What do you give a raven in thanks for heroism? Certainly gold or silver would mean naught to such a creature. Food was nice but seemed much too banal. Perhaps he should ask Eolande.
As if summoned by the thought, the Fae girl peeked in. At Maelan’s nod, she entered and sat, taking Orlagh’s other hand.
“Thank you, Eolande.”
“Me? For what? You pulled her from the water.”
“I wouldn’t have known to find her if you hadn’t sent your raven. When I did pull her free, she wouldn’t breathe. You gave her breath. You saved her.”
Eolande shrugged. “I didn’t send Tawnith. He came. Perhaps he’d already been following her when she went to the river. He came to get me after he found you. That’s how I came to the river myself.”
“Tawnith? That’s the raven’s name?”
She nodded.
“Then I owe Tawnith—and you—a great debt. What would a raven value in payment for such a debt?”
Eolande stared at the bird for several minutes before he squawked and she answered. “Something shiny, he says. It need not be gold or silver. Base metal will do. He only cares that it shines or sparkles. He loves such things.”
Maelan nodded with a wan smile, the first smile since the night before. “I will make certain he gets his choice of many shiny objects. I can’t thank him enough for his help. And you, child? What would you like for yourself?”
She looked at her friend. “I want her to open her eyes.”
“That’s exactly what I want, Eolande.”
Then they waited.
Eógan came in several times that day and the next. The chief came in a few times, but then went on to other things. The healer was in constantly, checking on Orlagh and dribbling honey water into her mouth. Maelan held her up so she wouldn’t choke, but they still only managed to get a little down her throat.
Every sound, every shuffle brought Maelan instantly to Orlagh, eager to see if she’d been the source. Soon he grew to resent the people passing outside, as their noises constantly brought his hopes high, only to have them dashed. Her previous pleasant roundness had faded to skeletal sticks. Maelan had never known his granddaughter to be so gaunt.
Eolande was also in constant attendance. She brought wildflowers to brighten the room or sang a sweet song to her friend. She brought a sewing project and worked on it while she sat, making the best of her idle time. Maelan couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to anything but his granddaughter.
Four days after her misadventure in the river, Orlagh groaned. It was definitely her making the noise. At first, Maelan couldn’t believe it, but then she groaned again.
He took her hand and kissed it, squeezing it until she moaned in protest. “Orlagh? Orlagh, my dear child, my sweetling, open your eyes. Open your eyes. I’m here, Orlagh. Come now, open those lovely blue eyes. Let me see you wake.”
Eolande had put aside her project and took Orlagh’s other hand, though presumably with not as much squeezing. She hummed a tuneless song, something deep and visceral, almost a chant without words.
Orlagh coughed a couple times, weak efforts that nevertheless wracked her entire body.
The healer rushed over with his honey water, and gently pushed Eolande to the side. He nodded for Maelan to lift Orlagh’s torso as they had in the past, and he tipped the sweet drink into her mouth. This caused more coughing, and she choked. The healer patted her several times on the back, and she recovered after a few moments.
Orlagh blinked several times, rubbing her eyes and peering at Maelan and Eolande in turns.
“What… what happened?”
Maelan frowned. “We’d rather hoped you could tell us, Orlagh. I found you in the river, almost lost to the water. It’s been several days.”
She shook her head. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I don’t remember. It was night, and I walked through the woods… and then, nothing.”
The healer said, “She may not remember now, but bits may filter in later. She may never regain that memory. I’m just glad she still has her wits.”
Maelan nodded and sent a prayer of thanks to God. “She should stay here yet, yes? Until she’s fully recovered?”
The healer nodded and said, “You should both give her time and true rest. Now, off with you both. She’s out of danger and needs to get her strength back. That will take time, rest, and food.”
Reluctantly, Maelan left his granddaughter for the first time since he’d found her, taking the full night basket to empty. As soon as he left the healer’s roundhouse, the chief confronted him. “Well? Is she healed?”
“No, but she’s awake, and it’s a start.”
