The Wakening Fire

by Erin O'Quinn

  Liam began to stroke my hair, and I was so distracted that I did not respond to his subtle signals. I lay unmoving and silent, thinking about Mama and her months of captivity before Sweeney found her. I had seen the ghastly scars on her wrists, but I had never let myself imagine what could have happened to her from the time she was taken from our villa until the ox cart drew up to Sweeney’s brugh. Then I thought about Sweeney, legless, being carried between two malevolent druids, being transported into the cold unknown.

  “Cat. Tell me why. Ye always the savior.”

  His words hit me like a cold blast of wind. They were the same words spoken in anger by my old friend Andreas, and in curt frustration by my former lover Kevan. Sudden tears sprang into my eyes, and I felt the old childlike hurt of being misjudged.

  I turned toward him, barely able to speak. My words were stumbling and slow. “Yes. It is a—a grievous fault. Yet I cannot help it. I need to…put—set the world right, I think. I need to know that others are not suffering. Even if it hurts me, I—I need to help others.”

  He reached out a finger and traced the tears. “I love ye for it, Caitlín. And for…thousand more reasons. I think…every day I must tell ye why I love ye.”

  I had thought at first that his words were a rebuke. I had not expected his pure love and understanding, and somehow that made the sorrow filling my throat even more palpable. I cried silently while he stroked my hair over and over again. “Hush, hush, Cat. A mo chuisle, mo chroí.” I buried my head in his chest, craving his comfort. And after a long time I slept.

  Chapter 25:

  Where Druids Go

  I was awake and sitting in the bathing tub’s cold water one hour before dawn the next day. I let Liam lie, sprawled across the bed in deep slumber, while I washed and dressed. The fire needed only more heaps of wood, and our breakfast was as easy as cracking a few eggs and mixing a cauldron of stir-about.

  He embraced me from behind as I stood at the fire pit. “Maidin mhaith, Cat. what are…plans for today?”

  I turned, and my arms encircled his naked chest. I greeted him in our old way. “Dia duit, I love you.” He tipped my chin toward his mouth, and we kissed tenderly, without our usual passion. Both of us always knew when the time was not right. “I need to discover where two druids might want to flee with a heavy passenger.”

  “When I wake up, I have the answer. I know where druids go.”

  “What? Liam, what do you mean?” I saw that his eyes were grave yet full of certainty.

  “Always seek the stones, Cat. The sacred stones.”

  Suddenly, I knew that Liam was right. I had seen the stones a few times as I traveled, and Liam and his family must have seen them hundreds of times as they drove their cattle. I remembered back to when the pilgrims and I had seen a heap of stones on our way to Armagh, and how Liam’s two brothers knelt at the base of the largest stone, in front of a small circle of charred rocks where countless fires had been lit.

  I laughed and hugged his huge shoulders. “Liam, you have solved the puzzle! Of course, they would seek the ancient stones as a priest would seek a church. The question is, where will we find such a stone? It needs to be near enough for them to walk with a man in an invalid’s cart.”

  “Do ye remember Machaire Rátha, a Cháit? Where we knelt one day in the grass?”

  I thought back to that day months ago when Liam, Ryan, and I traveled from the great Lough Neagh. Ryan had seen the huge group of old stones in the distance and called us to see one immense stone that had somehow been placed on top of two or three others, tilted to the rising sun.

  “Yes. But that is too far from Derry, at least three or four days’ walk. What of other stones in this area? Who could tell us?” I was starting to get excited, as though the answer were just beyond my fingertips.

  “Need to…ask ollamh,” he said confidently.

  “But how do we find an ollamh?” As soon as I said it, I knew the answer. “Hah! I know two scholars—Luke and Jericho. Both of them could tell us what we need to know.”

  As we sat eating breakfast, we made rough plans. “I will go to the school first thing. Today is Luke’s day to teach. If he cannot help us, Jericho will be right there in Galen’s house. I will take the answer to Brindl’s, to our Triús meeting. I think a few of the ladies would be eager to help us. And then we will ride to the bally trench to get you, and Glaed and Thom, too.”

