“Very well, I’ll give you a clue. He’s young, at least, and taller than you.”
Tossing a handful of wet grass at Eolande, Orlagh growled. “A lad of ten winters is taller than me, Eolande. That is no help whatsoever.”
She flipped her hair over her shoulders and leaned back to look up at the moon. “Patience. I’m getting there. He has dark hair and green eyes. He’s very smart, but oh-so-solemn. He teases you now and then.”
There was only one young man she could think of who matched Eolande’s description. “Caiside mac Eógan? That young whelp? He’s barely a man himself. He’s not even made his first kill in battle. How could Grandfa match me to him?”
Eolande shrugged, causing her raven to squawk. “That’s what I learned. Eógan and Maelan were shut up in the chief’s roundhouse for hours today, drawing up the details.”
That must be why Caiside was so helpful to her at the feast. That sneaky, sniveling boy-child, he knew! He’d known, and she hadn’t. It made her even angrier. How dare her grandfather make such an arrangement without her knowledge or consent? She was a Gaelic woman and had every right to say no to an arranged marriage.
She stood, intent upon confronting her grandfather, but stopped to turn to Eolande. “Do you have any idea why he thinks I would accept such a match? Surely he can’t expect me to go meekly? He knows me far better than that.”
Eolande smiled again, leaning back on her hands. She kicked out her legs and fluttered them as if she was swimming in the night air. A cloud covered the moon, momentarily plunging them into darkness, and the owl hooted again.
When the cloud moved, Eolande wasn’t on the ground any longer, she stood directly in front of Orlagh, practically touching nose to nose. With a gasp, Orlagh jumped back from her friend. How had she moved so quickly and silently?
“He is counting on your infatuation of Temuirr, of course. If you want the bard to be shunned wherever he goes, you can say no. However, if you agree, the bard will find acclaim and hospitality in all the Gaelic houses of An Mhumhain. Possibly of Connacht as well. He has great influence with the Ui Conchobair.”
God’s Bones. He could do it. He would, too. Not himself, of course, no, he was much too honorable to exert such pressure himself. Of course, he could have the chief do his dirty work for him, or even that conniving Eógan.
Orlagh sat again, hard upon the dew-wet grass. She must marry that sycophant cub of Eógan’s, or her beloved Temuirr would never find a warm hearth on the west coast of Hibernia. It was an impossible choice. If she went to him, she would ruin his life and livelihood. If she didn’t, she would die a slow death of boredom and rage in a loveless marriage.
While many marriages were made for property and not love, Orlagh had always imagined her own would be different. She’d seen a marriage for love in her own grandparents. Songs were sung of her grandfather’s love to the lovely Liadan. It was a love out of legend, and Orlagh craved exactly such a love. She craved a love which swept her soul away on a tide of joy and laughter. It’s what Temuirr offered. It was a dream within her grasp, and her grandfather would steal it from her.
It was too much. The sobs burst from her like a dam breaking in a flash flood. The impossible choice tore at her soul. How could she choose between love and life?
Eolande held her tightly, her silliness giving way to comfort. She crooned a tuneless hum and rocked Orlagh as she spilled tears and cries. Her throat hurt and her nose was hopelessly plugged before her cries subsided into hiccups. The raven alighted on Orlagh’s shoulder and nuzzled her neck. It tickled, but oddly it also comforted her. To have this tiny wild creature show her obvious affection was a small but valuable salve beyond her friend’s love.
When she had cried herself dry, Eolande still held her. Orlagh was warm and didn’t want to move, but the night air was growing cold, and she should return to the hillfort. With a mighty sniff, she rose.
Eolande took her hand. “Are you better?”
Nodding, Orlagh swallowed. “A bit. Thank you.”
Eolande cocked her head, and the raven imitated her. Orlagh fought the urge to laugh at the mimicry. “Will you accede to your grandfather’s agreement, then?”
Would she? What else could she do? She stared at Eolande for several moments, unable to answer. She shrugged and turned to descend the hill alone.