The older man crossed his arms. “Good. Now you can get back to your duties. Your man Eógan is a fine warrior, but his skills at teaching the younglings leave a lot to be desired. Your firm hand has been missed, and they’re running wild. Will you kindly stop neglecting your duties and take them to task?”
Chagrined, Maelan nodded. Chief Diarmait grunted and stalked away. While Maelan regretted his truancy from his duties, he didn’t understand how he could have done anything else. He’d rarely abandoned his post, but he hadn’t a choice this time. In fact, the last time he’d done so was when he was young, and his grandmother had gifted him the brooch. He shivered, remembering that night and the consequences his actions had caused.
He didn’t want to think what would have happened if Orlagh had never woken, or if her mind had been damaged.
Eolande looked him up and down and wrinkled her nose. “You need to bathe, you know. You stink.”
With a weak laugh, Maelan patted her on the shoulder. “You do not lie, child. I itch, too. I’m off to the river immediately. It will feel good to be clean once again.”
* * *
Orlagh was heartily bored. She was more bored now than she had been when she was confined to her own roundhouse. At least there, she had distractions. The healer wouldn’t allow her to do anything—no embroidery, no songs, nothing. He did let Eolande come visit her for a short time each day, and the same with her grandfather, but those visits were much too short to fill the long hours. Now that Beltaine approached, the sun crept across the sky more slowly, and she could only sleep so long before her body ached. She’d lost a lot of weight during her illness, and her bones were no longer padded.
Eolande told her the bards remained in the village. This was the one thing which gave her hope. Surely after this fiasco, her grandfather wouldn’t insist on his manipulative agreement with Caiside. She would be free to marry Temuirr. If the bard didn’t truly love her, he would have left while she was ill. She drew confidence and hope from his continued presence in Ceann-Coradh.
When Eolande visited, Orlagh begged her friend to sneak Temuirr in. “I will not! Even if he would come, which I doubt, what would be the point? You’re too weak to do what you want.”
“I just want to see him, Eolande! To talk to him. What’s so tiring about that?”
“Hmph. Talking, she calls it. I know exactly what you two would be doing as soon as he walked in that door, weakness or not. He’s a man. He’d have no better sense about such things. No, I won’t do it. In fact, I’m going to ask Tawnith to watch over you in case you convince some other poor sap to do it.” She looked at her raven for several moments, and then he cawed. He fluttered to the windowsill and sat there, watching Orlagh with glinting white eyes.
Orlagh snorted. So much for her best friend’s help. She crossed her arms. This was not going as planned in the slightest.
A knock at the door resulted in a new visitor, one she hadn’t met yet since her debacle. Caiside entered, his green eyes troubled and his demeanor serious.
He held up a small basket. “May I come in, Orlagh? I brought you some sweet pastries.”
She narrowed her eyes at the young man. They’d been friends literally all their lives, but hadn’t had many intimate conversations. Just like any of the young warrior boys, he’d teased and taunted the girls any chance he’d got
ten. Just like any of the young girls, she’d teased and taunted the boys any chance she’d gotten. He’d always been somewhat stiff and more proper than his father. Almost more like her grandfather, now that she considered it. Maybe that’s why she’d never warmed to him; he’d never invited warmth or friendship.
Bringing her sweets was therefore completely out of character for him. Which meant, of course, he was still acting under the assumption they were to wed. Perhaps her grandfather hadn’t canceled the agreement after all. She gestured for him to enter, but watched him with narrowed eyes. Eolande pushed her stool against the wall to give him room near the bed.
He reached into the basket and pulled out a fruit tart, still warm from the ovens. “Are you feeling better? Da said you’d given everyone quite a fright, falling into the river like that.”
She accepted the treat and took a dainty nibble before answering. She still didn’t remember the events of that night, but she could guess what happened. “I didn’t fall.”
He had been about to take another out, possibly for Eolande. This statement stopped him cold. “You didn’t? Did someone push you?”
“No one pushed me.”
