The Sign of the Moonbow cma-7

by Andrew J Offutt

  Wulfhere stared, then rose and stalked aft, to mutter to Brian that it was his turn at watch and tiller.

  “And… myself?” Cormac was asking.

  “Another Cormac mac Art exists in this plane,” Thulsa Doom said, and it was as if the words were a palpable force that rocked Cormac where he sat, on a rowing bench. “No less scarred, no less skilled with weapons, no less deadly, this Cormac mac Art of Connacht. He is you; you are he.”

  After a time of silence while he thought on that, hardly with understanding, Cormac glanced at Samaire. He looked again at Thulsa Doom. “I would know whether-”

  “Cormac!”

  At her cry, Cormac broke off to look at Samaire.

  “Ask no more about yourself. It is… eerie. Awful. Please.”

  After a moment, he nodded. “And yourself, dairlin girl. Are ye wanting to know about yourself?”

  “I-I-” She bit her lip, looked at Thulsa Doom. “Aye!” she said, of a sudden. “I must know, and then it’s no more questions I’ll be asking. It is possible that here I am married yet to that prince who was my husband, in Osraigh… or that I died in childbirth… or… was slain by those Norse who, captured me from the shores of Leinster. Such things are possible, wizard?”

  “Aye, all such things are possible,” Thulsa Doom said. “But-”

  “Hold!” She thrust out a stopping hand. “Tell me only if there is another Samaire Ceannselaigh here, daughter of Leinster’s dead king.”

  “Aye.”

  Again her teeth worried her lip. “And… my brother?”

  “Feredach your brother rules Leinster, him who is called an Dubh-the Dark.”

  “My-other brother. Ceann of the Red Hair.”

  “He was slain by those Norse ye spoke of, on the soil of Eirrin near the coast, whilst he resisted his kidnaping-and yours. They carried you away, once they’d knocked away your sword and overpowered you-and threw him into the sea along the Leinsterish coast.”

  “Ceann!”

  And even though Ceann mong Ruadh was alive in her own dimension, Samaire wept, mourning him, and commenced the keening in the manner of her people. Wulfhere turned, cast anxious looks about as if seeking escape. He’d had to give listen afore to the Eirrish mourn-keening; Samaire did it too well for his sensitive ears. Brian and Bas both looked as if they wanted to go to her; both looked at Cormac, with anxiousness on them.

  The Gael said, “Weapon-companion!” and his voice was sharp.

  Samaire stiffened and firmed her mouth. She stilled her laments for the Ceann of this dimension, a Ceann she had never known-and for that Ceann of the other plane, whom she’d never see again. And him waiting at Tara for their return with spoils to finance his plotting against his murderous brother!

  “There is that which I must know,” Cormac said, “despite Samaire’s warning and my agreement. Thulsa Doom, blackhearted monster and my slave-answer. Am I welcome in this Eirrin, by the High-king on Tara Hill?”

  The mage’s single word was the most awful and shattering he had uttered; the ugliest word in any language. “No.”

  Then for a long while the ship scudded over the plain of the sea, and there were no words spoken aboard her. Only the sun smiled; only the waves rippling past the hull chuckled. Samaire turned her back, and began to weep, though quietly. Cormac merely stared at the decking beneath his feet. Brian managed to look anguished and angry all at once.

  At last Cormac mac Art began to speak, in a low, disconsolate voice.

  “I’ll not be asking if here I am trenfher na Eirrain, Champion of Eirrin, which I won by such great effort-in my own dimension from which ye’ve stolen me, scum of the ancient world! It’s for Eirrin we’re bound, and to Eirrin we go. Once again must I be someone else-and not my old ‘Partha mac Othna’ either, lest that name betray me. It’s directly to one of the Doorways to the Tuatha de Danann I must take Thulsa Doom.”

  “Oh, Cormac!”

  He nodded. “I know, dairlin girl-but it’s unwelcome in my own land I’ve been, for a dozen years of my life. Blows to the spirit I’ve taken before, as well. I shall abide; I shall survive. As to yourself-” He looked about at his little group of friends; weapon-companions, all. “Ye others can and will go to Tara. Wulfhere, ye can be taking Odin’s Eye, though it follows us with such docility. Though… once the High-king knows who ye be, Samaire, for your cousin Aine Cumalswife will recognize ye o’course, all will be well for ye. And for Bas, and Brian, aye and for Wulfhere, your friend from among the Danes who became friend of Eirrin by rescuing ye from the Norsemen, ye see!”