The woods were dark, and a sullen rain began halfway down. The constant rustling of rain-whipped leaves left her body as numb as her heart. She found the creek that went down to the river, and on a whim, followed it instead of turning toward the hillfort. The creek rushed with spring rains, and the sound was comforting. Orlagh wanted to see the moonlight on the glittering surface of the Sionann before she slept this night. For some reason, it became an imperative, a burning need.
It took the good part of an hour before she reached the shore. At this point, the mighty river was wide and rushed through a narrow neck at the southern point of Lough Dergart. She studied the swirling eddies as the water contracted into the head of the river.
The movement fascinated her. She moved closer to the edge of the bank, just watching the constantly shifting patterns. The full moon shone upon the violent waterway, beckoning for her soul.
Orlagh slipped on the wet grass, and windmilled her arms several times, regaining her balance. Then she wondered why she bothered?
It would make everything so much easier if she simply stepped off into the maelstrom. The rocks would make quick work of her body, and she’d never have to make the painful choice between the love of her life and her love of life. Her grandfather would regret his machinations for the rest of his days, and Temuirr would waste away, pining for the life he lost. It was a scene straight out of the most tragic tales.
Angrily, she found several largish stones and flung them into the roiling river one by one. Each time one disappeared into the churning water, she felt marginally better.
The furious river beckoned once again. She fancied she could hear it crying out, calling to her to be part of it. A chorus of burbles and crashes urged her to join them. She inched forward, and her feet slipped more. Suddenly she panicked, trying to retreat, away from the swirling chaos below. The water rushed toward her, and she fought its cold embrace. The last thing she heard before she submerged into the unrelenting arms of the furious river goddess was the raucous caw of a bird.
Chapter 5
Maelan massaged his forehead. Why had he ever agreed to this arrangement? The paperwork frustrated him, especially as both Caiside and Orlagh had similar property. Brehon Law demanded a full accounting of both their properties, and a detailed list of how each should be administered in the event of death, divorce, or children. The Church didn’t approve of divorce, of course, but Brehon Law allowed for such things. Church Law required these terms be written and signed by all parties involved, including both fathers. He acted as Orlagh’s father, so was expected to draw up the documents. He wished he had a scribe at his disposal, but alas, the chief’s scribe currently visited the Ui Conchobar hillfort on diplomatic business.
He hated writing. He’d learned, of course. His chief insisted all his warchiefs be literate. Maelan had at least managed to pass the skill on to Orlagh, despite her objections. Such skill might be valuable someday. So far, though, all writing had done was increase her love of silly romantic stories, as she’d discovered some were written down.
He chuckled as he remembered the day the itinerant monk had arrived with a wagon full of scrolls. She’d been filled with delight despite the fact that the monk wouldn’t allow her to touch the precious things. Instead, he set them up in the guest roundhouse, well lit by a window, and opened the scrolls for her to read while he worked.
She’d been but ten winters old. Such a bundle of anger and joy, sharp edges and tender smiles. Her mercurial moods sometimes drove him to distraction, but also gave him unending delight. Did he do her a disservice by contracting her marriage against her will? Of course, he did. He made this arrangement for her bett
er good, just like teaching her to read. In the end, she would grow to appreciate the arrangement. A guardian’s duty was to make certain a youngling did what was best for them, rather than what they desired to do. Wisdom only came with age, and age only came from making the right decisions. The young seldom made good decisions on their own.
Confident in his mandate once again, Maelan bent to his task. However, before he dipped the quill in the ink, a bird flew into his roundhouse and over his head.
“Pissmires and spiders!” Maelan threw up his arms to protect his face. The bird, a black raven with white eyes, settled on the bedstead and cawed at him, cocking its head.
Exasperated at the interruption, Maelan pushed his stool back from the table. “Are you Eolande’s raven? What can that girl want now?”