  “Glaed needs to gather his men. I…tell him right away. We have army to ride with us.”

  I laughed and reached out to touch his handsome face. “We may not need an army this time, a ghrá. But you are right. We need to scare those two frauds with more than a crow and a magpie.”

  When I met the druid brothers four months ago, they were flanking the high king, smug in their belief that their narcotics were poisoning him, bending him to their will. I was able to trick the tricksters with a bit of stage magic, helped by Jay Feather’s two irascible companions Talon and Claw. I laughed aloud now, remembering how the terrified Loch and Lucet threw themselves to the floor and covered their heads with their robes.

  “I think today I will change out of my triús and into my red fox. I think the holy brothers need to be reminded of the warrior Macha.”

  Liam grinned. “Me brother Torin told me…you were terrible goddess Macha that day. Love to see you in your fox, me little fox. Change now.”

  And so I did. When I walked to the horses to join Liam, his eyes smoldered as I stood before him in the close-fitting tunic Magpie had fashioned for me. “Oh, oh, Cat,” he said, and he drew me close with the foxtail that circled my waist. He began to nibble my lower lip, and soon his tongue was probing my mouth.

  “Wait, wait.” I laughed. “Let us find Sweeney first.”

  We rode our separate ways, I on the pretty strawberry roan Clíona. She had not been ridden for several days, and she was exuberant as she galloped along the familiar path to the church.

  I tethered her under the great oak and hurried into the school. I was fortunate, for Luke had not yet started his instruction. As soon as I walked in the door, I saw his lanky form straddling a bench, and I hurried up to him.

  “Luke,” I cried as I entered, “I need your help!”

  He looked at me, amazed, and he stood up. He ran one hand through his dark hair. At once, it stood up in its usual awkward angles. He held out his hands to me. I grasped them and squeezed them as hard as I could.

  “Cay! I heard you were back. And I know about Sweeney. Ah, I am really sorry. What can I do to help you? I mean sit, sit here with me and talk to me. Tell me what you need!”

  I smiled and almost laughed aloud at his consternation. What a wonderful friend he was to me! “Thank you, dear friend. I have puzzled out Sweeney’s disappearance. I think he left with Loch and Lucet.”

  “No! The druids? How could they just arrive and walk away with him?”

  “Luke, I promise I will tell you all about it later. But now, time is our enemy. I need you to tell me where to find the nearest sacred stones.”

  “The cairns? There are not too many close to Derry, Caylith. But there is one special place, perhaps five or six miles from here. Bear south and east. It stands near a place they call ‘Clóidigh.’ I believe it means ‘the washing river.’ It may be easy to find, for I hear it lies where two rivers join. Take the ox-cart path that you will find near the dwarf enclaves.”

  I was thunderstruck by his knowledge. “How do you know so much, dear Luke?”

  His face immediately reddened. “Ah, no, I—I have a keen memory, Cay. As you do, too. I have heard a few of the local people speak of going there to heal a palsy or a sick child.”

  “Yes! That seals my conviction, Luke. Sweeney often went to a clootie well to bathe his poor legs. He may have been convinced by the druids that the waters can help him.”

  “Ah, yes, a clootie well. I have heard of them, Cay, but never have I seen one.”

  “I promise I will take you one day to the well near Limavady. Oh,
and something else, Luke. I also promised you that I would introduce you to Quince, but I missed church last Sunday. Will you accept my apologies and wait a few more days?”

  He smiled and hugged me. “I have waited for more than twenty years, and I can wait a few more days. I wish you a hasty return—and not just for the sake of meeting pretty Quince.”

  And then I was flying like swans to Brindl’s teach. All four of the Triús were already there, practicing in Brin and Thom’s hurling field. I told them the good news, that we were almost certain to find Sweeney near the place called “Clóidigh.”

  Brigid’s eyes were bright. “Yes. Claudy. I should have known.” She pronounced it almost as though it were “cloudy,” an overcast day.

