by Caiseal Mor
Chapter 14
AFTER ALL THE WARRIORS, MEN AND WOMEN WERE seated on the ground with their meal Dalan settled on the top of the stone to tell the tale of the invaders, the folk who called themselves the Milesians. Cecht noticed that Isleen and Lochie did not stay for the meal. They had disappeared together into the darkness when Dalan called the feast.
“The Gaedhals are kinfolk to our people,” the Brehon began. “Though they traveled a different path to reach Innisfail. Their last king was called Míl and he lived in the land of the Iberi to the south over the ocean. His ancestors came from Falias, one of the ancient cities of our own forebears on the Islands of the West.” The Brehon coughed to clear his throat. “The Fir-Bolg and the Tuatha De Danaan were one people with the Gaedhals in those days.”
“Are they truly kin to us?” Brocan cut in.
“Strictly speaking they are,” Dalan replied cautiously. “Though their ways are somewhat barbarous. King Gaedhal was a renegade, a raider, a pirate and at one time an outcast. His descendants have inherited his disdain for the law. But Míl, their last king, was famed as a just man. Therefore they prefer to be known by his name rather than by that which our ancestors knew them, the Gaedhals.”
“Why should we go to war with our cousins?” Cecht asked and Brocan smiled to think that a close blood tie had never before stopped the Danaans from engaging in battle.
“You and I aren't such distant kinfolk,” the King of the Fir-Bolg pointed out. “And yet we've been at war for generations.”
“Our kinship is close,” Cecht admitted. “We fought against your folk because your ancestors wouldn't yield a portion of the land to us.”
“You'd no right to demand it.”
“Right of conquest,” the Danaan king countered. “That's our claim on this land. We defeated your people at the battle of Mag Tuireadh. A treaty was agreed and we should have lived in peace after it.”
“But your warriors didn't honor the treaty,” Brocan reminded him. “They entered the holy places without leave from our Druids. They cut down the oak groves and planted their own trees.”
“Then your kings made a treacherous pact with the Fomor,” Cecht countered.
“What choice did they have but to seek help from beyond the shores of Innisfail?”
“Balor, King of the Fomorians, was our common enemy,” King Cecht reminded him. “His sea-raiders murdered Fir-Bolg and Danaan alike. And they were strangers. They were not people of Danu as we are. The Fomor came from the frozen north.”
“The Fir-Bolg had driven out the Fomorians long before your folk sailed to these shores. Balor offered us freedom from Danaan rule if we followed him.”
“You were betrayed by him,” the Danaan king scoffed.
“We weren't to know of the weapon he'd created,” Brocan protested. “We weren't to know he'd use the Evil Eye to attack our own folk once the host of the Danaan had been defeated. And we couldn't have even guessed he had created the Watchers. If these things had been known to us, and if the Danaans had listened to our grievances about their unjust rule of Innisfail, the war with Balor would never have happened the way it did.”
“The western Fir-Bolg of the Burren were Balor's strongest supporters,” Cecht hissed. “Your clan. Your kin.”
“Be careful, my lord,” Riona interrupted, “or my husband will end up fighting the Fomorian wars all over again with you. He can be very stubborn.” Her lips moved in the faintest hint of a smile.
“You're both talking about times long past,” Dalan agreed. “Mistakes were made on both sides. But often what ails us can also heal us, as Fineen would say. We must learn from our mistakes so we may stand united in the face of this new threat.”
“It's plain to me the Danaans should fight their own battles and leave the Fir-Bolg to pursue our separate destiny,” Brocan declared.
“The destiny of the Danaans and the Fir-Bolg is entwined whether you like it or not,” the Brehon countered. “We've already become one people. The Druid Assembly is made up of men and women from both kin. The kings of the east and north refer to their subjects as Tuatha De Danaan. The People of the Goddess Danu. She's our common ancestor and she's watching over us as always.”
“Is Danu the ancestor of the Milesians?” Cecht cut in. “You said they're our cousins.”
