by Mia Pride
“Perhaps we should set up camp? We need to rest and prepare for our journey home at dawn.” Gorman was removing his sack in preparation for his stay in the woods.
“Nay, Gorman. We need to go back to Coraindt.” Suddenly, as quick as a strike of lightning, the face of the familiar sentry appeared in his mind. He had seen him a few times as he visited Iverni on regular bartering trips. He was always seen cavorting in the gathering hall…with Baine. “By the silver hand of Nuada! May he be dragged down to the Otherworld by his bollocks!” Liam shouted out into the silent woods, his profanities echoing on the thick night air. He couldn’t imagine what role the man had played in Baine’s attempts, but he remembered the look on the sentry’s face as he rode past him earlier that night. Slightly nervous and full of guilt, the man was hiding something.
Liam was suddenly overcome by a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His belly churned as his body broke out in a cold sweat again. He had left Gwynneth alone with Baine on the loose and that sentry on the lookout, ready to let in any trouble that came to Coraindt.
“We have to go back to Coraindt. Now. Gwynneth is there. With Baine on the loose, she isn’t safe. I left her with Duncan while I set out for Iverni…but I had nay idea Baine was still about. We need to go, now. Do you have horses?”
“Aye, our horses are tied up to a tree, just over there,” Brion pointed to the East.
“Get your horses. We are going back for Gwynn. There may be danger, so be on your guard.”
Chapter 18
Stretching her body out luxuriously in the bed, Gwynneth groaned with delight after waking up from her nap. She had no idea how long she had slept, but for the first time in several days, Gwynneth was able to enjoy several hours of sleep without nightmares, miscarriages, or visits by her parents from beyond the veil. As she slowly sat up and looked around the smoky house, she noticed she was completely alone. Reality hit her that Liam was gone, and she didn’t know when she would see him again, or if he would ever accept her love again. The loneliness settled into the pit of her stomach, a massive stone she must carry with her, weighing her down as punishment for her continuous offenses against Liam.
Feeling her stomach grumble, she looked around for food, but found none to be had. Abigael must have left while she was asleep. The tuath had been bustling about all day, preparing for the Samhain festival. Numerous small fires throughout the village would burn to help guide the recently deceased to the Otherworld, while the living would gather at the large central fire to share stories.
As much as she missed Liam and wished he would be there with her tonight, Gwynneth was desperate to speak with the druid. She could remember his youthful face with crystal clear detail from her dream and wondered briefly what he looked like now after all these years.
Having taken a bath before she fell asleep, Gwynneth slipped into the new yellow dress Abigael made for her, and it fit her body precisely, clinging to her breasts and small waist, then gracefully flowing out at the hips, creating a perfectly feminine silhouette. Curiously, she wondered how Abigael knew exactly what her dress looked like the day she was handfast to Liam. Gwynneth frowned at the memory.
Realizing that more of her memories were starting to creep back into her mind with every passing day, she smiled and her mood lightened slightly. Even the bad memories were a part of who she was and she welcomed them all as they quietly found their way back to her. She longed to have all of her loving memories of Liam and her father back, but the abusive memories of Baine seemed to be the most determined, clouding up the majority of her mind.
Gwynneth spun in a circle, watching the thin yellow linen swirling around her ankles and the long elegant sleeves hanging just below her wrists. The neckline was definitely wider than her original dress, but it made her feel feminine as it hung off her shoulders and showed her slim neck and upper chest. She could see small sparkles of gold thread catching in the fire light and Abigail had even added a bronze belt to wrap around her waist.
Gwynneth was clean and properly groomed for the first time in sennights, and she regretted Liam was not there to see her. She let out a lingering sigh, reached behind her neck to gather her hair to one side, and started to plait the long blonde strands, allowing it to hang over the front of her shoulder. Her stomach growled again in a hungry protest.
