He placed one fist over his chest in respect. “Maelan mac Lorcáin, former Warchief of Diarmait Ua Briain, reporting.”
The new chief looked at Maelan for several minutes without speaking. He stood and circled the former warchief, looking him up and down with great scrutiny. He took his time and then sat again. Diarmait’s elaborately carved chair had been removed. In its place was a plain, solid wooden chair, functional and simple. His brat was also simple. It had seven colors, but they were muted and dark.
“It seems you’ve been on a bit of an adventure, Maelan mac Lorcáin. It’s a shame you weren’t here to protect your chief in his hour of need.”
Maelan hung his head. “I deeply regret I failed in my duty. I offer no excuse for my truancy.”
At first, Maelan assumed thunder rolled above. Then he realized it was the new chief’s laughter. It shook the chair, the ground, even the air around him. It rumbled and tumbled through the room.
“’Tis a shame indeed! It is perhaps because of your truancy I am now Chief instead of my brother. Do you expect me to mourn this circumstance over much, Maelan?”
Confused, Maelan shook his head.
“You are obviously a capable warrior, Maelan. Dereliction of duties aside, I would be honored if you took service in my court. I already have a warchief, but if you don’t mind an advisor role, I would certainly value someone of your experience and wisdom in my ranks.”
Maelan was torn. His sworn service was to Diarmait, but Diarmait was no longer chief. He had been deposed, imprisoned, and disgraced.
Was his duty to the clan or to the man? It must be to the clan. If Diarmait had died a natural death, as unusual as that was for any Gaelic Chieftain, Maelan would then swear to his heir, no matter who that may be. In this case, his heir was Diarmait’s brother, Murtough. Maelan might swear to him with honor and a clear conscience.
Daring to hope, Maelan nodded. “It would be my honor indeed, Chief Murtough.” The words sounded strange falling off his tongue so easily.
When Maelan lay in his bed that night, he feared the nightmares would return. The shrieking souls of his past were becoming more and more insistent. Now that he was home, he hoped they would remain away.
As he drifted off to sleep, he remembered the Fae girl who had sacrificed her life for him, the lovely Flidaisínn. She walked with him in his dream, holding his hand across perfect hills.
“Would you like to have your fears quieted, sweet Maelan? I can do that for you if you ask it.”
He shook his head. “You have given so much for me. I already owe you a great debt, Flidaisínn. I would never ask more of you.”
She smiled, and the sight was sweet as honey to his dream eye. “It is no bother to me, and I no longer require a price. I’ve passed beyond Faerie into a land with other rules. Tír na nÓg has gentler rules, rules I can use to our benefit. My place in Faerie is not left empty, though. Another has been called back to where she belongs.”
He saw a glimpse of Eolande’s white hair and understood. He squeezed Flidaisínn’s hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed it, and her skin was cool. “I wish I might see you again in life, and thank you properly.”
She shook her head. “That alone is thanks enough for me. That you value the help I was able to render.”
He kissed her lips now. She had no warmth, but they were soft and pliable. Her arms twined around his neck and he hugged her waist. He ached to be with her, but still, he would never betray Liadan’s memory, even for Flidaisínn.
Suddenly, she was gone, and he stood alone on the perfect green hills. The wind whistled around him in a twisting eddy, howling in his ears. The emptiness was oppressive.
* * *
Orlagh stood in her wedding finery, holding back the tears by sheer force of will.
Chief Murtough stood at the dais, with the bard, Mícheál. They were dressed in their finest garb. The chief wore his muted seven-colored brat, with no fringe or gold to be seen. Orlagh glanced to her side, where her grandfather held her arm. It kept her from running away, out of the hillfort and out of Ceann-Coradh forever.
Where would she go, in truth? Temuirr was dead. Yana had probably taken the group away forever. She had no kin but her grandfather. His price for support was her agreement to his marriage contract.
In truth, she knew it must be. When her grandfather had told her of his conditions, she’d experienced another Vision of the future.
The world had spun out of control, and she’d quickly sat on the ground, despite the mud.
Her grandfather knelt. “Orlagh? Orlagh, are you ill?”
His voice had faded into the darkness as the Vision unfolded in her mind. She saw herself, much older, a few streaks of bright white in her blond hair. Three children surrounded her, clamoring for treats at a farm with snow on the ground all around them. A male laugh made her look up to see an older Caiside, handing out bits of honeycomb to each child.
When she’d snapped back to the present, her head ached with empty pain.
It was clear to her now her magical talent from the brooch was some gift of prophecy. At the very least, this verification of her future had made her capitulation easier.
She glanced at her other side where Caiside stood, still and silent. He’d grown at least three inches over the past cycle of seasons. His shoulders had filled out as well, a tribute to his efforts on the training field. He’d still not killed his first man, but at least he held himself with more confidence now.
