weapon-belt about his hips.
“Ye left long hours ago, Wolf,” the Dane rumbled. “Now ye return with a regular retinue-including the girl ye wrested from the Norsemen. It’s much worriment we’ve wasted over your worthless hide.”
“And I perceive it’s no bathing ye’ve done, yet,” Samaire said, stepping back a pace from the man in the sweat-dark tunic. He’d not been still long enow for it to dry after his race down the hill and his encounter with the four men in the forest.
Their nervousness and wonder did not abate once he’d told them of his going to Daneira, and the attack, and the power of Cathbadh. No, they’d seen no evidence of fire nor smoke, and smelled none either. They gazed with respect on the old man. It was Bas who reacted more to the identity of the Daneirans than to the knowledge of Cathbadh’s sorcerous prowess.
“The Tuatha de Danann!” the druid repeated, in a low voice of wonder.
Samaire sent looks askance at Sinshi, who remained close by Cormac despite his sweat and its odour. He affected not to note the questioning glances Samaire directed at him.
The Gael was, in truth, more than uncomfortable. Sinshi’s attachment to him was worse than obvious, and both cloying and embarrassing. Yet how could he be harsh with the elfin creature, so quiet and gentle and filled with gratitude-and fascination with the tall, grey-eyed man unlike any she had ever seen? She had experienced horror far beyond any other who might have been assaulted as she’d been, for elsewhere victims of attack and attempted rape by barbarians at least knew of the existence of such men and such dangers. And… Cormac was warmed by the flattery of her attentions.
The three young escorts from Daneira, meanwhile, were gazing upon Samaire in much the same entranced way-hovering. Only one, Cormac had learned, was a family man. That is to say he had a wife, and their marriage of two years, though they were childless.
On Quester’s deck and not dripping as were his escort, Cathbadh leveled a cold stare on the poor moaning figure of pity who writhed moaning at the mast.
“We be not impressed by your sorcerous illusion, ancient mage of evil. Assume your own form.”
Thulsa Doom did not; instead the girl he was whimpered, “O please… great and kind grandfather… please.”
Clamping his jaws, Cathbadh strode to the pleading girl. He spoke words none knew, and set his staff crosswise against her sword-impaled chest. He pressed.
“Assume your true form, creature of the dark! The ancient Mother of All commands it-see her sign, the crescent of the moon and the bow of the warrior huntress!”
The skewered girl ceased her laments. Through that small body ran a quiver of rage. A little hand leaped clawing for the Daneiran-and changed in air, fingers lengthening and going all bony. The girl’s form became that of a tall thin man in a robe dark as night. Her hair and the flesh of her face dissolved before the eyes of all, like obscuring fog of the night before the light of the sun.
The awful death’s head of Thulsa Doom stared at them, and gnashed its teeth.
The bony hand spasmed ere it reached Cathbadh. It twitched, jerked, fell back-and then Thulsa Doom cried out in rage and pain.
Both his arms dropped limply.
The servant of Danu lowered his staff, set its end against the deck. He braced it so that the gold-wrought symbol of the goddess lay against the monster’s chest. Opening the pouch at his belt, Cathbadh took forth a slender chain of silver links. Thulsa Doom quivered in fruitless attempts to move, then, whilst Cathbadh slipped the silver necklace over the shining skull.
Onto the chest of Thulsa Doom dropped the Moonbow of Danu, and there it rested, undisturbed by breathing, for he who was dead and yet not dead breathed not.
Cathbadh turned. “Cormac,” he said, and he beckoned.
Cormac went to him while the others were as if frozen, staring. They were fearful in the presence of mighty contesting sorcerers-one of whom could control him they had thought more powerful than any. They saw Cathbadh clutch Cormac’s arm they heard a groan escape the Gael and saw him commence to shudder.
A terrible jolt went through Cormac mac Art at the first touch of the old man’s hand. Cormac’s head spun. The world rocked. Not just he, not just the ship, but sea and sky and all the world seemed to rock and shudder about him. He felt as he had not since that day on Ladhban when lightning had struck less than an arm’s length from him. His teeth chattered. He shivered. Awful images and impossible memories seemed to sweep through his mind like a flurry of autumn leaves before a northerly gale. No voluntary movement was possible to him.