  “Which of the Terrible Trousers can ride with us?” I looked around at my warrior companions. Brindl stood looking resolute, her mouth set in a firm line. Swallow was smiling, tossing her lovely hair behind her shoulders as if to say, “Bring it on!” I knew without asking that Brigid was ready. Only Magpie looked unsure.

  “Cay,” she said in her little bell-like voice, “I think my bum would be one large callus. My riding skills have not yet developed, for I have no horse.”

  “And I would not expect you to go, dear little Mag. You and I will take riding lessons as soon as I get back. You can practice with NimbleFoot, a mount nearer to your own size. Ride with us anyway, as far as the enclaves, and show us the ox-cart path to Claudy.”

  “I will, SoothTeller,” she said.

  Soon all of us were saddled and ready to fly. Mag sat in front of Swallow on Torin’s horse.

  “Ladies, this is the first test of our mettle. Let us capture two druids and bring home a fugitive for the final time.”

  * * * *

  We paused near a path where the woods began anew, some thousand feet from the dwarf enclaves. Magpie showed us the ruts made by ox carts and wagons, by feet that had trodden this path countless times traveling to the curative waters at Claudy. I looked at a score of riders, poised to gallop as swiftly as possible to seek the sacred stone.

  Besides Liam and I, Brigid and Michael sat in the vanguard waiting to travel. Right behind us rode Brindl and Thom. Glaed had brought ten of his Keepers, and they stayed at the rear. In the middle, improbable as it seemed, sat Torin alone on his stallion. And next to them, sharing a stout mare, sat Swallow and her mother Mockingbird.

  As soon as we had entered the enclaves a little while ago, Swallow had run to tell her mother and Torin what had happened. When Swallow emerged from the portal, I saw that Torin was with her. And then I saw a sight that still amazed me as I thought about it. Mockingbird, dressed in a tiny pair of drover’s bríste, walked resolutely up the spiraling stairs to join our group.

  She seemed to glare at me, although I judged her not. “What? You think I am here because I do not trust the young lovers? The truth is, I am here so that they may be together.”

  When I thought about it, I realized what she was doing. She could have allowed Swallow to ride with Torin, but the two would not be able to do more than look longingly at each other the entire time, bound by his promise to Moc, that he must touch her only in the presence of her family. I grinned now, looking at them. Moc looked almost jaunty, as though she had ridden a horse her entire life, and Swallow’s cheeks stayed suffused with a deep blush. Together, the two small riders were almost equal to one normal rider.

  Liam lifted his hand high in silent signal, and we all began to ride. At the risk of our stalwart horses, we galloped most of the way, pausing fairly often to let them rest and drink. There were enough streams along the way that none of us lacked for fresh water. I was glad for the path, even though it was not even close to what we in Britannia would have called a “road.” Pitted, broken in many places by recent rains, it nevertheless pointed always to our destination.

  During one of our rest periods, near to midday, I guided Clíona to where Moc and Swallow stood by their contented mare, who stood like a great cow chewing the longish grass by the side of a stream.

  “Ladies. How is your journey so far?”

  “Fine, Cay,” said Swallow.

  “I have traveled more comfortably,” retorted Moc.

  “Where did you learn to ride, Moc?” I asked, genuinely curious. How many dwarf women had ever even touched a horse, let alone sat astride one?

  “My late husband was like my brother Jay—a renegade and a ruffian. I insisted that he teach me, really in self-defense. If he insisted on riding out on some folly, I was damned if I would sit at home alone waiting for him.”

  I laughed aloud, amending my inner question. How many dwarf women ever rode a horse, and swore like a sailor besides? Mockingbird was a true treasure—what Liam would call an thaisce.

  Before I rode back to join Liam, I teased Torin. “I think Moc needs to ride your stallion while you contend with the great cow she travels on.”

  “Aye, Cate,” he said, refusing to take the bait. “I think Ryan might call her one of his best drovers. An’ sure she would do it, but she needs to drive Swallow an’ her hapless swain Lugh instead.”

  We both laughed merrily at the thought, and I rode back to rejoin Liam.

  “How much longer, do you think?” I asked him.

