Innisgarbh (Prince Ciaran the Damned Book 1)

by Ruari McCallion

  “No, Coivin. Think what it means. Put your sword away and let it go.”

  But Coivin wouldn’t let it go and I knew that the only way I could save the girl was to fight for her. It was just a few days before Samhain, when the border between this world and the Otherworld was at its thinnest. The curtain twisted as in a wind, then it tore, then Reality and the Otherworld slipped together and became one.

  He stood before me, sword in hand.

  “You’ve always been afraid to fight me,” he said. It was true, but not for the reason he thought. I prayed that he would not go on, but he did. “Now, either you fight me and beat me, or I have this girl in front of you. I will beat you, you know that. And when I beat you, I will have her in front of you anyway - and the Kingdom, too. Will you die first, or live and watch?”

  I had to stop him. The girl was so young, and she was a chieftain’s daughter. Fighting was all we had left if he was to be stopped. I drew my sword.

  We fought, and my mind was not fully engaged. I didn’t want to fight him, to kill him. He was my Brother. I fought defensively, just parrying. He grinned the whole while, this was what he wanted. His eyes gleamed and widened with amusement and anticipation. He was going to kill me, he wanted to kill me. My Brother wanted to kill me. He licked his lips as he played with me.

  Then he drew blood, from my free arm. This was not a boyish game, he really wanted to kill me. And so my training took over. Hours and hours and beating after beating had made me a fighter, regardless of my own intentions. I breathed deeply and let my conditioning take over. He had drunk deep: so had I but less than he; and it affected me less anyway.

  I parried again, but with more purpose. I watched what he was doing: he was rushing, over-confident, both of his ability and of what he believed to be my weakness. I parried with more purpose and countered as well. He grinned the more. He was too confident and the wine and beer had over-heated his blood. I was cool. I watched his movements, parried his attacks, and forced him back. He replied with greater force. He was drunk. My training took over, I thought no more of anything but: how do I beat him. How do I kill him.

  Tactics of mistake. Let him think he has the advantage. Blood was flowing from my arm, he would think he had won before he had me down. Feign weakness. Parry, don’t attack. Pull him wider. Let him come forward. Look for the opening.

  He swung at me, wildly, trying to take my head off. I leaned back and let his sword cut the air. The weight of the follow-through exposed his entire side, and in went my sword before I thought of it. A straightforward thrust, into the unprotected side, angled upwards towards the heart. I knew I had him.

  He looked at me with surprise, then confusion.

  “Ciaran...” he said, then he fell. Blood flowed in a river from his side and spread out over the boards and soaked into the rug. I watched him die, my Brother.

  My Brother.

  A job well done. My training had not been for nothing. I turned to the girl.

  “You can go now,” I said, “You’re safe. He won’t harm you now.”

  She looked at me and there was terror in her face. She shuffled to the end of the bed and then dropped the blanket she’d been wearing as if it was a shield and she ran out of the room down the corridor.

  “Murder!” she screamed. “Help me, murder! He has murdered the Prince! Oh help me!”

  I looked down at the body in front of me, lying on its side with wide open eyes. It was not a dummy on the practice-ground, nor an enemy, nor even a runaway slave that lay before me. It was my Brother, my Dark Twin, the one who would be leader and King. It was he who lay dead before me, and I had killed him. The Bards and Druids who knew me might understand but the warriors and the king would never condone this murder.

  Murder! I was my Brother’s murderer!

  There was a commotion from the far end of the corridor, by the Great Hall. They were coming for me, and they wouldn’t understand. They would not condone, they would condemn. I would be condemned, and dead by dawn.

  No training now. No-one had taught me what to do after killing my Brother. Self-preservation. Get out. I had to get out, get away. Coivin’s window was less than a dozen feet above the ground of the Keep. I dived through it and landed, partially winded, without breaking anything. I went straight for the horses and leaped onto the first one to hand without bothering with a saddle, or even a blanket. I could ride and the beast responded to my legs and hands on its neck. It was disturbed and confused but its training took over, as had my own. It did as it was told, and I told it to ride for my life.

  We charged through the gate and its two guards. I didn’t think I hurt them, I hoped I hadn’t. We leaped the last palisade and headed into the darkness as fast as we could.

  “Murder! Stop him!” they called from the castle.

  “Murderer!” they accused him. “Kin-slayer!” my mind responded. “Outcast! You shall be hunted down to death!” I fled into the darkness of the cloudy night with my unwilling ride. We turned sharp right towards the marshes, hoping to make my escape through the route that none would follow before daylight.

  I had killed my cousin, my foster-brother and my Dark Twin, all three in the one person of Coivin MacAidh, and I was a man alone. I ran from Donegal into the wilds of Erin and heard of a Druid carrying out a period of hermitry prior to offering his services to the world at large. For a long time I did not presume to call upon the bonds of hospitality or sanctuary, as to do either would be to involve another in his crime and the Laws of Reciprocation - drawn up and enforced by the Druids themselves - would have required that anyone who aided me paid the same penalty as the original wrongdoer. As my victim was of Royal blood, a member of the Donegal dearbh fine, the price would have been heavy indeed. It was extremes of hunger and desperation that finally drove me to seek help.

