A Spark is Struck in Cruachan
Page 6
Many smaller stacks of firewood also had been placed around the quadrangle. Now men began to light torches from the main fire and ignite these other piles of wood, and the herdsmen fed the bones of their animals to these miniature bone-fires as well. Within minutes, thick, black smoke spread throughout the entire ward.
“Miss me?” Máiréad asked, coming up to Pádraig from behind and putting her arms around him, snuggling her face into his neck, and kissing him on the ear.
The boy turned around and kissed her on the forehead. “Miss? Did you go somewhere? I hadn’t noticed.”
Punching him in the shoulder, she replied, “Right. And you probably also didn’t notice that enormous flame that sprung from Master Taliesin’s staff to light the bone-fire, either.”
“Oh, that I noticed. Everybody noticed that. It was spectacular.”
Máiréad bounced up and down and pounded her little fists jubilantly into his chest. “That was me, Paddy! I did that!”
Pádraig feigned surprise. “You, Meig?! What?! How?!”
She took him by the arm and led him to a private place on the overlook, then whispered, “I told Master Taliesin that I wanted to attend the Academy, and he let me light the fire. I was so nervous, I flubbed the first two tries; but then, I focused all my concentration and…well, you saw the results. Oh, Paddy, wasn’t it glorious?” The girl twirled around with glee.
“Magnificent,” he replied. “Simply dazzling.”
They sat on the edge of the overlook wall. Silver Nightingale, the smaller and closer of the two moons, and Golden Owl, the one larger and farther away, lit up the night so that, even with no clouds, very few stars could be seen. In the brightness of the two full moons, the teenagers watched the seas crash onto the beach below the cliff.
“I think Master Taliesin was impressed,” Máiréad continued. “I’m almost certain he’ll sponsor me for an appointment to the Academy. Isn’t that wonderful?” With that, she threw her arms around Pádraig and kissed him full on the lips.
“Wow!” the boy responded when they finally broke away.
“‘Wow’ for the fire; ‘wow’ for me getting an appointment to the Academy; or ‘wow’…” she hesitated briefly, then smiled coyly, “for the kiss?”
“‘Wow’ for all three,” he replied. “But especially for the kiss.”
Máiréad rewarded him with another kiss. This one longer and more passionate than the first.
Stepping back at last, she pulled him by the hand and said, “Come. Let’s go run through the bone-fires.”
Pádraig stood fast, still holding on to her hand. “Okay, but first things first.” He reached into a pocket of his cloak and removed a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “I got these from one of the costermongers.”
“Got what?”
“Our traditional meal. Remember?”
The girl rolled her eyes, let go of his hand, and said, “Oh. Right. The dig-’em-up part. Reflect on our ancestors.” Emitting a little shiver, she continued. “They’re dead, Paddy. Gone to An Saol Eile never to be heard from again.” Seeing the wounded look on his face, she said, “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to honor tradition and remember them once a year on New Year’s Eve.”
Brightening up, Pádraig sat back down on the edge of the overlook and spread his fare out on the top of the wall—two small apples, a slice of barmbrack, and an assortment of roasted hazelnuts and walnuts.
Máiréad sat next to him; and, while they ate, they took turns reminiscing about close relatives who had passed on. When Pádraig finished with the story about the last time he had seen his mother, the girl held him close and hugged him.
However, the memory wasn’t as painful to the boy as it always had been before; and, as he recounted the experience, he realized why. The mental picture was now more vivid. It was almost as if he and his mother were together again. When he finished, he let his thoughts float over the water of the rushing seas. Thank you, Siobhán. Thank you so very much.
Snapping himself out of his reverie, he grabbed Máiréad by the hand. “Okay. Now the part you’ve been waiting for. It’s off to the bone-fires!”
Together, hand in hand, they ran out to the rampart, down the steps to the ward, and joined the crowds in a spiral dance, weaving in and out among the small fires and around the large central one, laughing and shouting and forgetting about any worldly cares.