“They claim to be of her bloodline,” Dalan told him. “But they trace themselves from one of their early queens.”
“Will we find ourselves threatened by the Milesian Draoi?” the Danaan pressed.
Dalan shrugged his shoulders. “We don't know much about their skills in the Draoi-Craft.”
“Then we must call on the sacred treasures bequeathed to us by our ancestors,” Cecht decided. “That would put paid to the power of their Druids. And it'd settle the problem of these invaders without the need for alliance with the Fir-Bolg.”
There was a general murmur of approval from all the Danaans at this suggestion.
“Everywhere else in Innisfail there is already alliance,” Dalan replied in frustration. “All the other kings have been at peace for more than three generations. Only you two keep the coals of the old quarrel glowing bright. Your fellow kings and chieftains need all your warriors to fight.”
“What of the four treasures?” Brocan protested. “Cecht is right. The treasures would surely end any threat from the Milesians.”
“The Druid Assembly is reluctant to bring the four treasures to bear. The sacred gifts of our ancestors have lain silent since the defeat of Balor. Even in those times the Druid Assembly was not happy to call on the awesome Draoi which the treasures can rise. And in these times there's not anyone living who has even witnessed the use of them. The secrets of their rituals are remembered but no one has practiced ceremonies for the four treasures since before the time of Balor.”
“The Sword of Cleaving should be delivered to the warrior class,” Cecht argued. “The Druid master, Us-cias of Findias, created that blade for my people to use should the need arise.”
“And the Spear of Flame should be given over also,” Brocan added. “These weapons were merely given into the care of the Druids in the ancient days. It's time they were returned to the warriors who can wield them for the good of all.”
Dalan smiled. “Esras of Gorias was a renowned and wise Druid. When he fashioned the Spear of Flame for your ancestors, Brocan, he understood he had given into their hands a weapon so devastating no warrior would be able to withstand the temptation to use it. Or to use it often if given the opportunity. That's why the Ollamh-Dreamers hold that weapon in their keeping. Only the Dream-Seers can be trusted to preserve such an artifact without the temptation to employ it.”
“What would Druids know of warfare?” the Fir-Bolg king scoffed.
“The Ollamh-Dreamers hold a strong connection with the Otherworld; matters which seem important to us are trivial to any who walk the paths of the lands beyond life. The Spear of Flame has been used with ill intent in the past. In war against the Fomor the Fir-Bolg directed the heat of the Spear toward the watchtowers of their enemies. The very stones of the fortresses melted before the power of that weapon. I need not explain to you what effect that Spear had on the Fomor themselves.”
“The Fomorians were our enemies,” Brocan protested.
“And if you had possessed the Spear of Flame, would you have directed it toward the Danaans?”
Brocan dropped his head and did not answer.
Dalan continued, “The Druid Assembly has agreed that the sacred treasures are beyond the skill of any living warrior to wield.”
“Surely the warrior class should be allowed to make that decision,” Cecht grunted. “We've trained all our lives to protect our people from outside threat. It's all we know.”
“You've spent your adult lives squabbling,” Riona laughed, cutting in again. “You've hurled everything from petty insults to war spears at each other. If the Druid Assembly were to release the spear and the sword into your hands, I'm sure you would quickly di
spatch the Milesians. But it wouldn't be long before you turned these two weapons against each other. Innisfail would be devastated.”
Both kings looked to the ground together and fell silent at her rebuke.
“The four treasures of Innisfail,” Dalan told them, “are to be kept from harm and harmful intent. You have only to walk the countryside around to see the damage the sword and the spear did when they were used. When the war with the Fomor was done, it was the warriors who gave the sacred treasures into the keeping of the Ollamh-Dreamers. Those kings who'd seen the devastation didn't want to witness such destruction again. Nor did they want to pass that power on to their children.
