by Caiseal Mor
“I knew it was you,” exclaimed Aoife when they had been made comfortable. “I knew I wasn't dreaming.”
Isleen raised an eyebrow at Lochie. “Where is Mahon tonight?” she asked the young woman, casually changing the subject.
“He was tired,” she answered with disappointment in her voice. “There was a disagreement between my father and his. He thought it best to retire.”
“Perhaps you should seek him out,” Lochie suggested. “He's probably upset by all the arguing and needs comforting.”
Aoife's eyes lit up.
“Never rush into a man's arms,” Isleen advised. “Let him be.”
“I'll just look in on him,” the young woman said.
Lochie caught his companion's eye as the young girl left the fireside. Isleen was scowling.
“We're both exhausted from our journey,” the Bard explained to those present. “Tomorrow we'll tell our news.”
Then the two of them made their way out of the hall toward the guesthouse.
Sárán was seated just within the door and it was he who greeted them.
“We didn't expect to see you both here this night,” the young man said in surprise.
“We didn't expect to be here ourselves,” Isleen answered and she touched Sárán's hand lightly. “You have the look of a raven about you, my lad,” she told him softly.
Sárán blushed.
“Your eyes are bright and clear. Your hair is as black as soot. You'd be a beautiful bird if you had been born of the winged folk.”
“I've often watched the birds of the air with envy,” the young man admitted. “I have often wished to know the freedom they experience. Indeed, before I took the Druid learning I was nicknamed the Raven. Fineen considers it unseemly for a student to be addressed in such a prestigious manner. One day I'll earn the name.”
“Be careful,” Lochie warned him. “If you wish for something with a deep heartfelt desire, it may be granted.”
Sárán frowned and Isleen laughed.
“Don't listen to him,” she mocked. “He met a seal-woman once who stole his heart away and then left him to pine for her. He's ever after been fascinated with the shape-shifters.”
“Shape-shifters?” Sárán replied with obvious interest.
“Those beings who have perfected the art of changing from one form to another at will,” Lochie explained. “Has your teacher not spoken of them?”
“No. He's never mentioned them.”
“We've had more important work to do,” Fineen interrupted, looking up from the fireside. The healer scrutinized the pair carefully before he spoke again. “How did you manage to make your way here so quickly? I'd heard you were in the east keeping a watch on the Milesians.”
“So we were,” Lochie explained. “But we followed the fleet around the southern coast and realized they were making for this place. And so we traveled as quickly as we could, hoping to arrive in time to give warning.”
“You're not weary from your journey?” Dalan asked from his seat by the hearth.
“We have been on the road since we were children,” Isleen laughed. “Such a trip is nothing to us.”
“But there's no dust on your clothes,” the healer observed. “And your shoes are clean.”
“Our teacher taught us the importance of being well presented when we visit the kings of Innisfail.” Isleen shrugged. “That is obviously not a skill imparted by the Danaan Druids.”
“Who was your teacher?” Dalan cut in suspiciously.
“Cromlann the Old,” Lochie answered without hesitation. “After his death we both went to the lands of the Bretani to conclude our studies. But Cromlann was our first teacher.”
“I knew him well.” The Brehon nodded. “He was a fine harper. Even up to the day he died.”
“There was none finer.”
“But Cromlann passed away over forty summers ago,” Dalan added. “I was just a boy when he fell ill. You could not have possibly known him.”
“Perhaps Lochie and I are older than you might guess,” Isleen cut in.
Dalan's eyes narrowed.
“Sit with us then and we will share our tales of the road,” Fineen offered in an attempt to dispel the tension. “But I beg you not to distract my student with stories of the shape-shifters. Their day has passed and gone.”
“And may we never be plagued with their evil again,” Dalan added sharply.
“Now I know who you are talking about,” Sárán cut in. “The Watchers.”
“There is nothing more to be said on this matter!” the Brehon barked sharply. “We have more pressing concerns.”
Fineen raised his eyebrows at this unexpected outburst but made no comment. Instead he picked up the conversation where it had been when the two travelers had arrived.
“Brocan will calm down,” the healer assured his fellow Druid. “He is renowned for his outbursts. I forgive him easily for his temper is usually followed by deep remorse.”
“The king is a stubborn man,” Dalan sighed. “And now his wife is taking opposition to him. I do not imagine he will be convinced easily. And even if he were to enter into an alliance with the Danaans, it is not certain he could be trusted.”
“We have no choice but to give our trust to him,” Fineen replied.
“Forgive my intrusion in this matter,” Lochie interrupted, “but Brocan's reluctance to ally with Cecht is well known. I understand he is a stubborn man but perhaps he has not been persuaded because he has not yet heard the right argument.”
“What better argument is there than the survival of his people?” Dalan asked. “What more can we say to him?”
“There is the matter of the debt he owes to Cecht as a result of Fearna's death,” Lochie suggested. “I know it has been an overwhelming burden on his people and a source of great worry to the king. If that debt could somehow be laid aside for the time being, you might find him much more cooperative.”
“Such a debt cannot be annulled,” Fineen pointed out. “It would create a dangerous precedent in future cases.”