  “In your company,” she said. “Aye. Mayhap then you too will be welcome at Tara Hill, my love.”

  Cormac tightened his jaw and stiffened a bit, for she had not used those words to him afore, with others present. “Bas, of course, will… no mind. No matter. That be the way of it. It is what must be done.”

  And again there was silence, for all knew he was right, and firm on it. Nor did any dare ask the enslaved mage where that other Cormac, that Cormac of this dimension was, or what he did. It was Wulfhere who broke the somber quiet that overshadowed them like brooding thunderclouds.

  “Ye’ve taken leave of your senses, son of-Eirrin.”

  Cormac swung to stare; all followed his gaze, looking at the giant Dane who stood astern with his fiery beard moving restlessly in the breeze.

  “Blood-brother! I’ll not be going to the hall of Eirrin’s High-king, and I a Dane, in anyone’s company! Likely I’d never leave alive-and that means I’d be taking twenty or forty of Eirrin with me into death! Oh no, Wolf. Nor this time will I be taking a fine ship in quest of a crew-whilst ye go alone with… that, seeking a Doorway ye may not find, to people who may not exist, who may or may not be ruled by a woman!”

  “Wulfhere-”

  “Call me blood-brother!” Wulfhere snapped. “I go with you. This time aye, I will suffer these feet to tread the soil of your land. It was in a filthy prison we met, you and I, and we broke free together, and we took ship together, and we sailed together after. I owe you my life-and you owe me yours, for it’s more than once or even twice each of us had only just saved the other from ax or sword. But for you I’d have ridden a Valkyrie’s horse long ago.” Wulfhere stood solidly, stared and spoke stolidly. “We take Thulsa Doom to the Doorway, Cormac mac Art an cliuin-blood-brother!”

  Cormac was obviously considering, though it was obvious there was nothing to be gained by raising argument. And true, in the decision he had announced, Cormac had felt much alone; egregiously alone. He knew loneliness, alone-ness well; he’d shared his life with it as other men with an ever-present dog. He could bear it. And… he’d be passing glad for the company of his longtime comrade.

  “It is a matter of which Doorway we seek, then,” he said in a low voice, and they began to think and to discuss that problem, for Cathbadh had named them a choice of two locations.

  The twin hills called the Breasts of Danu indeed resembled the mounded bosom of a woman reclining supine. They stretched long across the land but eighteen of the Roman miles northeast of the River Kenmare, which emptied into the sea down in the southwest of Eirrin. There they could go ashore, without danger of recognition.

  The hill of Bri Leith was well north, sixty miles west of Tara Hill and south of Tailite. From Tara they must cross three rivers, the Boyne and the Deel and the Inny-and hills, and the bogs as well, or skirt them. It was Bas who then suggested that they could sail Quester down south of Eirrin, enter the Shannon and make their way up it to Lough Ree; thence up its length and onto the broad Shannon again, until they could make landing but a few miles east of Bri Leith and Long-ford.

  Problems attended either choice. At last it was Cormac who decided. In manner most positive he stated what they would do. For gladness was on him to be positive about something, in this new life forced on him by a relentless enemy who hated him only for the man he’d been in a time incredibly long, long gone by.

  “We will port at Balbriggan, but twenty o
r so miles from Tara. Ye others will go directly there, and to the home of your cousin Aine, Samaire. I and Wulfhere will skirt fair Tara, calling ourselves by other names-and taking Thulsa Doom to Long-ford, and the Doorway at Slieve Bri Leith.”

  Fast on the heels of his words came another voice. “Release me, Cormac mac Art, release me now, and I renounce all vengeance on ye-and these your friends.”

  Cormac stared at the death’s head, and he was tempted.

  “Join me! Rule this world!”

  “Thulsa Doom, no man but would be a fool to place faith in any such promise from you. And ye’ll not be ruling this world, mage. No. It’s no release ye’ll be having of me, whilst I live.”

