Innisgarbh (Prince Ciaran the Damned Book 1)

by Ruari McCallion

  “Oh yes you have. I found you the first time at Innisgarbh. You were no more than twelve years old, as I remember. You were sitting on your bed with your eyes rolled back into your head and your mouth slack, exactly as I found you in the inner chamber a few hours ago.”

  “No, it can’t be. I would have remembered - the headache if nothing else.”

  “You were made to forget while you were at Innisgarbh. Father Amergin and Father Diarmuid cast a spell on you so that you forgot every time, and gave you that potion for the headache,” he said, indicating the empty flask. ”You had many visions, over the years. The last I knew of - before today - was just a couple of weeks before you left to go back to Donegal.”

  “But why? The Fathers would have helped me to develop and control it, surely.”

  “They did try, but your visions were very distressing to you. Every time - and you had several - every time, one of them was of your cousin covered in blood. You blamed yourself and were inconsolable. They couldn’t believe you could possibly be responsible for the death of Coivin. They believed that the best they could do for you would be to make you forget until you were old enough to approach the problem rationally and with maturity. But that time never came at Innisgarbh. You have had none in the last two years?”

  “No, none - nor even a hint, beyond the occasional blinding headache and shafts of light, same as I experienced today. No visions.” I shook my head.

  “The Druid at Donegal knew about your condition - and the remedy too, I believe. So you probably had some, but Father Rogh would have made you forget.”

  “But the visions were true, from what you say! I saw Coivin dead, and knew I’d done it! They were true!”

  “Yes, it seems they were.” Ieuan nodded sadly. “But no-one could bring themselves to believe that you would be directly responsible for Coivin’s death, and so the Fathers thought it best to spare you the pain of living with the fear.”

  “But wouldn’t it have been better if I had known? I could have avoided his death!”

  “Could you? The visions never told you you had actually killed Ciaran, just that you felt yourself responsible. These things have a way of coming true, no matter what we try to do to avoid them. Anyway, what would you have done to avoid this outcome? Killed yourself instead of Coivin?” That was of course exactly what I had tried to do. I’d completely forgotten it. “That would have been a great sin.”

  “Greater than killing my foster-brother?” I interrupted.

  “Who knows what the gods have in store for you? Or what Coivin had to pay for? Or be prepared for? Anyway, would you have the Fathers implicated in such a crime as suicide? You must know that they would not allow it, even if they’d known the consequences of their Spell of forgetting. Be grateful that you’ve not had the burden until now. They chose what they saw as the best way, the one likely to cause least harm.”

  “You think so kindly of them now?”

  “So kindly that I seek to be one of them, although I suspect that my path will take me elsewhere.”

  ”Do you have the Sight as well?”

  Ieuan shook his head, and I detected some bitterness - and something else, which I couldn’t place. Whatever it was made me uneasy, but I ignored it and concentrated on what my friend was saying. “No, I don’t. Barely a hint. I can sometimes read the flames and get a general feeling, but nothing specific - or very helpful. I didn’t know you were coming to me today for example, although I did feel an unfocused apprehension. Anyway,” he stood up briskly, “we must get you away from here and as soon as can be. I’ll find a boat heading away from here. To Alba, if we can. I’m sending a letter to a colleague in the court - no, I don’t think you should deliver it. I think you should take ship with the sailors, pass on the message and lose yourself in the forests for a while. Donegal’s friends in Dalriada won’t care to search for you there no matter what the bonds of kinship and alliance, and I think you’ll be as safe as is possible. But first you’d better get some proper rest. Are you tired?”

  “Completely worn out,” I said, yawning. “Is it the draught you gave me?”

  “No, it’s the price of the Sight. It wears you out. Go back into the inner chamber to sleep, I don’t fancy having to carry you there if your kinsmen’s soldiers return!” he smiled. His small protege of earlier years had grown into a well-built young man, Ieuan’s equal in height and, possibly, strength. I smiled back.

  “Still I depend on you for protection, Ieuan. Will I never be able to look after myself?” The mood lightened for a moment and then it fell again. “I’m concerned, though. Will I have more visions in your hiding place?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Do you feel in any way odd?”

  “No, but I”m not aware of having done so before.”

  “You remember nothing strange leading up to the episode?” I pondered, then answered.

  “There was something: my brain felt as if it had the consistency of thick honey, and I felt...” I struggled for the right words: “...neither warm nor cold, but somehow detached from the world.” Ieuan nodded.

  “And do you feel anything like that now?”