“Then do not annul it.” Lochie shrugged. “Simply change the nature of the fine.”
“Are you suggesting I adjust the judgment?” Dalan frowned.
Lochie nodded. “Instead of paying his debt in cows,” he suggested, “make him pay with the service of his warriors and the allegiance of his people to the Danaans.”
“He would not be able to refuse,” Fineen agreed tentatively.
“And it could be stipulated that the alliance only remain in effect until the threat of invasion is ended,” Lochie added.
“I will need to think about this carefully,” the Brehon sighed, already considering the possibilities. “This has never been done before and I would want to make sure Brocan can raise no objections.”
“It is a solution to the problem,” the healer admitted with mounting excitement. “Why did we not think of it?”
“Because in the long term such a judgment may cause us more problems than it solves,” Dalan countered. “Though I must admit it would solve our dilemma now.”
“I have been a close confidant of Brocan's since he was elected,” Lochie told them. “Let me present this to him as an honorable way to bring about a settlement.”
“I made the judgment,” the Brehon objected. “It should be me who makes the offer.”
“I fear Brocan does not trust you. You passed a judgment against him which, we both know, revealed the deeper truth of Fearna's death. In my opinion he considers you responsible for his shaming and the debt laid upon his people.”
“He must know I would not do anything to endanger the best interests of the Fir-Bolg.”
“Nevertheless,” Lochie said, holding the palm of his hand up in protest, “I believe he will more likely listen to my advice than yours.”
Dalan narrowed his eyes and cast a glance at Isleen. The Brehon could not understand why his suspicions were raised by these two. They seemed to have a knowledge of the Druid Assembly's deci
sions and to hold the interests of the people of Innisfail at heart. But his instincts screamed out a warning to him.
“I will consider what you have said very carefully,” the Brehon told Lochie. “Nothing can be done until morning in any case. King Brocan has gone to bed.”
“He has asked that I attend to him after midnight to offer advice,” the traveling Bard informed them. “It would be an excellent opportunity to broach the subject.”
“Indeed,” Fineen agreed immediately. “I can see no other way of placating him and bringing him into the Danaan camp. It is worth a try.”
“Very well,” Dalan reluctantly conceded. “Broach the subject with him. Make no commitment. Give no assurances. Offer no guarantees. Tell him it is merely one solution and the whole matter is still open to discussion.”
“I will do so.” Lochie smiled. “Let us hope that at last the deadlock may be broken.”
“At last,” Fineen repeated with a sigh. “Brocan has become more and more difficult to deal with each passing moon.”
“And Riona has turned against him now,” the Brehon agreed.
“We passed King Cecht on his way out to find her,” Isleen told them.
“Where has my mother gone?” Sárán inquired with concern.
“I have no idea. Perhaps down to the sea to be alone.”
“But there are Milesians abroad!” the young man protested. “I must go and see she is safe.”
“I will accompany you,” Isleen offered, standing up.
Lochie raised an eyebrow. “Don't worry about Brocan, wife. I'll see to him. You go and search for Riona with this young man.”
“Thank you, husband,” she replied sweetly. “ Perhaps between us we will be able to sort this whole mess out and bring the Danaans and the Fir-Bolg together.”
“I am certain we will,” he assured her. “For now I will sit with our colleagues to discuss the other news of the war. We have been away for a long while and I would like to catch up on the latest developments.”
When Sárán and Isleen had taken their leave, Lochie turned to Fineen. “Now tell me about the Quicken berries. I heard a rumor the Druid Assembly is going to plant the great tree afresh to ensure a good supply of the fruit. Is that true?”
Dalan did not raise his eyes from the fire as the healer explained the plan. The Brehon was already trying to understand the strange sense he had that something was terribly wrong.
“Your father is no longer fit to rule,” Isleen told Sárán after they had passed the sentries at the gate.
“Then it's up to the Council of Chieftains to replace him,” the young man replied cautiously.
“Your brother would make a fine king,” she continued as she put her arm through his.
“He is not yet a warrior.”
“He is young and strong. With a Druid such as yourself behind him he would be a fine king. You have a good sense of right and wrong, don't you?”
“I have learned much under the tutelage of Fineen,” Sárán sighed. “And the most important lesson has been that I have so much more yet to learn. Perhaps one day when I am older I will ask the council to consider me as an adviser to the king. For the time being it would be better if someone like Fergus, who is a skilled warrior and a wise man, were to take my father's place and Dalan to advise him.”
“You agree that Brocan must be replaced?”
“If my father refuses to accept this last concession,” the young man admitted, “then the council will have no choice. None of our people wishes to prolong the old fight with the Danaans. We all understand the peril facing us. It is just unfortunate my father insists on being so obstinate.”
“His pride has been injured,” she conceded. “It is understandable he should not wish to compromise himself further.”
“I have lived among the Danaans now for a full turning of the seasons,” Sárán told her. “I have seen they are a good-hearted people. Their ways are not those of the Fir-Bolg and their customs seem, at first, to be strange. But they are learned and value honorable folk no matter what their origins.”
“If you do not mind that they will soon rule over your people, then you have nothing to worry about.”