Several emotions flickered across his face. Confusion, anger, shame, and finally guilt. Good, he’d reached the correct conclusion then. Orlagh waited to ascertain what his reaction would be.
To give the lad credit, he retained his dignity. He handed the basket to Eolande, complete with three pastries still inside, and bowed to Orlagh. “Mistress, I am glad you survived your ordeal. Perhaps it would be best if I withdraw and leave you to your rest.”
When he closed the door, Orlagh growled. “Eolande, where’s my grandfather?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, do I? It’s not my day to spy on him. If I were to guess, this time of day, he’d be attending to the chief during court. Today’s petitioners’ day.”
“Petitioners’ day? Excellent. That’s simply perfect. Help me get dressed.”
Eolande backed away, and Tawnith squawked. “Dressed? Absolutely not! You’re to rest.”
Orlagh smiled sweetly at her friend and spoke in a measured tone. “If you don’t help me dress, I shall dress myself, which will tire me out more. I am going whether you help or not. You get to decide how much of my limited strength I use in the mundane tasks.”
Duty and guilt warred on her friend’s face, and finally, guilt won out. With a sigh, Eolande rushed out, presumably to Orlagh’s roundhouse to get some presentable clothing.
It was only a few minutes later when she returned with a simple léine, and they made short work of getting Orlagh presentable. She tied her hair up in a knot rather than arrange it into anything elaborate. It was still damp from washing in the basin this morning, but it would do for now.
Leaning on Eolande, Orlagh slowly made her way to the feast hall. Several farmers and tradesmen milled about outside, awaiting their turn at petition.
Petitioners’ day was when anyone in the túath could come to the chief with a concern, a problem, or a dispute. Orlagh had occasionally had duty helping in the main hall when the different people came for the chief’s justice. Often these were mind-numbing local arguments or issues. Occasionally one grew interesting or dramatic, but very seldom.
Today, she was determined to make the day interesting.
Eolande and Orlagh slipped into the door, shouldering through several layers of onlookers to get to the open space in the center. Chief Diarmait sat on his elaborately carved wooden chair. His head rested on one hand, his elbow propped on the chair arm. His multi-colored brat was around his shoulders, a symbol of his official power.
Her grandfather stood on one side as warchief, and the aging Mícheál on the other as an expert on the law. A scruffy older man complained about the third cow he’d lost in the last moon.
“They just disappear, my chief! The neighbor’s aren’t stealin’ ‘em. I’d see if they had more cows. In fact, Ruari over there lost one himself. I’m tellin’ you, it’s the Fair Folk, no doubt!”
Chief Diarmait raised his head and arched one eyebrow at Maelan. Her grandfather fully decked out in his armor, stepped up. His spine was stiff and his gaze forward.
“My men and I have investigated several such complaints, my chief. We have found no trace of missing kine, either cow or sheep or goat. Not even scraps from a hide. If it’s a predator, they are devouring the creatures whole.”
At a nod, he stepped back into his place, gaze still forward.
Orlagh considered her grandfather’s mood. He hadn’t liked the report he’d just given, that much was clear from his stance and voice. He was ashamed he hadn’t found a reasonable explanation for the missing kine. Good. It meant he was off-balance. This would make her task much easier.
While the chief spoke with the farmer, Orlagh walked up and pushed her way to the front of the line, gritting her teeth against her weakness as her legs buckled. A few people muttered in complaint, but a quelling look from Eolande quieted them.
As the farmer walked away, she shuffled up. She wished she could stride purposefully, but she really didn’t have the strength for such theatrics. Still, the audience hushed as she laboriously made her way in front of the chief. She faced him rather than her grandfather, but she was well aware when her grandfather’s eyes snapped to attention.
Chief Diarmait sighed and asked, “What is your petition?”
“My chief, I have a complaint about my grandfather.”
He closed his eyes and gripped the arms of his chair. “Of course you do, Orlagh. You should be resting. Your issue can wait until you’re healthy enough to stand on your own two feet. You have no need to bring a public complaint in the first place. Go sit down, dear child.” He gestured for the next petitioner to step up.
