Only the Stones Survive: A Novel

by Morgan Llywelyn

  “He never stirred all night. I think he is awake now, though; his eyes just opened.”

  I went to his side. Can you hear me?

  “Of course I can hear you, Joss,” he said aloud. “There is no need to shout.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  THE ENEMY HAD COME too close. The Túatha Dé Danann knew they should move as far away as possible, but it would not be easy. They had been in the caves long enough to feel safe there, almost long enough to feel at home.

  Piriome confided to Tamais that she was going to be a bat when she grew up. Tamais echoed her intention, adding flourishes such as massive wings and fur that glowed in the dark.

  When he heard them, Joss said, “Don’t talk like that, children; you must never say such things. Don’t even think them.”

  “Why not?” asked Tamais. “It would be wonderful to fly.”

  “And live on insects? Is that what you want?”

  The children looked dubious, but Joss began to worry about his cousins.

  Gifts are passed on in the blood.

  Following their near discovery by strangers, the adult Dananns discussed the possibility of moving somewhere else. Those whose territory had been forested thought it would be best to seek another forest “where the trees can protect us.” Mountain dwellers spoke wistfully of blue hills and long vistas. The clans who came from along the coast yearned for the sounds of the sea.

  While they accepted the necessity for relocating again, they could not agree as to where. And no clan was willing to attempt it by themselves.

  The survivors were fully aware of their limitations as a tribe. A strong tribe required a variety of individuals who could perform the many functions necessary to the body as a whole. It would be possible to continue without some of them, but not without a head, not for long.

  The once-powerful Túatha Dé Danann had been reduced to a straggle of survivors who were clinging to a life that had lost its shape.

  Conversely, the Mílesians believed they were in an excellent position. Although they had lost valuable members of their tribe to the Green Wave and the great battle, they still had adequate numbers to guarantee future generations. And instead of one head, they had two.

  They had yet to discover that this would have a profound effect on future generations.

  In the descending twilight of his life, the man who had been the Dagda thought about the people he would soon leave behind. He was indifferent to the problems of the New People, but he was deeply concerned about the Túatha Dé Danann. To have come so far and achieved so much and then to melt away like frost without leaving a trace behind seemed too cruel.

  Something would remain, however. Something tangible.

  Like many a keeper of cherished secrets, the Dagda had clutched his to his heart. The deep esteem in which he was held by the Túatha Dé Danann depended upon his being the guardian of the mysteries. In a distant past, he scarcely remembered he had been instructed by others like himself, the last living members of the tribe that had come to Ierne Before the Before.

  As a child he had listened to the narratives of the dispossessed. Had tried to capture their fragmented memories of their original home. Could not even imagine the obstacles they had overcome in making their incredible voyage.

  All murky and twisted in his mind now.

  But he had kept the faith. Pearl by pearl he had passed their treasures to the next generation, and the next, and the next, giving each a part of the whole. Had he been too slow in sharing? Did any of them truly understand what set Ierne apart, or why it was sacred?

  Too late now, and he was too tired.

  He had watched with pride as generations of young Dananns exhibited the unique talents of their ancestors. No one had all of them, which was as it should be. Nuada had come closest, but even he …

  Memories of Nuada of the Silver Hand squeezed an opaque tear from beneath the Dagda’s closed eyelids.

  “Are you in pain?” Melitt called from very far away.

  No.

  “Are you in pain?” she shouted in his ear.

  “No, I’m not in pain.” His voice sounded like a rusty hinge.

  Melitt sat back on her heels with a relieved sigh. “Don’t frighten me like that. I thought I had lost you.”

  “You will not lose me.”

  “I understand, but I do get frightened.”

  Dear little woman, he thought. There had been other women, not so tender; queens of fire and fury. Gone out now. Leaving him with this gentle spirit who was all he wanted at the end. Melitt and a boy called Joss …

  “Joss!” the Dagda called in the voice that used to be his.

  A grown man knelt beside him on the floor of the cave, a man with sky-colored eyes and a soft, springy beard. “I’m here,” he said.

  “You wanted to ask me so many questions…”

  “They can wait.”

  “They cannot wait. Let me tell you what you need to know while I have the strength.”

  “If you rest now, Dagda, you will be stronger tomorrow.”

  “I shall, but not here. Listen to me. Do you remember the temple on the hill?”

  “I do, of course.”

  “I told you there were other temples, and I intended to take you to them when you were older.”

  “I am older now.”

  The Dagda managed a faint smile. “Sadly, you must go on your own. But I want you to understand what you find. Come closer…”

  His voice grew so labored that Joss could not make out the words. Think to me, he said to the Dagda.

  As she watched the two of them together, Melitt saw the young man’s eyes widen. His face became a study in intense concentration.

  When the bats left the cave, Joss was still sitting beside the Dagda, listening to a voice that Melitt had never heard. She was not jealous. Over the long span of their lives together, her husband had said everything she wanted to hear.

  She did not go foraging that night. There was nothing she could do but care for the children, and wait. Patience was one of her talents.