“Be linked,” Cathbadh said quietly and without intended drama. “Be linked, as slave and master.”
Over Cormac’s head with one hand, his fingers propping it open, he lowered a necklace of silver links identical to that he had placed on Thulsa Doom. A few moments longer the Daneiran wizard held Cormac’s arm, and Thulsa Doom’s as well. Then he released both.
The Gael staggered as full normalcy returned to him and his brain cleared, all in an instant.
Deepset, narrowed grey eyes like Nordic ice stared into the black glims of Cathbadh of Daneira. “What have you-”
“Attend me,” Cathbadh interrupted. “Him you call Thulsa Doom is bound to you. He is your creature, so long as ye live-and so long as both of ye do wear this metal of mortal power against inhumanity and the emblem of the Mother of All. For’ she is the giver of life and the nourisher of life, Danu of the moon-while he is of the dead and the dark that fears the moon’s silver light.”
Cormac swallowed, regained control of himself. He touched the pendant on his chest, then lifted the Moonbow and slid it down within his tunic. When he turned his gaze on the death’s head wizard, Cormac’s face was sinister. Thulsa Doom stood stiff at the mast. The blaze of hate and malice seemed to have left the red lights in the black pits of his eye sockets.
“So long as we both do wear these chains and sigils?”
“Aye. He is yours to command and hold, with mind and words alone.”
“Then we must take care that he lose not his jewellery,” Cormac said darkly.
The Gael stepped forward. A few twists, a knotting of slim silver links, and he had tightened the necklace of control about the mage’s neck so that it would not slip off.
Instantly Thulsa Doom became a serpent that squirmed erect and lashed its tail. The huge head thrust at Cormac-who, after an instant of withdrawal, spat into its staring ophidian eyes.
The silver necklace did not slide along the reptilian body.
“The knot is unnecessary,” Cathbadh said. “The chain of control can be removed, but not by Thulsa Doom. Command him.”
“Resume your own form, filthy creature from the pits! I’d have thought over the span of eighteen times ten times a hundred centuries, ye’d have tired of the form of a serpent!”
The skull of Thulsa Doom faced him again. Nor longer did the baneful light glow in those red coals of eyes.
It was with the first real smile Cathbadh had seen on him that Cormac mac Art turned again to the wizard-priest of Danu.
“Ah, Lord Cathbadh of the Danann, this was the first foe ever I met and could not conquer and who struck horror and anguish to my very liver! And ye have rendered him powerless, and it’s only great gratitude and love I feel for ye, man. Would that there were aught I could do for yourself, give to yourself, wizard!”
Cathbadh gripped the other man’s arm. “Ye’ve done us service, Cormac of the Gaels. Nor do the Danans hate your people, nor I you. If I asked that which comes first into my mind, I’d bring misery upon ye, though, for it would be that ye remain among us in Daneira.”
Samaire gasped, but Cathbadh only smiled and shook his head at the anguish in the face of mac Art. Without looking at her, he stayed with a hand Sinshi’s forward rush.
“I said I’d not ask that. But I will ask one service of ye, Cormac mac Art of the Gaels, and one that is in your power to give without cost to yourself.”<
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“Granted without the hearing of it,” Cormac said, and for a long moment the two men looked each at the other, and Cathbadh nodded.
“This night ye will remain all with us in Daneira.”
Cormac blinked. Frowning, Samaire looked at Sinshi-and the way that tiny woman looked at Cormac-for Samaire of Leinster knew this little creature was no girl, but a woman looking with desire on her man. Brian started to smile, quelled it, though a glance told him the three men of Daneira were broadly grinning. Nothing sinister was there in those smiles, but only joy.
“Cathbadh-” Cormac began.
“Ye’ve given your word, Wolf,” Wulfhere rumbled. “And-this handsome Findhu here has assured me there is ale in Daneira that wants tasting by an expert.”
Cormac mac Art smiled. “This night we spend with ye in Daneira, Cathbadh. And… Cathbadh.” He turned to look again upon Thulsa Doom. “This… creature. He need no longer be transpierced thus, with our swords?”