Orlagh stomped her foot, the action somewhat muted by the fact her feet were bare and made no noise on the dirt floor. “I am not your dear child! I am a grown woman of seventeen winters, and I demand to be heard! Are you refusing to hear one of your people, my chief?”
Murmurs flew through the hall, and even the bard perked up at this challenge. Her grandfather’s eyes were glowering points, burning through her like a hot coal. She ignored him and lifted her chin, waiting for the chief to back down.
He did, of course. He must. It was Brehon Law that he heard all petitioners on this day. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand for her to continue.
“My grandfather has bound me in a marriage contract to which I have not agreed. I wish to demand emancipation from his decisions based on this abuse of power.”
She was certain she’d gotten all the words right. She’d heard enough of them during the interminable sessions on other petitioner days. The old bard blinked several times and then nodded to the chief, who visibly deflated. Her grandfather didn’t move a muscle.
“Very well, child… I mean, young lady. You have every right to sue for emancipation in such a case. However, are you certain you know the consequences of your actions? You will no longer be permitted to benefit from his protection. You cannot live in his roundhouse. You cannot eat at his table. Are you certain you wish to pursue this?”
Orlagh resisted the urge to shout her answer immediately and made sure everyone saw as she considered carefully. She would have to leave the túath, but that was no problem. Temuirr waited for her. Could she stand to never return to her home? She must. After all, many young women left their childhood home to live with their husband’s family, often quite far away. Royal children did it all the time, and they weren’t even marrying for love.
She didn’t even glance at her grandfather before nodding. “Yes, my chief. I understand, and yes, I wish to pursue my complaint.”
With a glance to Mícheál and one to her grandfather, the chief stood and picked up his staff of office. “Orlagh íngen Gobhann, I hereby declare you a woman free of your grandfather’s care.” He pounded the staff on the ground three times. A scribe in the corner, a tiny monk the chief had recently hired, was hastily
scribbling notes on his parchment, frequently dipping his quill into the ink. Her grandfather faced forward, unmoving like carved stone. The onlookers shuffled and muttered while Orlagh turned, took Eolande’s helping arm, and left with as much dignity as she could muster.
Once they were clear of the roundhouse, Eolande said, “Well, that’s done, then. What are you planning to do now? Set up shop as an embroiderer? You can take your clothing and anything your parents left you, but you can’t take anything of your grandfather’s. No food, no valuables, nothing.”
Orlagh swallowed. She began to realize the enormity of her actions, but there was no turning back now. She had made the decision, and the little monk had written it down. It was recorded for all of history, official and indelible.
She lifted her chin. “Help me to my roundhouse, and I’ll pack a bag. Then we must go to Temuirr.”
“Are you so certain he wants you as a wife, then?”
“I am.”
Eolande shook her head. “I hope you’re right, Orlagh. I truly do hope you’re right.”
Part II
Chapter 6
Orlagh grew giddier as they got farther from the ringfort gate. Wending their way through the village to the guest quarters, she imagined the reunion scene a dozen times in her head. In each version, Temuirr swept her up into his arms and twirled her around. Her hair flew out behind her as she laughed and cried at the feel of his arms around her. A shaft of sunlight would break through the overcast sky and bathe them in angelic light at the sight of their true love.
The roundhouses came in sight, but something seemed wrong. No movement nor any personal things lay outside. Finnegan should have been outside on the stool, carving. Scraps and slivers were littered around, but no old man.
No sound came from the empty roundhouses.
Standing in front of the empty place, Orlagh dropped her overstuffed bag in the mud. Her spear remained strapped to her back, along with a small satchel of food Eolande had pilfered.
They were gone. Her Temuirr had left. She’d severed all ties with her family for him, and he’d abandoned her. The tears pushed up and out, dripping unchecked down her face. Her knees buckled as she cried out and she remembered she was still weak from her almost-drowning. Eolande caught her before she fell to the ground.
Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5 Page 9