  So when I fetched up at the hermit’s hearth seeking sanctuary and assistance, I was both delighted to find my old friend and protector and devastated that I should put him into such danger. Ieuan sported the tonsure of his faith, his head shaved from his forehead back to a line running over the crown from ear to ear but he was still only a part-qualified Druid, with six years of training left to undertake, and so did not have the full immunity from secular Law enjoyed by his fellows. I was prepared to leave immediately but Ieuan would not hear of it, not even when he appreciated the full gravity of the crime. To kill the future King was bad enough, but when that person was a member of your own family it was worse. If it was possible for it the crime to be compounded, it was by the fact that the victim was my foster-brother, an almost mystical relationship. The further fact that he was also the Dark Twin, the child born at the same hour and destined to rule alongside the Prince I had killed seemed almost a laughable extravagance. The punishment for any of these crimes was death, and could be extended to any who helped him - apprentice priest or no - but as Ieuan said, no matter how many crimes you commit, you can die only once in each life. He was concerned that I make the best I could out of the life in which I currently found myself and progress thereafter. He was much more worried about my spiritual well-being than his own safety. A person can die just once physically, but spiritual death can be more frequent - and agonising.

  His cell was a natural cave eroded in the rocky hillside by a stream that flowed clean and clear and tidily from the back to the front, into a small pool created by a low dam of rocks and then out down the hillside to a village two miles distant, on to the Shannon and finally to the ocean. At the back of the cave was a small inner chamber, reached through an entrance concealed by a lip of rock nearly six feet up in the wall. Ieuan used it as a retreat for extended meditation and its existence was known only to him, the previous occupant having died shortly after revealing the secret. When he disappeared for a few days at a time the locals had an unconscious inkling of where he was, for they concluded that he was communing with the Sidhe in the Hollow Hills to learn their secrets. They were proud of their young Druid, as he was so big, strong, knowledgeabl
e and highly skilled in healing, but they had no idea of how close to home his Hollow Hill was.

  The inner cave was the perfect hiding place and into it I was dispatched, while Ieuan waited on my pursuers.

  It didn’t take long. They arrived within half a day, explaining that they were on the trail of a renegade felon. By a strange trick of the cave’s acoustics I could hear every word as clearly as if it were spoken into my ear. Worried that the same effect could work both ways, I held my breath.

  “This man is a dangerous criminal, an outcast and a murderer. Have you seen any sign of him, Father?” the leader asked.

  “Brother will do, my friend. I still have some time to serve. In answer to your question, I have been communing with nature and the Other Powers and would not have noticed if five armies had tramped in and out of this place. But the very plants themselves would have told me, if the animals didn’t first.” The Druids’ mystical powers were both less and more than even the most superstitious laypeople dreamed of - and it did no harm to remind the soldiers of them. I could imagine them looking uneasily around for the spirits of wood and air that surely inhabited the place.

  “You have seen nothing then, Brother?” the tone of address was less honourable, but still respectful.

  “Nothing has disturbed my meditations.”

  “This may be an imposition but I mean no disrespect, Brother. May I ask you if we may examine your cell?”

  “Why would you need to, my friend? I’ve told you I have seen nothing, and the Spirits would have let me know if any layman had entered.”

  “But he was not entirely a layman, have you not heard?”

  ”I hear very little, and little of that is worth listening to. I am in Hermitage as you see.”

  “I see that, Brother, and meant nothing by it. In that case I’ll tell you: this man studied to be a Druid himself. He may have quieted your Spirits. The atmosphere is very peaceful.” The soldier’s observation was true. It was uncannily quiet, as if the trees themselves were hanging on every word of the exchange.

  “Very well then. But be careful - this is a Druid’s cave, and slight objects can be full of danger to the uninitiated. Who of you will be brave enough to enter?” This was his last attempt to discourage them. And it would have worked, nine times out of ten.

  “I will,” the leader replied promptly. “And I’ll be very careful, Brother, you can be sure of that. I will touch nothing.”

  “Go ahead then, my friend. You need not fear snakes: the Christian priest Patricius banished them from all of Erin, so they say, so there are no snakes. But be careful of everything else.”

  “Patricius, yes. I’ve heard of him. He was a foreigner, like yourself.” After fifteen years in Erin, Ieuan had thought his accent that of a native. Evidently he was wrong, as the soldier had spotted the foreign lilt.

  I could hear footsteps entering the outer cave. They padded around and came right by the entrance of my sanctum, even pausing for a moment, causing my heart to leap and pound: but I knew that the access was almost impossible to see even if you knew what to look for. It was higher than average height and the lip extended for about three feet back into the rock. Even a questing hand would conclude that it was no more than a shelf, and the soldier was unlikely to search deep into the unseen darkness in a Druid’s cave.