“The Tuatha De Danaan have no intention of ruling the Fir-Bolg. Nor do they wish to see us subservient to their ways.”
“You are wrong,” Isleen snapped and she stopped in her tracks, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcibly turning him to face her. “Our people were here in Innisfail long before the Danaans, and before they arrived our Fir-Bolg ancestors were the master craftsmen of the Islands of the West. Their work was revered across the known world. It was our forebears who built the stone circles and the hollow hills which the sun and moon visit every midwinter. It was our musicians who first played upon the harp and composed poetry.”
She looked deep into his eyes. “Whatever the Danaans know of poetry, music and stoneworking,” she went on, “they learned from us. Whatever skills they have as interpreters of the signs, as keepers of the seasons, as manipulators of the four elements, they were given by Fir-Bolg masters.”
“But their legends do not mention us as anything but enemies.” Sárán frowned.
“Do you know the full tale of the Islands of the West?” she asked him.
“I have only heard snippets,” he admitted.
“Then let's go and sit by the ocean and I'll tell you the whole story. Not the legend the Danaans would have you hear, but the Fir-Bolg history which is seldom discussed these days.”
“What about my mother?” Sárán protested. “Shouldn't we find her first?”
“The King of the Danaans has cast an admiring eye on Riona.” Isleen laughed. “She will come to no harm with his protection. If there are any Milesians about, Cecht is more than capable of dealing with them.”
She took his arm again and they continued walking down the rocky track which led to the ocean. When they came to the water's edge Isleen found a large stone to sit on. The moon was new and the sky dark, but Sárán had a good view out over the western seas as Isleen told her tale.
“In the long-ago there was an island,” she began, “out there on the horizon it was, so that if we had lived in those times we would have been able to see its snow-capped mountains even now. That was the ancient home of our people.”
“The Islands of the West?”
“That was the name our folk gave to it.” She nodded. “But the Fir-Bolg were not the only people who dwelt there. The Danaans and the Milesians also trace their roots to this once enormous land.”
“It was one land?”
“Oh yes,” she confirmed. “But that was before parts of the country began to subside into the ocean. In the final days of the great homeland all that remained was a scattered archipelago stretching across the horizon.”
“If the Danaans and all the other folk originated there, then surely we are the same people?” Sárán reasoned.
“In the dimmest darkest past that is possibly true,” she conceded. “But the histories do not commence with such remote beginnings. The first stories of the Islands of the West concern the wisdom which the Fir-Bolg had amassed about the natural and the supernatural worlds. The Danaans were their students in those times and together the two folk surveyed the invisible lines of energy which spread throughout the island.”
“What lines?”
“Hasn't that healer taught you anything?” Isleen asked in outrage. “He is a Danaan so I am not surprised he has not mentioned this. Our ancestors revered the earth as a living creature. Those Druids of our folk who understood this best knew that the whole ocean and every land are crisscrossed with lines of energy which lie just beneath the surface. A skilled Druid-Seer can tap into this energy and use it to travel vast distances in a matter of moments. Or to bring healing to the sick, or to find a water source, or to locate the best place to sow a certain crop, or even to discover a doorway to the Otherworld.”
“Fineen has never spoken to me of this!” Sárán gasped, feeling le
t down by his teacher.
“The Danaans were not renowned for their knowledge in this field,” the Seer explained. “They sought their wisdom from the trees flowers and herbs of the land, just as the ancestors of the Milesians pursued the study of the animal world. But the Druids of the Fir-Bolg found the most powerful source of knowledge and this made the other peoples jealous.”
“So the stone hills and circles were built to mark this energy out?” Sárán asked.
“You are very intelligent.” Isleen smiled as she touched his cheek tenderly. “That is precisely what the stone chambers and the standing stones were used for. At certain times of the cycle of the seasons the earth energy surges with great force. These times are usually close to the fire festivals which we now celebrate, but especially at Midwinter's Eve, Samhain, and Beltinne. And every so often the sun explodes with energy which rains down upon the earth to renew its spirit.”
“That is why the passages and chambers are lit by the sun and moon at times!”
“Yes.”
“But why is this knowledge not spoken of?”
“Because it led to jealousy and war,” Isleen explained. “The Fir-Bolg decided it was best to depart from their homeland and colonize the lands to the east rather than divulge the wisdom they had collected. Innisfail was one of the first islands they came to and as a consequence this land has more stone circles and ancient passage mounds than any other above the ocean. If only the Danaans had not dabbled in the wisdom our ancestors had discovered.”
“What happened?”
“The Chief Druid of the Danaans decided to plunder the knowledge of the Fir-Bolg so that his people might save the Islands of the West from the encroaching ocean. Our folk knew there was no hope of salvaging the land. It was only a matter of time before the ancient country sank beneath the waves. That is one reason our forebears found it easy to leave their ancestral home.”
“They knew the islands were doomed to be drowned?”
“They did.” Isleen nodded. “For their wisdom was such they had learned to read the signs in nature. But the foolish Dagda and his Druids were stubborn. They wanted the land for their own and they used what little they knew of our wisdom to try to keep the sea from stealing the land. In the event their meddling with nature made the situation much worse.”