Small children, some with animal masks and others who had used pieces of burned wood to make their little faces look like skeletons, pretended to be hungry ghosts, begging for handouts. Every so often Máiréad would stop and toss a handful of farthings into the group. Then, she and Pádraig would continue their dance while the squealing children scrambled for the copper coins.
* * *
Their souls cleansed in the ceremonial smoke of the bone-fires, the teenagers once again retreated to the relative privacy of the overlook.
After another long and tender kiss, Máiréad put her head on Pádraig’s chest, sighed, and said, “You know how I feel about you, don’t you, Paddy?”
“You forgot the last word of that sentence, Meig.”
Looking up at him, she cocked an eyebrow. “Last word?”
“‘But,’” he told her, kissing her on the forehead. “I sensed a ‘but’ there.”
Taking in a deep breath through her nose and letting it out slowly, she gave him another squeeze, then sat down on the overlook wall. “You know it can’t ever be, don’t you?…Us?”
He simply smiled at her.
“I’ll be promised to a chieftain’s son or to a prince. More than likely to Liam the donkey-prince. But…” She left the sentence unfinished as her shoulders slumped in resignation.
“But never, ever, to a commoner,” Pádraig finished it for her.
She looked away toward the raging sea, saying nothing in return.
“Your Ladyship!” a voice from the darkness called out, softly.
Both boy and girl turned toward the sound, and Máiréad said, “Yes? What is it?”
A soldier from the Security Forces of the Western Shires stepped out of the shadows. “Excuse the intrusion, My Lady, but it’s late and the earl and countess have sent me to fetch you.”
Máiréad replied, “Thank you. I’ll be along shortly.”
“Um…My Lady. I’m sorry, but your parents ordered me to escort you to the keep.”
Shaking her head in frustration, she nevertheless refrained from snapping at a man who was merely following orders. “Give me just a moment or two, if you would, please; then, I’ll join you,” she replied.
The soldier gave a subservient bow and said, “As you wish, My Lady. I’ll be over there on the rampart when you’re ready.” With that, he backed away and disappeared into the shadows.
Pádraig stretched out his hand and helped Máiréad up. “I’d better be getting back, too. We leave at first light.”
“When will I see you again?” she asked.
“We should be back in another eight weeks, give or take. Or if you’re at Dúnfort Cruachan for any reason, we should be in the Central Federal Region in about four.”
“I know my da is planning a visit up north to Árainn Shire,” Máiréad said. “That will make it very convenient for us to spend some time at the dúnfort on the way there and back.” Putting one hand behind Pádraig’s neck, the other on the small of his back, and pulling him tightly against her, she once more kissed him tenderly on the lips. When the kiss ended, she touched his cheek and said, “I’ll see you at Dúnfort Cruachan in about four weeks, my anam cara.”
* * *
Pádraig returned to the forge and found his father already sound asleep. Trying to be as quiet as he could, he doffed his cloak and retrieved a stub of a candle that he had earlier put in the corner of one of the windows, and placed it in the center of the window opening. Reaching into the pocket of his breeches, he removed a third apple, a piece of barmbrack, three roasted hazelnuts, and two roasted walnuts, all of which he set around the candle.
Pádraig set the necklace aside, returned the other items to the bag, and the pouch to the duffle. Taking the necklace, he crossed back to the window and placed it next to the candle. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he took a bit of tinder from his boar-hide tinder bag and struck the flint stone with the firesteel to produce a small flame with which he lit the candle.
Bowing his head and closing his eyes, he thought, Happy New Year, Ma. I still miss you so very much, and I know Da does, too.
From over on the cot by the wall, Finbar said, “There’s a small piece of goat cheese on the anvil, lad. Goat cheese was her favorite.” He then rolled over and went back, or pretended to go back, to sleep.
The boy retrieved the hunk of cheese, and placed it with the other New Year’s Eve offerings to the souls of the dead. Afterward, he, too, lied down on his cot and fell asleep.