  Brian saw a matter for laughter, and seized on it, for in all wakes the time comes for gaiety. “Sure and it’s a sea of interesting looks ye three will be receiving, moving through our green Eirrin and one of ye with no face!”

  Cormac showed him the pale reflection of a smile, and that seen dimly as in an old and filthy mirror of weathered bronze.

  “No, Brian. For Thulsa Doom can be assuming any form he wishes-is it not true, mage?”

  “Aye. The form of any person I have seen.”

  Cormac nodded. “Then it’s a decent visage ye’ll wear in Meath of Eirrin, monster, not that hideous shining skull! It’s green your robe will be, and the symbols of Behl and Crom on ye-for I and Wulfhere will travel respectably, in company of what all will see as a druid!”

  PART TWO

  The Kingdom of Danu

  Chapter Eight:

  Into the Earth

  “Eirrin,” Wulfhere Skullsplitter said, “is wet. The weather’s less damp asea.”

  “It’s a healthy lot we of Eirrin are, meaning the weather agrees with us,” Cormac told the grumbling Dane. He waved a hand. Misty grey-blue sky; green plain sweeping into deep woods with multicoloured leaves, green hill patching into brown; distant blue mountains.

  “For sea-dogs,” the Dane retorted, “mayhap Eirrin is healthful.” He looked about. “Aye, and mountains ever in view, no matter which way one turns. This land has a million rivers, a million foul dark bogs that give off worse air than the grave, and two million mountains.”

  “Forget not the clouds ye’ve grumbled of,” Cormac said, a bit wearily.

  “Ah! The clouds-they rush about overhead driven by ever-changing air currents like ants from a kicked hill. And… it’s ever wet.”

  “Misty,” Cormac said.

  “Wet.”

  Cormac mac Art compressed his lips. He knew it was not the weather or the scenery of Eirrin that had Wulfhere a-grumble so. Both men were weary. They’d been at the hill of Bri Leith for two days, and now they trudged, rather than strode. Worse, because of the autumn chill and the dampness and Wulfhere’s nagging at Cormac about his native land-even unto the clouds overhead-they had been here two, nights. Despair hovered over them like a vulture.

  They had walked. And walked. Up the hill and down the hill. Around it and around it, wading through gorse and daggerbushes and furze. There was no sense in splitting up in their search for the Doorway to the Danans’ subterrene demesne; Wulfhere would not find it. He could not. The Doorways, Cathbadh had said, would reveal themselves to him who wore the Sign of the Moonbow-and only to him. Only to Cormac, then. Otherwise the entrances were invisible, the protection of the Tuatha de Danann within the earth from those who had displaced them and lived on its surface. The two men must remain together. They roamed together, and Wulfhere grumbled aloud.

  Cormac remained outwardly taciturn… and grumbled in his heart.

  With them always came the apparent druid who

  “Bas”; twice Wulfhere had, and then launched into a vicious hailstorm of curses. That had put thought on the Gael.

  “An any should separate us, Cormac told Thulsa Doom, “it is my command that ye resume your own worse than ugly form at once. The robe and form of Cutha Atheldane, and the skull that is all we know of your face. Ye be understanding?”

  “I understand.”

  “And ye’ll obey, though we’ve separated and I not there to order or see?”

  “Aye. I must.”

  And they trudged on.

  “An island,” Wulfhere said, “is a piece of land afloat but anchored on the bosom of the sea. Aye, and completely surrounded by the water.”

  Cormac said nothing. They trudged.

  After a time he could not bear the silence that followed the Dane’s remark, and he said, “Aye.”

  “Eirrin,” Wulfhere said with pleasure, “with all its rivers and lochs and fens and thrice-damned bogs, and with its mountains all along the coast so that the whole land slopes inward to the center. Eirrin is water, completely surrounded by land.”

  “And Loch-linn of the Danes is perfection itself,” Cormac said, hanging onto his temper only with effort. “Which is why ye left so long agone and never return. Come, blood-brother, it’s only weary of this searching ye’re after being. There’s more grass under my two feet this instant than in all of Loch-linn… and more moisture in a lungful of the air of Britain than in all Eirrin’s sweet air!”