  So it proved. Hemoved on around the retreat and quickly concluded that it was small and held no more than the usual range of Druid’s secrets, which he was not inclined to investigate closely. He took his leave of Ieuan, and rode off with his small band of searchers.

  “Stay where you are,” Ieuan whispered from the cave mouth. “The leader is bright: they may not go far. Stay there until I call you. Rest, if you can.” I remained in hiding and tried to take his advice but proper sleep would not come easily though I yearned for it. I was very tired after many days on the run. I lay on the hard stone looking up into the darkness for what seemed like an age.

  There came multi coloured, whirling and jagged shafts of light. They started at a point and spread across my field of vision. I could see nothing and felt as if I floated. There were voices in the fog, calling orders. I was on a ship and it was rocking. The voices were confident and I did not feel afraid.

  There was a blue and grey and gold and silver mist that cleared and he was in a wood. Through the branches I could see a man, dressed in a plain brown robe, sitting at the entrance to a cave. I heard an animal snarl.

  I was pursued by a multi-headed creature that would not let up: no matter how well I hid, it would seek me out and nearly catch me. I crossed a river and watched from the far bank as one by one the heads fell off until only the last was left and the beast looked more normal. It looked around, confused, and finally trotted off over a hill,

  I was in a wild forest, and could not find my way. Brambles and scrub blocked my route at every turn. I heard a voice calling to me to come out, and although the undergrowth seemed thickest in that direction, I pushed towards the source of the sound.

  I woke with a start and a splitting headache. I didn’t know where I was, nor how long I’d been asleep. I was enveloped in darkness and looked wildly around for a source of light. The darkness was oppressive: it was hard to breathe. I felt I had been buried alive and let out a yell of alarm.

  “So you’ve returned, Ciaran,” I heard Ieuan’s voice. “Don’t be alarmed. I’ll be there directly. You’re all right.” A flickering unseen flame illuminated one wall of the chamber. “Come over towards the light and crawl out. Do you remember where you are?”

  “No. Innisgarbh? No, that was a while ago. I have a terrible headache, Ieuan. I can hardly think. Where am I?”

  “In my cell. The soldiers came looking for you, remember? But that was hours ago. You’ve been away for half the day.”

  “What do you mean, ‘away’? Oh, my head! It’s agony! Moving is worse.”

  “I have something for you, it’ll help - but you have to get yourself out.” I managed to crawl towards the light, out of the chamber and to the edge of the lip. Ieuan was standing there with a small oil lamp. “Come on down, Ciaran - be careful, mind. It’s a bit of a drop.” I heaved myself part over the edge then half-slid, half-fell to the floor of the cave. I stayed where I landed in an untidy heap. “Drink this. It’ll help your headache.” Ieuan gave me a stone flask which held a warm, sweet, aromatic and herby liquid. I drank it, a sip at a time, and felt better with each one. By the time I’d finished, the pain had all but disappeared, my memory had returned and my body felt warm and alive again. Ieuan looked carefully at me: “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Much, thanks. What is it?”

  “Oh, a simple enough remedy. I’ll teach you how to make it. You will need it in the future.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What did you see while you were away?”

  “Away? What do you mean, ‘away’? That’s the second time you’ve said it.”

  “I will explain. Tell me what you saw.” I did so, and after hearing my account Ieuan continued: “The first and third visions are easy to explain: you’ll be travelling on a boat, and that’s what I had already concluded. We must get you away from here, out of Erin completely, across the Inner Sea to the British lands, perhaps for years. Your kinsmen will continue to hunt you, and that’s the meaning of the third vision. Eventually the more distant relatives will lose interest, and finally even Ciaran’s own family will turn to other matters.

  “The Second and Fourth are harder: the second means nothing to me. It could be a vision of the immediate past but I don’t wear a brown robe. That is Christian garb and I’m not one of them.”

  ”Maybe you’ll become one? I know that other Druids have.” I interjected. Ieuan gave me a bleak smile and then looked away.

  “I don’t think so. I am too far down my own path already,” he replied, with an odd hint of regret in his voice. “But back to your visions. No, I think the second is a vision of the future but what it means I don’t know. And th
e animal noise - a snarl, you said? - that’s a complete mystery.”

  “And the Fourth?”

  “I’m not sure. It could be a literal sight of a time when you will be lost in a forest, but I suspect a more symbolic meaning, that you will find yourself lost in Spirit. Tread your path with care, Ciaran, either way.”

  “Why did these visions come to me now, and here?”

  “You have the Sight, of course. Did you not know?”

  “No!” I exclaimed. The Sight was something I was familiar with of course, I knew others who had it - including Rogh at Donegal. I also knew that Druids worked to develop it if they had the innate power - and some ran the risk of pushing themselves to it even without the natural facility. The price was always very high. “No, I’ve never had a Vision before.”