  I did not. Exhausted, yes, but not that strange feeling of other-worldliness which, now I thought of it, was a distinct and unusual sensation. I hadn’t noticed it before but concluded that it was part of the forgetting-spell of the Druids at Innisgarbh.

  “Look out for the feeling in future, and try to get yourself to a place of safety whenever it occurs. You are as helpless as a new-born baby while you’re away. But now, get some sleep. We have an early start in the morning: you’ve got a lot to learn.”

  And so I retreated to sleep. We rose before dawn and Ieuan spent the day giving a crash course in higher Druidic medicine. I already had the basics from earlier studies but the extra knowledge would help me to survive on my own and, although I would never be as skilled as Ieuan, it would help me to make a living of sorts in my exile.

  The following day we rose again before dawn and had walked the best part of twenty miles before the sun was three hours old. I was dressed in some of Ieuan’s clothes and an old robe and looked for all the world what I had been only a couple of short years before: an apprentice Druid. Ieuan found a ship that was going up the Long Loch, just about as close to Alba as I could hope to get. A brief explanation was required to get me aboard, the discussions cut short by the need to catch the tide. Ieuan’s route had been circuitous, so as to throw any pursuers off the scent. His timing was deliberate, in order to cut to the shortest possible the time available for negotiation.

  The last sight I had of my friend was of a tall and fit young man striding up the hillside away from the small port and back to his cell. We parted with little fuss in order that no-one should remark on my passage. As far as anyone would notice, I was on a routine trip to the British mainland. Ieuan’s parting gift to me was a small brown earthenware bottle containing the preparation I had used against my headache, and the formula for making further supplies.

  The boat let slip from the quayside and I squatted down in its belly. So I was a Seer! A Visionary! I could rule kings with this talent!

  I didn’t want it. I had no desire for that sort of power. I sat up and looked up the hill in time to see Ieuan crossing the skyline. He didn’t turn, he didn’t look back, he made no gesture at all. I wished then - and in the years to come - that we’d had more time to take our leave as I went into exile, away from my country, my kin and my friends. We wouldn’t meet again for nearly thirty years.

  Notes on pronunciation

  ‘bh’, as in Innisgarbh, is pronounced very softly, ‘vee’.

  ’s’ is often pronounced ‘sh’, especially in Scotland.

  ‘Dearbh fine’ - “jerr’feena” - is the measure of kinship in ancient Celtic kingdoms. If you consider your hand: a king will be the palm of it. The first knuckles will be brothers - his sons. Then the next knuckle would be cousins. The next knuckle: second cousins. Anyone in that entire group had an equa
l right to succeed to the throne. This arrangement led to a great deal of upset and in-fighting down the years.

  Vowels.

  Generally speaking, when two vowels are found together then the emphasis is on the first one. Coivin is pronounced koo-vin; Ciaran - kee’uh-ran.

  A note about the story

  Innisgarbh is a story – it’s fiction. It is not a documentary.

  It is set against a historical background but it is not a history book.

  Wherever recorded history and the fiction diverge or contradict, view the recorded history with suspicion. History is written by the winners, after all, and they are not to be trusted…

  A note about the author

  Ruari McCallion lives in Wiltshire and has done for 20 years or so. At various times he has earned a living as a refreshments truck driver at Chester Zoo; a DJ in London’s exciting West End; a singer, songwriter and musician; investment adviser; marketing director; public relations consultant; and as a freelance writer.

  He lives with his wife and among some very pleasant neighbours, not far from the middle of nowhere.

  Acknowledgements

  I must acknowledge the late Marion Campbell, of Kilberry, Argyll. A great lady, one of the last connections to the times when Gaelic was the first language of the ‘Place of the Gaels’ - Earra Gael - and the principal means of communication was along the ‘blue roads’: the seas, bays and lochs of the West Coast. They were also the source of whatever wealth was to be found - herrings, mackerel and prawns. She wrote “Argyll: the Enduring Heartland”, which I recommend to anyone who would like to know more about this beautiful, historic and mysterious part of the world, where legend is part of the scenery. That book includes a charming story called “To Knowing How”, about the value of acquired skills.

  She also wrote a book called “The Dark Twin”. While the concept was not uniquely hers, she brought it to my attention and I drew on it for the relationship at the heart of this story. I am indebted to Miss Campbell and raise a small glass to her memory; she was kind to me. May she rest in peace.

  I am also obliged to Mark Dawson, a near neighbour in Wiltshire and the author of the Jeff Milton, Beatrix Rose and Soho Noir series. During a dinner at The Ship in Burcombe he opened my eyes to the potential of Web-based self-publishing. This story - and its companions in the series - have been a long time waiting for that door to open, so cheers, mate!