* * *
A dense mist made it impossible for Pádraig to see anything. Not even his hand in front of his face.
Other hands, though, he could feel—tender hands; loving hands; feminine hands. One of those hands had been placed behind his neck and another on the small of his back, and they pulled him tightly against their owner’s body as she kissed him full on the lips. In response, he placed his hands on her waist, closed his eyes, and returned the kiss, thinking, Meig, I love you!
As he continued to savor the kiss, he remembered Máiréad’s words from earlier that night atop the overlook:
“I’ll see you at Dúnfort Cruachan in about four weeks, my anam cara.”
But then his nostrils sensed the aroma of fresh water-grass. Puzzled, Pádraig opened his eyes. The haze had dissipated, and he found himself not in the arms of Máiréad, his soul friend, but in the seductive embrace of Siobhán the phooka.
The dark maiden stepped back, gave him a throaty laugh, and whispered, “Whether near or far, my young farrier, be assured that I will come to you when you call.”
Pádraig sat bolt upright on his cot, now fully awake, and thought, Wow!…No. Double wow!
Oakday - Wolf 16th
Ceatharlach Shire
At both Southwest Head’s Fort Cairbre and South Head’s Fort Dealbhna, Pádraig and Finbar had been deluged with questions about the Northman would-be assassin, since they had been at Fortress Tulach at the time the body had washed up on the beach. However, there was little the twosome could add to what was already known. In fact, their information was way over two weeks old. Messengers from both the Security Forces of the Western Shires as well as the Cruachanian Defense Forces continuously rode from fort to fort in order to disseminate gossip and rumor, and provide the latest updates on the search for any of the assassin’s compatriots.
Even now, late in the afternoon, traveling north on the Boundary Road that separated the Kingdom of the Western Shires from the Kingdom of the Eastern Shires, father and son had encountered many patrols from the security forces of both kingdoms.
Upon entering Ceatharlach Shire, Finbar pulled their wagon over to the side of the road under a canopy of willow trees next to a small pond.
“Put the lads on long leads,” he told his son. “Let them rest a bit, graze where they can, and get a drink before we move on.”
Thankful for time off from the hard wooden seat, Pádraig unharnessed Bowie and Breasal—a blond and a bay draught horse, respectively—tethering each one to a separate tree so that they could be near each other if they wanted, but not get tangled up in their companion’s rope.
While his son saw to the horses, Finbar had been rummaging around in the wagon, retrieving the empty goat-skin water bags so that he could refill them from the pond.
From outside, he heard a man’s voice say, “Couple of fine looking animals you got there, lad. Mighty fine.”
“Thank you, sir,” he heard his son reply. “‘Take care of your horses and they’ll take care of you.’ That’s what my da says.”
“Does he, now?” another man’s voice spoke up. “Well, the next time you see your ol’ da, you be sure to thank him for us, won’t you, lad.”
Finbar set the goat-skins down, picked up his six-foot-long quarterstaff, pushed aside the flap that covered the wagon opening, and said, “Thank me for what, strangers?”
Both men, scruffy, bearded, and dressed in leather, surprised at seeing a second person, turned in their saddles toward him and, simultaneously, drew their short-swords.
“For giving us a pair of well-taken-care-of animals such as those, friend. We surely do appreciate it.”
His partner grinned. “That we do.” He pointed his sword at Finbar and continued with, “You don’t have a problem with that now, do you, friend? Or with us helping ourselves to some of your provisions, as well. We’ve been sort of down on our luck lately, what with all the patrols coming and going.”
Finbar hopped down off the wagon and twirled his quarterstaff. “Here’s the thing about luck, friend,” he said, as he approached the horseman closest to him. “Sometimes it takes a turn for the better. Other times for the worse.”
While that highwayman had been concentrating on his father, Pádraig, who had been on one knee at the pond getting himself a drink, stood and crossed toward the second man.