“The Cauldron of Plenty, the Stone of Destiny, the Sword of Cleaving and the Spear of Flame are at this moment being concealed deep within the earth in a place where only the Ollamh-Dreamers will be able to find them again. Those objects will stay beyond the reach of all until the danger of invasion has passed.”
“The Druid Assembly has made this decision.” Cecht was unconvinced. “And as always the Druids are serving their own ends. They don't tell us ordinary folk all we should know. They throw us scraps of information in the same way I cast fatty portions of meat to my dogs. We never see the choicest cuts of the roast.”
“The Druid Assembly has a responsibility just as you do,” the Brehon snapped. “Do you think we could avoid invasion forever? This land is rich and fertile. The seas all about are abundant with the fruits of the ocean. It was inevitable some adventurer from beyond the waves would come to our land one day, see the bounty we enjoy, then try to take it away from us.”
Dalan turned to the gathered warriors, hoping to appeal to his listeners.
“The Druid Assembly has known about the coming of the Gaedhals for a long while. Their arrival was prophesied. And so the Dagda and his advisers have had many seasons to formulate their strategy. War is not the way of the holy orders. We don't rely on our skill at arms to perform our duties. It's the responsibility of the Druid class to ensure all other possibilities are exhausted before the warriors are called upon to do their duty. And you as warriors must realize you're our last line of defense.”
“If the Fir-Bolg retain our sovereignty over western Innisfail,” Brocan nodded, “I'll be satisfied. I don't wish to share this land with any more invaders.”
“And the Danaan folk wish only for peace,” Cecht agreed, grudgingly. “If these aims can be achieved without bloodshed, then I'll be happy. But if the Druid Assembly has judged poorly, each and every one of us here tonight will regret the day we placed our faith in unreliable Draoi tricks over the firm hand of the warriors.”
“I pray it never comes to that,” Dalan sighed. “May Danu protect us.”
While the warriors of the Fir-Bolg and the Danaan were listening to Dalan's tales Isleen and Lochie had already departed the battleground to travel north. They covered great distances quickly for they were not bound to the material world as others were. Once they shed their skins they were free to go wherever they wished.
They hovered over the Island of the Tower, a bleak deserted mass of rock and ruins off the northern coast of Innisfail. No one lived there anymore. No fisherman or traveler ever visited. It was a barren, cold, lonely and haunting place. Only the two remaining Watchers ever stood upon its stony shore to look back on Innisfail with envy and vengeance.
Balor's fortress had long since been dismantled by the victorious Danaans. The beautifully hewn stones of its walls had been hurled into the ocean so they might never be used again. Just beneath the surface of the waves at low tide these blocks could still sometimes be glimpsed scattered haphazardly as if they had tumbled down to the shore in the destruction of the Tower of Balor.
“I remember best of all,” Lochie began wistfully, “the polished surface of the stone which covered the tower.”
“It was the same as fine glass,” Isleen reminisced. “At dusk the whole structure glowed in a golden fire lit by the brilliance of the dying sun.”
“And in the evening as the Northern Lights danced around the sky the tower mirrored their spectacle,” Lochie added.
“Now this place is empty,” Isleen said sadly. “Even the ghosts have long since departed. Only we return again and again.”
“Are we not ghosts?”
“Ghosts!” Isleen gasped in shock. “I don't think of myself as a ghost. I'm a living being. I've retained my mental faculties. I choose where I go. I'm not bound to a particular place or person. And if I wish I can leave this world whenever I choose.”
“As long as you have no fear of spending the rest of eternity trapped within a granite standing stone wishing every moment that the moments would wear down your prison into sand.”
“I have fed on fear for so long,” she admitted, “that I do not always recognize it in myself.”
“We inspire fear,” Lochie pointed out. “But not the fear a simple haunting might conjure. We are masters of dread and yet few folk feel uncomfortable in our presence.”
“If only they knew!” she laughed.
“Dalan knows.”
“What?”
“I've spoken with him,” he stated baldly.
“Are you mad?” Isleen raged. “We're forbidden to make contact with anyone on that subject. It's strictly against the laws of Balor.”