The bird cawed again and hopped to the window. Maelan stood, and the bird landed on the ground. He glimpsed the black feathers glistening in the moonlight. A hazy, misty rain fell. With a curse, he pulled his brat on and walked outside.
Maelan was well aware Eolande’s raven was no normal bird. The creature had many times exhibited more intelligence than some people. He would be a fool to ignore the bird’s warning, whatever it may be, and Maelan didn’t consider himself a fool.
The bird led him with little hops and flutters out of the village and into the woods. Not up the hill, but the opposite direction, toward the river. What could be so urgent on a night like this? The rain fell in earnest now, making the mud treacherous. He squinted to keep the bird in sight, momentarily reconsidering his wisdom. What if the bird were just playing games? But no, most birds didn’t care for the rain either. If it was flying out in this weather, there was a reason.
The raven led him to a cut in the riverbank which led down to the water at a gentle slope. Maelan found the narrow sandy beach where children often played in the summertime. A small barrier of rocks made a shallow pool for them to lay in relative safety, away from the rushing water of the mighty river. Something stirred in that pool, something which flashed in the moonlight. Something bright and unusual.
Stepping into the pool with little thought for his shoes or clothing, he reached for the fluttering fabric and pulled. The water pulled back, making him work for his prize. He tugged and dragged at the object until the river finally surrendered its grip and he almost fell backward.
It was a body.
With increasing dread, he turned the limp body over to look at the face, to see if he recognized it.
Orlagh’s round face didn’t register at first. He stared at her, unable to understand what he looked at and what it meant. His body shook, and he almost dropped her back into the water. A powerful sob burst from his throat and his tears mixed with the rain on his face as he stared at his granddaughter’s pale face in the moonlight. He squeezed her, trying to get the water out of her lungs. He prayed to God to save her, crying into the night in bestial howls as he held her.
He had done this. He had forced her into a decision, an impossible decision, with his own actions. This was all he deserved for trying to run her life.
After an eternity, a hand on his shoulder made him look up to find Eolande, her eyes sad and black in the darkness. She took Orlagh from him, slight though she was. She kissed his granddaughter, and a faint glow came from Eolande’s skin. She kissed her several times, and with a start, Orlagh sputtered and coughed up river water. Eolande pushed her on her side and let the foul stuff dribble from her mouth. The Fae girl nodded, letting Maelan carry his granddaughter home.
Once he safely ensconced Orlagh in the healer’s roundhouse, Maelan surrendered to the shakes. He’d never been a coward, nor one afraid to do right, but now he felt a quivering mess. It had been too close, much too close, to how he’d lost his beloved Liadan thirteen winters earlier.
Liadan had been the best tracker in the neighboring túath, and they’d had a whirlwind romance and marriage within three seasons. They lived and loved, raising a family together. They fought in wars, raided, even pillaged on occasion. They’d had a life full of excitement and delight by the time of the raid on Grianán Aileach.
When the time came to plan the raid, Liadan insisted on coming.
Maelan shook his head. “Our daughter is about to give birth, Liadan! You should be home with her.”
She’d crossed her arms. “Oh, is that it? I should stay home and attend women’s work, is that what you think?”
Rolling his eyes, Maelan had sighed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Why else would you try to keep your best tracker from this venture? Well? I’m waiting for your answer, Maelan.”
He’d closed his eyes and prayed to God for patience. In the end, he couldn’t deny her.
He’d had command of her and fifty other warriors as they invaded Inis Eoghain, a stronghold of the Ui Néill. The massive stronghold of Grianán Aileach, high upon the hill, had a commanding view of the surrounding lands.
Under the dead of night, the army approached. Using his magic to shield his warriors, they sneaked up under an overcast sky, the moon well-hidden from view. He had Liadan go first, to search for hidden sentries, but she returned quickly. They had posted none, fools that they were.
In a massive ever-contracting ring, his warriors climbed the hill. Step by step in the velvet night they got closer to the round walls of the hilltop fortress.