“He need not, Cormac. He is powerless, and will obey you. Nor can he remove the chain of Danu’s power.”
Cormac nodded. “Then to leave him thus Sword-nailed is unnecessary, and needless cruelty as well?”
“I cannot judge ‘need’ and its lack, Cormac na Gaedhel: Cruelty to leave him thus? He feels little pain, in truth. But he does know terrible piercing cold, with the steel of this world of the living stabbing through and through his body without warmth, a body that should have lain so long in the grave as to be naught but dust.” Cathbadh nodded. “Aye, would be cruelty to leave him thus pinned, and it unnecessary.”
Cormac stared into the eye-sockets of Thulsa Doom. “Good,” he said. “The swords remain, then.”
Chapter Six:
The Problem of Daneira
Wolfhere, Brian, Bas and Samaire were happy to accompany Cormac and the Daneirans to their little city of highly decorated wooden houses.
After all their hardships in the month they’d been away from Eirrin, asea and on Doom-heim, the horror and constant tension whilst Thulsa Doom sorcerously sought vengeance on Cormac and the deaths of all his companions, and that final ghastly battle of friend against friend, engineered by the undying wizard-the companions of mac Art were more than glad to accept the hospitality of peaceful Daneira.
With them went Thulsa Doom.
It was not that Cormac relented; none wanted to leave Thulsa Doom, and Cathbadh demonstrated his confidence in the Chains of Danu by leading all of them to his “city”-the docile mage included.
A feast was set in preparation, to be served in the house of the king. It was a house, not a palace, no more ornately carven and painted than many, though considerably larger than all. Cormac bathed and enjoyed the luxury of a shave in warm water. His and the others’ hair was trimmed. Dinner robes were pressed upon them. These were dyed and patterned in the way of Daneira: gaily bright. Nor ever did they see their own tunics again, for by morning they had served as patterns for the stitching of new tunics for all-and a new robe of green woollen for Bas of Tir Connail. Many women worked at that task, and willingly. In Daneira the women sewed and tended the gardens, with the children; men and women alike saw to the arable land and the crops; the men tended the beasts, felled trees and stripped and trimmed them, and created furniture and new objects and utensils, all of wood. Both men and women cooked.
In Daneira there was one class of people.
In Daneira there were no warriors.
Nor had metal ore been found on the island of Danu the Mother. Cormac and his companions were not averse to pressing upon their hosts the arms and armour they had captured, for even shield bosses and belt buckles would make hoes and rakes, parts for woodworking tools, awls and scrapers and finepointed knives and chisels for carving and plowshares.
Both Cormac and Wulfhere winced at the thought of laboriously wrought mail being returned to liquid and beaten into new shapes, none for warfare or defense. For Brian the concept was repugnant; both the father and uncle of Brian-I-love-to-fight of Killevy in Airgialla were makers of armour. Yet neither of the two sons of Eirrin held scalemail in high regard, and donated much of that from dead Norsemen. Superb curers of hides and workers in leather, the Daneirans had no use for hardened leather that had served as armour.
The line was drawn at swords. Those the travellers would keep. Swords were valuable, for their making was a high art and a lengthy task. One blade Cormac did pronounce of dangerously inferior workmanship; two others were too badly pitted and deeply notched for the keeping. These, with every shield of Dane and Norse, Eirrish and Briton, were given to the people of Daneira. They would soon be tools for other tasks than slaying.
Far more numerous than swords were axes, for they were more commonly carried by men who could not afford the product of the swordmaker’s art and high craft. Every ax was proffered on Daneira as gift. They had only to be fitted with longer helves to become tools for the felling of trees rather than of men.
To Cathbadh his guests gave silver more than sufficient to replace the Chains of Danu that Cormac and Thulsa Doom now wore. The wizard-priest was hesitant to accept the valuable metal.
“It was stolen by the Norse,” Cormac told him, “who slew the original owners. We took it from the treasure-trove of the murderers. There is blood payment on it, Cathbadh-and it will all boil away in the melting down. When it is made into wire that becomes links of chain, know that ye have it of those men of that same Norge who cost ye so much this day.”
Cathbadh accepted the gift of blood-bought silver.