“Let him come and reprimand me,” Lochie laughed. Then he turned away from the ocean to look back at the island. “Balor!” he cried. “I've broken your laws. Come and deal out your justice and punishment. Do your worst. I don't fear you anymore.”
His voice echoed over the rocks. There was no answer.
“There are no rules to bind us any longer,” Lochie told Isleen. “No one can tell us what we may or may not do. If we choose to break convention, who'll berate us? Certainly not old Balor. He's gone.”
Isleen frowned. “I know it's true but in the back of my mind I haven't been able to accept it. I've carried on all along as if nothing had changed since the defeat of our people.”
“It is time we threw off any thoughts of revenge or victory against the Danaans. Our folk are long gone. The sea-raiders of the Fomor have passed away forever. We must look to our own future. I have a feeling that if we can overcome this terrible burden we carry, we will have achieved a great victory for our people.”
“What did you tell the Brehon?”
“Everything,” Lochie confessed. “Except that we are posing as two Druids from the north.”
“Why him?” Isleen demanded.
“Dalan was given to the Ollamh-Dreamers when he began his training. As his talent was realized he was sent by his teachers to study law. He may one day be elected to the office of Dagda. If we can gain his sympathy and support he may be able to help us find the peace we are both so desperately seeking.”
“Why would one such as he choose to help us? We are his enemies, sworn to bring havoc to his people at every opportunity.”
“He is a good man. And I believe he has a gentle heart. Dalan cannot stand to see any soul in suffering. That is why he has been selected as a possible candidate for Dagda.
“Dalan has been researching the Draoi-Music,” Lochie explained. “The Ollamh-Dreamers are compiling a collection of songs of power which were used in the ancient days to bring plenty or to curse the land as the singers wished. There may be a song in that collection which will free us from our bonds.”
“Can you be certain?” she snapped, still unconvinced by his decision to reveal their presence to Dalan.
“No,” Lochie admitted, “but I don't believe Balor would have created creatures such as us without also retaining the power to destroy us if necessary.”
Isleen's eyes lit with hope. “You're right,” she whispered, beginning to see his point. “Why didn't we think of it before?”
“Our loyalty to Balor blinded us. Until now it would have been unthinkable for us to consider betraying him, even though he's little more than a memory.”
“Yet all along he'd planned to era
dicate us when we'd outlived our usefulness to him,” Isleen ruminated. “Is that what you're saying?”
“You knew him as well as I did,” Lochie replied coldly. “What do you think he would have done with us if we'd become difficult? Or if we'd held him to ransom with our power? Balor took a great risk in creating beings more powerful than himself. He must have had a plan to deal with us if we ever challenged him.”
“Why do you think the answer lies in the Draoi-Music?” Isleen pressed.
“Because Balor was fascinated with all things Danaan. And because the Danaans only used their songs to control the elements and the material world. They had no mastery over the spirit with their songs.”
“Yet they knew the melodies for opening the doorway between the worlds,” Isleen pointed out.
“They knew how to summon the physical doorway on this side,” Lochie countered, “but they had no knowledge of what lay beyond. They still don't know very much about the spirit world really, do they?”
“You're right,” she conceded. “But how do we convince Dalan to help us?”
“He is sympathetic. But more importantly he would dearly love to see us banished from the world to the Halls of Waiting because he sees us as a threat to the peace and stability of Innisfail.”
“Have you asked him to help us?”
“I have,” Lochie sighed. “But I fear he is distracted with this invasion. I now regret I ever drew the Gaedhals to this land for Dalan will have no time to help us until the invaders have been dealt with.”
“Then we must give him good reason to want to help us,” Isleen declared.
“What do you mean?”
“The Milesians are here now. We may as well use their presence to our advantage. If we openly cause havoc, perhaps Dalan will be inspired to work harder to find a way to release us.”
“Do you mean we should reveal ourselves?” Lochie asked incredulously.