  I listened closely to everything the Dagda told me, and remembered. Not one word escaped me; neither did the instructions I did not fully understand. He was pouring his wisdom into me, and I must not spill a single drop.

  Weave a tender network of those you care about, and who care about you. The path they light will guide your spirit.

  Seek balance; from the mightiest sun to the tiniest insect, all must be in balance. What we do will, in time, be done to us, although we may not recognize it.

  There are three questions that only you can answer, but you must answer them all, in thislife or another.

  Who am I?

  Why am I?

  Where am I going?

  And this above everything: have courage. In the end, we are perfectly safe. All things are one and part of the same Word.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE DAGDA LOOKED UP at me, but I was not sure he could see me. His eyes were clouded and rheumy, the whites yellow. Do not grieve, Joss, there is no need. It is my time, I have put it off for far too long.

  “I don’t want you to go! What about the tribe? How can we…”

  Ask yourself, he replied. He raised a shaking, skeletal hand and put his forefinger on my breast. “Elgolai,” he said clearly.

  I thought he meant that he was going out, which I already knew. But tears sprang to my eyes anyway.

  You. Elgolai.

  He had gone out. Between one breath and the next, the Dagda had left us. I sat beside the emptied shell of him and tried to imagine my life without him.

  Melitt pushed me aside so she could put her ear against his nostrils. Then she put the flat of her palm on his chest. Her eyes met mine. She shook her head.

  The children knew. They silently gathered around us. Demirci was carrying my little sister in his arms. Drithla reached a tiny hand down toward the man who lay at their feet.

  Take her hand! I willed with everything in me.

  The Da
gda did not move.

  He had gone out.

  A few at a time, the other Dananns came to the cave to see him. No one had summoned them. I stood on one side of the Dagda’s bed and Melitt stood on the other while they walked in a slow circle around us. Sunwise, the sacred direction.

  A few of the women murmured their sympathy to Melitt or lightly stroked her hand. No one tried to comfort me; I was thankful. I needed to be alone in that space he still occupied within me.

  The tender network, he had said.

  The Dagda had been more than a king. In a race of exceptional people, he had been the most exceptional. His funeral rites must befit his status. But how could the appropriate ritual be performed by a small band of refugees hiding in caves with bats?

  In the end, we are perfectly safe. All things are one and part of the same Word.

  I knew then what I had to do.

  We covered the Dagda’s body with the finest blanket we had and carried him to the coldest part of the cave. Then I asked everyone to join me on the riverbank. I was not sure they would come; it would be the first test of my leadership. No one had conferred the honor on me, and I had not requested it. But the space was there. And I stepped in.

  In the same way they had come to bid the Dagda farewell, the Dananns arrived in twos and threes to hear what I had to say. Wounded warriors, weary mothers, feeble elders. And the children too; I had requested the children in particular. What was going to happen would become part of their memories. The children should not be shut out—I felt strongly about that.

  When I announced what I planned to do for the Dagda, the Dananns protested. “The Mílesians will discover and slaughter us all!”

  “We still have one protection,” I said, “their fear of the unknown. If you will trust me and we work together, I believe we can create an illusion they dare not approach.”

  No one was totally convinced, but no one was willing to relinquish the funeral of a great king either.

  We traveled by night, carrying the Dagda’s body wrapped in blankets and with our wounded warriors acting as lookouts. Once or twice, we almost ran into a band of the New People—perhaps searching for us—but they did not live in caves and were unsure in the dark. They did not know the land as we did. Shinann knew it best of all. She danced on ahead of us, leaving a faint silvery trail that we could follow …

  … all the way to the temple on the hill.

  Along the way, we gathered firewood and enough material for a torch.

  As a parting gift the Dagda had shared the secrets of three temples with me—not all of the secrets, however. “Some you must learn for yourself,” he had said. When we reached the mound on top of the ridge, I lit a single torch. With great effort, we opened the heavy doors behind the Guardian Stone. Then we carried the Dagda’s body up the narrow passageway to the central chamber.

  In the recess that had held my mother, the same stone basin waited for him. Just beyond the triple spiral.

  I left Melitt with her husband’s body and went back outside to give instructions. First, we had to remove the heavy plugs of quartz blocking the aperture over the entrance. Combined with the open passageway it would be sufficient to create a draft.

  There were not enough of us to surround the mound while holding hands. So we pressed our hands onto the mound itself, onto the layer of white quartz. Wounded warriors, weary mothers, feeble elders, and the children too, connecting with each other through the temple.

  “Now,” I said as loud as I dared. “Think of the stars. Enter the stars. Become one with the stars.”

  The people on either side of me passed on the command.

  The faintest ripple ran through us—or perhaps I was imagining it. “Again,” I said urgently.

  I was beginning to hear what sounded like voices approaching in the distance, shouting to one another in the accents of the invaders.

  “Become the stars!” I cried. “Now! The stars!”