  “Michael an’ I think two hours, Cat. Before setting of the sun.”

  “I think we need a plan when we find the stone.”

  “Tell us.”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. What if we talk together—you and Michael, Glaed and Torin, Thom, Brindl, and the others. We need the Sophocles brain.”

  At his puzzled look, I said, “The brain of all of us thinking together is better than the brain of one. I will ride around and ask each person to think about it, and in one hour we will ride together and talk it out.”

  And that is just what I did. An hour later, the Sophocles brain rode together slowly, each of us advancing ideas for how to take Sweeney. Long before sunset, we had settled on a plan of action.

  We now had the lay of the land, in a way. The stone would no doubt lie in a clearing, close to the confluence of two rivers. When we saw the sacred stone, hopefully from a distance, we would dismount and lie on the ground, as low and flat as possible. If there were trees nearby, that would be even better, for we could tether the horses out of sight while we slowly circled the stone. I had reasoned that Sweeney would respond to my entreaty, for I would be able to entice him with news of his long-sought father.

  Torin was dubious about Loch and Lucet letting Sweeney simply give up. “They probably have a future fortune invested in Sweeney, else why bother to help him? Pah!” and he spat on the ground. “I know those conniving wolves. They will surrender only to force, not to reason.”

  “As the force of ten GlaedKeepers?” Glaedwine growled.

  “Wait! You have given me an idea!” I told them what I had in mind, and soon the group agreed on a plan of action.

  * * * *

  The sky was beginning to streak with red and orange when we saw the cairn. From our vantage, it stood about six feet, pale in color, with other stones standing nearby in a kind of soldierly array as if guarding the king stone. The land all around was bare, short scrub grass. I could hear the cleansing rivers flowing not too far away.

  Standing by the stone, their hands raised to the setting sun, were two gaunt, beardless men, dressed in robes as pale as the stone. And next to them, his head also raised to the setting sun, sat Owen Sweeney in his invalid’s cart.

  At my signal, the clansmen began to circle the stone, about five hundred feet way. Inside their circle moved the Glad Keepers. And the innermost circle was made up of four small women, each armed with a gleaming shillelagh. When everyone was in place, their heads low to the ground, I crept close to the ground and joined the Triús.

  “Remember,” I whispered. “Wait for the words ‘Curse of the warrior goddesses.’ Then you may strike.”

  When I was twenty feet from Sweeney, I called out, “Owen. It is I, Caylith. Come to take
you home.”

  His head snapped toward the sound of my voice. I was crouched behind one of the sentry stones. “Leave us, you interfering Harpy, you rapacious vulture. Take your raven and your crow and prey on someone else.”

  His tone was as bitter as I had ever heard it, and I smarted at his abusive language. “Owen,” I called again. “I am not here to take you by force. I swear it by my mother, by all I hold dear. I am here to tell you of your father, and to take you to your family.”

  The druid brothers had begun to converge on Sweeney’s cart, their straight, black hair rising and falling in the cold wind. One of them—I called both of them Loch-Lucet—said something in Gaelic to Sweeney. I knew that they could not speak my tongue, and so they would not know my intentions, only that I was here to take their precious Sweeney.

  Sweeney’s eyes bored into the distance where he thought I was hidden. “My friends bid you approach. They say that they will not hurt you if you throw down your arms immediately.”

  “Tá go maith,” I answered. “Very well. Tell your…friends that they must not provoke the anger of Macha. Even though you do not believe it, they will.”

  He laughed, a nasty, sneering laugh that made me shiver. “I love to watch a good bit of theater. I will tell them to restrain their dire curses—the ones designed to bring you to your knees.”

  I walked from my cover, into the sight of Loch-Lucet. Slowly I drew the shillelagh from my belt and threw it to the ground. I removed my long knife from its sheath and tossed it near the shillelagh. “You see? I am unarmed. Tell them I would take only you back to Derry. I do not seek them.”

  Sweeney exchanged a few words with the glowering twins while I waited. “They say they do not trust you. You are a powerful druid, as they are also. They would not let you seize me and use me to your vile purposes.”