Laughing voices outside indicated the festival was underway, and Gwynneth decided to go in search of her friends…nay, her family, she reminded herself, and food. She slid her leather slippers on her feet and started to head toward the door. Feeling as though something was missing, she walked over to her old tattered blue dress, now draped over the loom ready to be repaired, and removed her mother’s ruby brooch, starring into its depth. Sensing a renewed connection to this last piece of her mother, Gwynneth held it to her heart briefly, then pinned it onto her cloak.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she whispered to herself, walking out the door. Looking around, she didn’t see any familiar faces. Suddenly, for the first time in the past three days, she realized she was an outsider. As Gwynn walked past the villagers, they all stared gapingly at her, pausing in their conversations. She was not sure if they were staring because they did not recognize her, or because she looked identical to Ceara. A small group of plump women pointed and whispered as she passed, increasing her insecurity.
Gwynneth decided to start walking toward King Garreth’s, in hopes of finding her sister or Duncan outside enjoying the festivities. She passed many small fires and saw no trace of a familiar face. Smoke was billowing into the sky from every direction, clouding the view and making her task difficult. “Gwynneth! Over here!” Ceara’s voice called out to her from behind. She spun around and spotted her sister. She was at the largest central fire standing with Duncan, Garreth, and many other important looking nobles in brightly colored tunics.
All the savory scents of the mixed meats on the fire mingling with herbs, and the wonderful, unmistakable scent of fresh bread intoxicated her with their tantalizing fragrances. Gwynneth walked over to her sister with a smile and gave her a hug. Ceara was looking as sophisticated as ever in her exquisite red dress, hanging off of her slim shoulders, and flowing gracefully down to the ground. It was an odd feeling to see Ceara looking so completely beautiful, and remembering that, aside from hair color, they looked identical.
Duncan walked up and, hearing Gwynn’s stomach growl, ripped a chunk of bread off of his loaf and handed it to her, along with a mug filled with ale. Gwynneth smiled in thanks. “How are ye feeling?” Duncan asked hesitantly.
“A bit lonely, quite sad, and a complete fool, honestly. Anxious…hungry.” She sighed and held up the bread he gave her and ripped a soft piece off with a smile. “I really just want to get through this night and get on with the morrow.”
Duncan nodded and grunted, “Aye. Well, ale will help ye get through it. I’ve had a b-bit already,” he said with a repressed belch and rubbed his belly. Gwynneth tilted her head back and laughed at his lack of manners. She lifted her mug up in reciprocation and took a big swig, feeling the fermented drink tickling her upper lip. She was used to mead, but the bitter ale seemed to compliment her mood.
“Drink carefully, aye?” Duncan warned, giving her a playful wink. “Tis potent.”
Ceara walked over to Gwynn, but appeared to be distracted as she anxiously scanned the area. “Have you seen my mother, Gwynn?”
Gwynneth shook her head and frowned as she finished chewing a piece of bread. “Nay, I woke up from my sleep all alone in the house. I figured she was with you, or setting up for the festival.” Ceara just shrugged and took a sip of her ale.
“Look, Gwynn! That’s him, Patrick, the druid from my father’s…I mean, our father’s memory!” Ceara pointed to a man from across the fire. At first, his face was blurred by the continuously billowing smoke, but a strong breeze blew the smoke to the side just long enough for them to get a good look at his face.
“He looks exactly the same!” Both sisters said in u
nison and then started giggling. Duncan and King Garreth looked at each other with wry smiles, continuing to enjoy their drinks. Garreth turned to a friend and his loud laughter filled the air. The entire night was lit up by fire, comradery, ale, food, and high spirits. Gwynneth found herself enjoying the atmosphere immensely and she took another sip of her tangy ale, determined to get through this night. It was not lady-like to imbibe too much drink, but mayhap it would dull her senses just enough to tolerate the heartache.
Looking across the fire, Patrick saw the two identical women, one with red hair and one with silvery-blonde, staring at him and pointing. He smiled and walked over to greet them. It had been twenty years since he saw their faces, but they resembled their mother so much, there was no doubt who they were.
Seeing his companion approaching the women, Garreth turned his attention over to Patrick and clasped him on the back strongly, speaking with a slur, “Beautiful sisters. Let me…introduce…to you my long-time companion,” a loud hiccup escaped his gut and Ceara nudged him in the chest, blushing with embarrassment at her husband’s ill manners. Gwynneth giggled into her hand as the king continued his inebriated introduction.