When they reached their target, Maelan had a momentary panic at the height of the fort. Surely the stone rose the height of three men. How would they breach so much stone? No wooden palisade stood, waiting to burn. Still, no place was impregnable. He dropped the magic shield, which was the signal to charge. His warriors shouted their challenge to the Ui Néill warriors.
A flurry of clanks and shouts around the other side of the ringfort caught his attention. His soldiers had found the one entrance. He motioned to half of the soldiers to join them while the other half spread out, preventing the inhabitants from escaping down the walls.
He desperately wanted to be at the vanguard of the action, to be the one who led the charge into the fort. However, he had been on raids before and had seen plenty of glory. Now was the time to let the younger warriors have their day of joy. Young Eógan’s fierce battle-cry echoed across the night and smiled. The lad was turning into quite the fierce fighter, and he was glad to have him. Impetuous, but strong. He’d hoped he might rein in some of the boy’s worst excesses.
Another cry went up, with his own men’s voices. The timbre of the shouting had changed, though. The sound less a challenge and more a triumph. They must have gained access to the fort.
The rest of the night was spent in destroying the hillfort. They killed men, stole supplies, and burnt the stones to make them crumble and rot. Some stones they even carried home as prizes, proof of their victory. They marched home triumphant, south through the lands of Ulaidh and toward Connacht.
They had reached Eas-Ruaidh falls, on the border of Connacht, when the ambush broke.
His relative youth and inexperience betrayed them. He called a hasty retreat, but had set no plan ahead of time. His warriors scattered to the four winds, each to find their way back to Ceann-Coradh. He stayed with Liadan, determined to get her home safe.
Torrential summer rains had swollen the river to a dangerous deluge. Maelan looked at the rushing water with bleak regard. “We’ll never cross tonight, Liadan. I can shield us from the searchers for the night.”
She shook her head and scanned the riverbank. “Being seen isn’t the problem. We must cross now. The river will be no better in the morning. The rains won’t let up soon.”
Maelan had rarely won an argument with his wife. They compromised by crossing the river, exactly as she said. As a precaution, he tied them both with a rope and tied one end to a stout tree. Liadan clung to his back as he swam across the raging river, desperately trying to reach the opposite shore.
The plan might have worked if it hadn’t been for the tree.
Not the tree that held their
rope. No, that tree stayed fast and true. The tree which had been uprooted somewhere upriver, the tree which swept Liadan from his back despite the rope—that was the tree he cursed every day of his life.
Her rope must not have been tied tight enough, or she had wiggled too much against the knots. However it happened, the massive tree swept her away in the blink of an eye. All he remembered was a bruising impact and a stinging scratch across his face. She was gone.
Maelan spent days looking up and down the river bank for his beloved, but he never even found her body. He’d been despondent for moons after her loss. The only thing he had left of her would be a lifetime of memories.
Now he’d almost lost their granddaughter–her granddaughter–to a similar fate.
This wasn’t the first time his decisions had resulted in disaster. He just hoped this one didn’t end in death. He shivered against memories which whispered in his mind and thrust them away.
The healer fussed over her and shooed him out of the roundhouse, but he refused to leave. He held her hand, and tried to rub the cold, flaccid flesh into living warmth. His salt tears did little to warm her skin.
Eógan came when dawn broke and brought him a meal, but he ignored the food.
“Maelan, come, I’ll sit with her.”
He shook his head, and never took his eyes from Orlagh’s face. She looked so lost. How could he have done this to her?
His friend spoke with the healer for a few moments and left.
The next visitor was his chief. He didn’t even speak to Maelan, but asked the healer, “She’ll live?”
The healer shrugged. “Possibly. If she was under too long, she might have but a babe’s mind left. We can only wait.”
Eolande’s raven kept watch with him, occasionally taking a tidbit from his meal tray. Maelan gladly gave the bird his food. He knew full well the only reason Orlagh still had a small chance was due to the bird finding him to save her.
Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5 Page 8