  Wulfhere only sighed, without reply. The other man was right; in this sort of situation, he’d have muttered darkly even about the paradisic Isle of Danu. He sighed anew. With all its anxious womenfolk… he should have remained there!

  They walked slowly along the hillside, stumping, one leg long and the other short, for it was easier than walking up and down, up and down. Though their movements were not quite listless, they were hardly energetic. Nor came this from lack of sleep. Though the nights were cold and heavied with the added chill of dampness and their limbs and backs complained at morningtide, both men slept well enough. The lives they’d led had hardly accustomed them to soft beds and the warmth of night-fires. If ever men could sleep anywhere, under any conditions, and indeed nigh at any time at will, the Wolf and the Splitter of Skulls were among their number.

  Nor did their captive provide any problem. It was the growing feeling of fruitlessness that preyed on their minds.

  Despair was a brooding shadow that hovered over them and their thoughts were dark with it. Surely they had trod every inch of this mocking hill, and of the greensward at its base. They had found no Doorway, not even a cave; there was no sign. They were weary of the search, and nervous that it was to come to naught.

  Samaire, with Bas and Brian, had reluctantly parted their company and gone on to Tara. With Thulsa Doom in the likeness of Bas as he was now, the two weapon-men had struck westward-afoot. Neither was accustomed to horses, and Cormac hated that sort of transport that made a man’s tailbones and thighs sore-and worse next day. Too, he stated a further reason for walking. What would they do with their mounts once they discovered the Doorway and entered the earth? The horses could not remain tethered. Nor could they be turned loose to roam free and doubtless cause consternation and damage for others. Nor, on this mission, was there a way to hire someone, even a boy, to accompany them and return the mounts once the Doorway was found. He’d likely become a flying gibbering idiot when his employers vanished… and might well be waiting with an army of angry, fearful men and stern druids when Cormac and Wulfhere emerged from below ground. If they emerged, after-how long a while within the earth?

  And so they had walked, and, waded, and forded, and slept out in damp chill, and now two days and two nights had passed here, and the third day still brought them nothing to lift sagging spirits. And so Cormac mac Art was morose, and Wulfhere grumbled about Eirrin and its clime.

  Yester eve they had conferred. For two days, confident, excited, they had merely walked about, hither and thither, each expecting at any second to espy the object of their quest. When whim struck, one announced and both hastened to that place, only to experience a renewal of disappointment. Cormac felt no qualm about asking Thulsa Doom for the location of this Doorway. But Thulsa Doom did not know.

  Last night they had decided to do what they should have done on arrival after th
eir trek from the coast: put the quest on a systematic basis. Walk every inch of the hill. They would not admit defeat and leave this area until they had walked, one behind the other, around and around over every finger’s breadth of the hill and its perimeter.

  With them trudged the cause of this anguish and so much else that was unpleasant and evil, him whose death they sought, and him dead beforetimes. His green robe was a mockery that rustled as he walked. Nor, seemingly, did Thulsa Doom tire.

  “An we find it now,” Wulfhere said from behind the Gael, “we’ll have to decide whether to rest ere we… go in. My belly’s begun to growl.”

  “When has it not? When have ye not? Wulfhere!” Cormac jerked and came to a halt so that the Dane ran full into his back. “It… it be time to make that decision,” Cormac said, in a voice that was not without a bit of quaver.

  All weariness flowed from mac Art’s limbs and spirit as he stared at it: a wound had opened or appeared, huge and gaping in the hillside. A dark hole it was, twice the breadth of his shoulders though several inches shorter than his height. But a moment ago had been naught here but grass. Now gaped the cave, closer to him than the length of his forearm. It yawned darkly, a cavern into the hill but a few steps above its base. Wide enow for two men to walk abreast-two short men. And women. And the animals the Tuatha de Danann had taken with them from the face of Eirrin…

  The diffused sunlight spilled into the cave for a little way, then paled to grey. The grey became black. There was no gauging the depth or length of this tunnel into Eirrin’s depths; there was only blackness.

  “Cormac?”

  Stepping a half-pace downward, Cormac turned to look at Wulfhere. He swept an arm at the gaping hole in the earth, large enough to be visible for many many feet, much less these few.

  Wulfhere turned his gaze that way. He frowned. He turned the frown on his companion.

  “See ye nothing, itch-beard?”