Nor would the Daneirans abide the departure of their strange-eyed guests without pressing on them fine gifts of magnificently wrought goblets and bowls, mugs and even belt-buckles and cloak-pins, all of wood. At the softly tanned leatherwear of Daneira Cormac drew line again, saying that animals were too few here for these people to be giving away the products of their hides. His companions looked down in silence at that announcement; none of them but coveted this finest of cured, supple leather.
On the king’s insistence, each traveller accepted a Daneiran belt, soft as thickly folded silk and fitted with buckles of wood, ornately carven and lacquered again and again.
Dinner in the hall of the king was a gala feast, with many present in their brightly hued dining robes. Nor could they get enough of the unusual hues of the hair and eyes of Cormac’s companions, colours none had seen ere this day.
There was no avoiding it: Sinshi was most attentive to Cormac mac Art, and so to Samaire was Findhu of Daneira. Other unwed Daneiran maids made kings of Wulfhere and Brian, whose head was soon turned. Much ale flowed. Sinshi kept Cormac’s carved, enameled cup of satin-smooth walnut ever full, while the two who flanked Wulfhere and saw to his cup were far busier. The capacity of the gigantic foreigner with the vast beard of flame and eyes like the sky would be legend in Daneira for many years.
Samaire shot green-eyed glances at Cormac and at Sinshi-who returned them with an apparent sweet guilelessness that Samaire saw as arch mockery. Yet so close was Findhu, and so charming and obviously charmed by the woman of Leinster, that Samaire was able to endure the younger woman’s competition.
“Tell us of the Tuatha de Danann,” Wulfhere said when his belly was full of food if not of ale-already he’d made one trip outside and there were wagers as to how long ere either he went again or his eyeballs turned amber.
A harper plucked and strummed and a poet of Daneira recited the old history that many of Eirrin now thought mere legend.
Long before the year that would be called 1000 BC, the Fir Dhomhnainn or Tuatha de Danann came to Eirrin-Eiru. There before them were the Fir Bholg. It was at Moytura the Danans put final defeat on the Firbolgs, and Danu ruled in Eirrin; she who was also the battle-goddess called Morrighu, and who may have been Diana, and who was to become Bhrigid and Bridget. The Firbolgs went off muttering, for they had been defeated by a people uncommonly skilled in crafts-one of which was necromancy. The Danans gained thus a name for sorcerous powers.
Long after came the sons of Mil, a few centuries before the birth of the carpenter’s son of Judaea who was to become the god of the New Faith, Iosa Chriost who was hanged by the Romans as a seditious rouser of the rabble-the Dead God. None knew whether there had been a Mil or Miledh, which the Romans and Romanized Britons called “Milesius.” Likely not. Likely he had been Mil Espaine-the Eirrish version of miles Hispaniae: soldier of Spain.
It was Celts he led, whatever his name, and Celts who had departed long ago to, pass through Greece and Spain and perhaps even Egypt, so that they had gained hair of colour other than red or blond, though their eyes remained blue or grey and occasionally green. They were the Gaels; Gailoin or Gaedhel, and it was at Bantry Bay they made landing.
Naturally the de Danann made resistance, and the war was joined.
Somehow the Gaels prevailed, despite the wizardry of the smaller defenders. Yet it was not quite a definitive victory; the Danans were neither slain to the last man nor forced to depart Eirrin. A bargain was struck, and it was strange indeed. The Danans went into the land. Their kingdom became a subterrene one, with the Gaels retaining control of the surface. Later many claimed that the Danans, the little people, were working their magicking on crops and livestock. The Poet of Daneira swore this was not true-though some Danan renegades may well have sought a harrying form of vengeance on the surface dwellers.
Above the tunnel of descent of each of the de Danann kings was erected a high sidh or fairy mound, and to the Gaels as time went on the Danans became the Sidhe. ‘Twas said by the Gaels that the Sidhe mocked them by crying out when one of the Gaelic number was to die. This was the fearsome wailing cry of the ban-Sidhe: the Banshee. With time, the Danans slid into Gaelic legend.
By their sorceries the Danans or Sidhe transformed the underworld into a place of beauty suitable for human habitation, and they throve there beneath the earth.
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