  The faint ripple intensified. An icy heat ran up my arms and into my body. Jolted through me. Through us. Ignited the quartz covering of the mound until it emitted a radiance I could see reflected on the faces on either side of me.

  The temple glowed like the moon.

  It would have been a terrifying sight to any unsuspecting Mílesians.

  When we removed our hands, I did not know how long the light would last, so we had to act quickly.

  We could not all crowd into the central chamber to view the ritual, but we could all chant the invocation the Dagda had taught to me. The Dananns filled the other two recesses and the passageway and gathered around the Guardian Stone outside while I lit the fire in the large basin. It only smouldered for a few heartbeats before blazing up around the body of the Dagda.

  The billowing of smoke, the crackling of flames, flesh and bone and fabric burning—yet what I shall always remember is the haunting fragrance of ancient stone dust.

  We waited with the Dagda until the fire died down.

  The last thing we did before leaving the temple was close and seal the heavy stone doors. I adjured the Guardian Stone to block any attempt to enter until I returned.

  As we made our way down the ridge, the unearthly glow of the quartz was just beginning to fade. We traveled all the way back to the limestone caves without being molested.

  Éremón was furious. “You found some of the Túatha Dé Danann, but you let them get away? How could that happen, Gosten!”

  The stocky warrior squirmed under the withering gaze of his chieftain. “I didn’t say we found them and I didn’t say we didn’t. The shining path Ruari claimed he saw would only be visible at night, so we’ve been trying to find it at night. Blundering around in the dark like idiots,” Gosten added under his breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “Hunting in the dark. Not easy to do, Éremón.”

  “Surely you’ve hunted game in the dark before.”

  “Deer and wild boar, yes, but not people. I’m not sure that what we were hunting this time could be described as ‘people.’ The Túatha Dé Danann are…” Gosten tried to think of the right word.

  Éremón said impatiently, “Did you find them or not?”

  “A couple of times I thought we had, but we never actually got our hands on them. We did follow them to a bend in the river below a ridge and…”

  “And?” Éremón was drumming his fingers.

  “They just weren’t there. But we could see this huge white light…”

  “White light,” Éremón repeated sarcastically. “In the dark. You were looking at the moon, you fool.”

  “It wasn’t the moon. This was entirely different, a sort of mound at the top of the ridge. Personally, I think the place is haunted. My men spooked like frightened horses and refused to go any closer. To avoid outright rebellion, I had to bring them home.”

  Éremón’s face was turning red. “You should have stayed where you were and ordered them to thoroughly investigate it, whatever it was! What’s wrong with you, Gosten? You had your orders!”

  The dwelling within the walls of the royal fort was fast vanishing over the horizon, but Gosten struggled to keep his temper. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m as loyal and obedient as anyone in your command, but I can’t do the impossible. I would like to see you march a company of warriors up a hill that glittered brighter than the stars.”

  Éremón momentarily closed his eyes, trying to imagine the scene. Recalling some of the other incidents that had happened since they came to Ierne.

  In his heart of hearts, he knew he would not have gone to investigate the glowing mound either.

  He opened his eyes and looked at Gosten. “Haunted, you say? By evil spirits?”

  “That’s what I think. A druid might be able to explain; someone like Colptha.”

  “We seem to be a little short of such druids at the moment,” Éremón replied drily. “For now, Gosten, stay away from that area and keep your men away too. We don’t want anything to weaken their resolve. If
the Dananns do still exist, we will discover them sooner or later and wipe them out.”

  Éremón spoke with the confidence the Gael expected of their chieftains, but his bravado did not reach to the marrow of his bones. He would never admit it to anyone, but from the beginning the Dananns had unnerved him. They were able to speak in his own language—albeit with a trace of an accent that strangely reminded him of Sakkar’s—although they lived on an island that had never been visited by Gaelicians. If it had been, surely the event would have become part of tribal history.

  There were other things that bothered Éremón too. No matter how hard he stared at the Dananns, he could never see them clearly. They were always at the edge of his vision, as if about to flicker out of sight. When they spoke to one another, they sounded like birds twittering. Oddest of all, they had come to battle with songs on their lips and flowers in their hair.

  There was something very wrong about the Túatha Dé Danann.

  Gosten had referred to the ridge being haunted. By what? And how malign were its intentions?

  Although Taya complained, Éremón began taking his sword to bed with him. Cold iron had worked against the Dananns before; it might protect him again.

  We had returned safely to our friends the bats but the future looked bleak. The New People were actively hunting us, and they had come too close already. I was convinced that our best protection would be to move as far away as possible.

  Shinann suggested we go beyond the Wide River. She had grown up in the west of Ierne, and her descriptions of the territory at the edge of the Cold Sea were as lyrical as a bard’s. “We would be safer there,” she assured me, “because the New People would never travel that far.”

  “They have already traveled the length of the land,” I reminded her. “If they are so determined to get us, even the Wide River won’t stop them.”

  “But they won’t know we are there, Joss! Who will tell them? The wind? I don’t think so; the breezes are our friends, not theirs.”