“Patrick, this lovely woman is Ceara, my wife. Th-thank you for d-delivering her to us twenty years ago,” he winked at Patrick conspiratorially. “Nay…really…thank you….” The king was swaying a bit and Ceara was now completely covering her bright red face with her hands and shaking her head in laughter.
“And this lovely woman…” King Garreth pointed to Gwynneth, “is my wife’s, obviously identical, newly reunited sister. WHO KNEW?” His voice boomed, making Patrick jump. The two sisters were laughing so hard at his drunken state that they were using each other as support to keep from collapsing on the ground.
The ale was already working to make Gwynneth loosen up for the first time since her accident. She had been perpetually unhappy and wondered if she had always been so. Nay, in her soul, she knew she had once been happy. Perhaps it was before her marriage to Baine, but she had a happy heart…and she would find her way back to that place, she promised herself as she took in the laughter all around her. And she would take the first steps on the morrow by seeking Liam and disposing of all the secrets that stood between them.
Once she knew the details of this legend, she would be better prepared to move forward with her life. She wasn’t even sure what the legend was, and yet she already resented the control it had over her. Mayhap she didn’t want to be special, or have special elemental abilities. She wanted to be normal, happy, and simply belong to Liam. Nothing else mattered.
Patrick looked at the two sisters, clearly getting along well, and another smile spread across his face. “Aye, well, as it happens…I KNEW.” His smile turned into a small laugh and the king slapped his back harder and laughed some more, slightly spilling his drink down his bright green and orange plaid tunic.
“My love, why do you not go give greetings to the ironsmith and his family over there,” Ceara diplomatically redirected her husband, pointing in a random direction, “I think they’ve been waiting to speak with you.” Her smile was mischievous, but he just nodded in acceptance and strolled over to the random corner his wife had pointed to, walking toward nothing. Ceara looked at Gwynneth with a side glance and smiled proudly.
“Ladies, tis a wonder to meet you, again,” Patrick said with the utmost politeness as he nodded his head. “It has been twenty years since I have seen your faces. But I would recognize you anywhere as your mother’s daughters.” Looking suddenly confused, he asked, “Where is Liam? How have his wounds healed?”
A jolt of pain seared through Gwynneth with the mention of his name. Seeing the joy leave Gwynneth’s face, Ceara chimed in. “He had to leave earlier today. He hasn’t been home to Iverni in almost a full moon and he had business to attend to.” She looked over at Gwynneth, lightly nudging her, and smiled.
“Aw, I see. Well I am glad to hear he is up and about, a little earlier than I anticipated, but I suppose a king has responsibilities.” Gwynneth tried hard not to roll her eyes. Apparently she was the very last person to know that Liam was a king. She bit her lower lip, if only to keep her true thoughts from spilling forth from her mouth.
Changing the subject, Ceara politely nodded in agreement. “Patrick, Gwynneth and I are so very glad to meet you. And we are desperate to hear the entire legend. It has been quite a…” Ceara paused and pursed her lips, tapping a finger on her chin as she searched for the correct word.
“Shock. Disappointment. Nuisance…” Gwynneth easily completed her sister’s sentence, perhaps not as elegantly, but she was past mincing words. She should drink ale more often, she decided.
He nodded knowingly at Ceara and Gwynneth, pointing them over to the fire. “Please meet my companion, Sean the Bard. He travelled here with me and helps me with many of my ceremonies.”
Gwynneth and Ceara smiled at him and nodded, and he replied by dramatically scooping up one hand from each sister with a flourish, bringing it up to his bearded mouth to give a respectable kiss of introduction. His wardrobe was rich in colors and textures. His flourishing tunic, a very bright, and rare, color of red covered him from head to toe. He had a leather belt wrapped around his waist and several herbs, including mistletoe, hung from it by string. His blue cloak was heavy wool, containing many layers sewn together with fine threading and lined in fur. A very large hood was fastened to the back and he had an ornate golden brooch, set with a large mystical opal, changing colors in the firelight. His dress showed his social status and his wealth. He was obviously a very successful and respected bard.