Out of the corner of his eye, this second bandit spotted the boy and turned his attention toward him. “Don’t do anything stupid, now, lad,” he told him, brandishing his sword. “A couple of horses, even as good as these are, and some supplies aren’t worth your young life, now, are they?” He then glanced at Finbar, sneered, and said. “Am I not right, Da?”
“I can take care of this,” Pádraig said to his father. Although his voice was calm, his eyes had hardened as he thought about how his mother had been murdered by highwaymen.
“I know you can, Paddy, but just stay put. I’ll handle it.”
“I’d really like to take care of it, Da.”
“Paddy, we’ve talked about this,” Finbar cautioned.
The bandit closest to Finbar was about to say something when the foursome heard the unmistakable sound of bagpipes.
Down the Boundary Road from the North came a troubadour riding a mule. The old man had snow-white hair and a full beard with mustache to match, wore a blue, short-tailed dagged hood with a red border, a blue tunic, a gray cloak, and brown huntsman’s knee-high boots. He had a lute slung across his back, and sat astride his mule, ignoring the reins while playing a set of elbow pipes.
The pipes squealed as the troubadour discontinued the tune he had been playing, grabbed up the reins, and halted his mule about two rods away from the group. “Is it bandits I see?” he called out. Leaning down and talking to his mule, he said, “I do believe we’ve come across bandits, Killian. Honest to goodness bandits.” Pulling a hand-and-a-half sword from a scabbard on his saddle, he called out again. “Do you need any help, lads? It looks like you’re severely outmatched.”
“If you know what’s good for you, Grandda,” the first highwayman called back to him, “you’ll not get involved with these folks.”
The troubadour chuckled, then replied, “I…I wasn’t talking to them. I was talking to the two of you. You! The bandits!” He pointed his sword at the two of them.
“What?! You old fool! Mind you own business,” the second man told him.
So intent had the outlaws been in engaging with the troubadour, they had unwisely ignored Pádraig and Finbar for a few moments. Those moments were all that Finbar needed to quickly step for
ward, jam the end of his quarterstaff into the first bandit’s armpit, lift him off of his mount with it, and slam him onto the ground.
The second bandit charged Finbar, sword raised, ready to attack. Finbar struck him squarely in the forehead with the iron-tipped end of the staff, sending him sprawling to the ground as well.
“Get some rope and secure these two, then get the lads hitched up,” he said to his son. “We’ll walk our new friends into Ráth Ceatharlach and turn them over to the shire reeve.”
As Finbar confiscated the highwaymen’s weapons and stood guard over them, Pádraig crossed over to the wagon for some more rope, smiling, and thinking, I guess sometimes agility, strength, and cunning trumps magic.
The old troubadour sheathed his sword, clucked his tongue at the mule, and the animal started up, taking him over to where Finbar stood.
“Cosaint, Finn,” the elderly man greeted him softly in the language of the ancients.
“Lairgnen,” Finbar acknowledged with a nod.
Again the troubadour looked down at the man standing and offered the same greeting. “Cosaint, my old friend.”
Pádraig had joined them and proceeded to bind the unconscious bandits’ hands and hobble their feet.
“I heard you the first time,” Finbar said, moving away from his son toward the wagon.
Lairgnen and his mule followed. “Ahh. I had feared that perhaps you had gone deaf. Perhaps you’ve just forgotten the prescribed response between Watchmen.”
“A Watchman no longer, as you’re very well aware.”
“A Watchman is forever, Finn.” Lairgnen bent down and whispered to his mule. “I think he’s forgotten, Killian. Even you know that the correct response is ‘Agus Seirbhís,’ don’t you? And people say that your kind are dumb. What, then, does that make our friend, Finn?”
“It makes him fed up with playing spy games. That’s what it makes him,” Finbar replied, turning toward the old man and glaring up at him. “Tired of signs and countersigns. Sick of treachery and death. ‘Cosaint agus Seirbhís’ be damned. I’m a farrier and a blacksmith. A simple farrier and blacksmith with no interest in politics and intrigue.”