To add to his mystical appearance, he carried a large walking stick with carved symbols and patterns whittled in to the surface of the wood. His hair was jet black and windblown about his head, as if he has been traveling for days and never bothered to run a finger through it. His medium length beard matched the wildness of his hair, and Gwynneth could see a few strands braided with some sparkling stones hanging from the ends.
Together, a poet and a druid could fulfill any services requested of them on a feast night. Handfasting, divination, contacting a lost ancestor, sacrificing animals to the gods, and blessing the tuath were common requests on feast nights. If Gwynneth had not, yet again, pushed Liam away, this bard and druid would have lead their marriage ceremony on this night. The thought made Gwynneth’s knees almost buckle and the ever-present knot in her stomach began to tighten. She took another long drink of ale and grimaced when she reached the bottom of her mug.
The bard started preparing some herbs for his ceremonies while the druid circled the large central fire with the skulls of ancient ancestors, meant to protect the space from any evil spirits that should try to cross over the veil to the living. Seeing the preparation of festivities, the crowd started to slowly migrate over to the fire, women taking first choice of the logs surrounding the fire, their children sitting on their laps, while the men stood behind them. Gwynneth and Ceara sat slowly on a log and watched the druid and bard as they worked diligently together.
“Fires are lit all over the village, helping to guide our recently deceased family toward the open veil of the Otherworld, where they shall rest amongst our ancestors, the Tuatha de Danann.” The druid’s voice was strong as he raised his arms in the air to signal toward the small fires burning all around. “The Feast of the Dead has been conducted, in honor of those missing from our tables, and now we wish them well as they cross over.” The bard threw herbs into the fire, creating a quick burst of light within the flames.
“The skulls of our ancestors protect us on this night, as the faeries and daemons are free to roam our world.” He circled the skulls lining the fire to emphasize their ring of protection. “Samhain marks the end of the year, as the earth starts to die. Crops have been harvested and cattle brought in from the chill. Tonight we honor the death of the earth, as well as the death of our kin. Let us bow our heads in remembrance, as we offer blessings of peace to our surviving neighbors.”
Everyone went silent for a moment, as they bowed their heads and closed their eyes.
“Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the infinite peace to you.”
The voices ended the prayer and all eyes looked back up as the bard, again, threw an herb into the fire. The druid recited a few more prayers of health, love, and prosperity as the bard supplied the drama in the background.
A familiar man sat down swiftly in an empty space next to Gwynneth. He looked over at her and smiled. Hesitantly returning his polite gesture, she struggled to remember his face. Slowly, an image formed of the quiet, but large, guard with long lime-bleached hair she had seen the day she arrived in Coraindt. He had stared and smiled on that night too, as if testing to see if she remembered him, but she could not, although his face did look familiar.
He held a large jug full of ale and, seeing her empty mug, swiftly refilled it with yet another friendly smile. She thanked him by taking a polite sip. As her eyes focused back upon Patrick, she realized he was looking directly at her and Ceara, sitting next to each other on the log. A smirk spread across Patrick’s face as he started to speak again. “We have a special legend tonight. It is one many of you may know, but alas, you have not heard it all. Tonight, I will tell the entire story. It is, the legend of the Three Sisters of Danu.”
The crowd nodded in interest as a few people mumbled their excitement to their neighbor. Ceara and Gwynneth looked at one another with anxiety, squeezing hands together in support. Whatever they learned on this night, at least they had each other…and another sister, somewhere.
“The legend is an ancient one, dating back to a time when the Tuatha de Danann, or the People of Danu, first arrived to our native Ériu several centuries ago. They were not quite gods, but not quite human. It was said they arrived upon dark clouds in the sky and landed down in the mountains in Connachta. With their appearance, they brought a darkness over the sky that lasted three days. Led by their king, Nuada, the Tuatha de Danann were revered for their closeness with the gods and became the leaders of humans.