She detested the fact she must marry, but at least he wasn’t horrible, old, or fat. He didn’t sing, but he did tell stories, and that became enough for Orlagh. She did love the stories. She just needed to convince him to tell them more often.
When Orlagh had shown her precious son to Caiside, she hadn’t known what to expect. Perhaps some dismissive wave of his hand for another man’s son, or an argument about providing for him. Instead, Caiside took the child into his arms and cooed at the baby, making funny faces, so the child smiled and laughed. The tender sight melted her frozen heart just a little. How could she say no after that?
Mícheál chanted the ceremony in flat tones, and her tears returned. These weren’t tears of despair, nor tears of hopelessness, but tears of memory. She remembered her marriage to Temuirr, full of pagan flowers and simple joy. She remembered the simple grass ring with the purple flower he had gifted to her. This Christian ceremony was so formal and stilted in comparison. Orlagh was constrained by the stricture. She resisted the urge to throw her bouquet in the air and dance around the feast hall, like Eolande dancing among the stones on a fresh spring morning.
Eolande stood to the side, and Orlagh glanced at her. The raven was nowhere to be seen, and her friend looked faded and exhausted. She was almost translucent in the bright morning light as if she was fading into the sun.
Orlagh swallowed and forced herself to pay attention to the bard’s words. He’d asked for Caiside’s vows, so hers were next.
She repeated the words, as she was told. She kissed her new husband, as she was told. She left the great hall, hand in hand with Caiside, as she was told.
Maelan minded her son while she consummated her vows. She went to Caiside’s small roundhouse and was surprised when she enjoyed her wedding night. Her new husband might be inexperienced and tentative, but he truly wished to please her and was quite solicitous. Orlagh decided this wasn’t a terrible marriage contract after all, and she would make the best of her new life.
She would never forget Temuirr, though, and the grand adventure of his love.
The next day, Eolande and Tawnith were gone. No one had seen them leave, and their roundhouse was empty of everything personal. She’d never even said goodbye.
Epilogue
Three winters later, Maelan scrutinized the new warriors in their drills and sighed. Had he ever been so young and stupid? He leaned on the railing and shook his head. Eógan was behind him, laughing at something Utromma whispered, and he grinned. His second-in-command had come
into his own, just as he’d hoped. While he wasn’t warchief in Murtough’s court, he commanded his own group of warriors. Eógan had always preferred the night raids as opposed to full day battles, anyhow.
Utromma had been a fantastic addition to their troops, and the woman was a true asset to their trackers. She was an excellent teacher and had a whole group of young girls following her around at all times, begging to be taught. She was like a reluctant mother duck. Perhaps she would become warchief one day.
With a nod to Eógan, Maelan wandered off to the palisades, to watch the workers. Murtough was determined to move the clan seat, but he decided to fortify Ceann-Coradh as a secondary stronghold while the new fortress was built. Swarms of workers climbed the wooden walls to add, repair, or move the current structures.
Maelan needed peace from the buzz of activity, so he exited the hillfort. Instead of heading downhill to the village as he normally did, he climbed upward. It was a tough slog. His back hurt more lately, and a lifetime of battle had taken its toll even on his excellent physique. By the time he reached the first clearing and its circle of standing stones, he was well out of breath.
“So, you finally decided to visit, youngster. Did you bring me any cheese?”
The old Fae man, Adhna, sat on one of the stones with a ragged grin. He played with his beard, twirling strands of hair around several twigs.
“No cheese, old man. If you had told me you’d be here, I could have brought some.”
“Ah, well. No matter. Have you anything else you want to fetch? Or are you ready to go?”
Maelan took a deep breath. Was there anything else? Orlagh and her family had moved away the winter before, far to the northeast. Caiside had taken arms with the Ulaidh, and she had followed. He’d probably never see her again, even if he remained in Ceann-Coradh. Eógan and Utromma were expecting their first baby and would do fine without his help. He had no real place in Hugh’s group any longer. He’d imparted all his wisdom to the younger lads.
With a deep breath for the life he left behind, Maelan nodded. Adhna wiped his hands several times before he held one out. “There’s that, then. Let’s be going.”
Taking a deep breath, Maelan took Adhna’s hand, and they faded into the stones.
ABOUT CHRISTY NICHOLAS
Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, has her hands in many crafts, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she’s a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She loves to draw and to create things. She says it’s more of an obsession than a hobby. She likes looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or seeing a fragrant blossom or a dramatic seaside. She takes a picture or creates a piece of jewelry as her way of sharing this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others. Sometimes this sharing requires explanation–and thus she writes. Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. She does local art and craft shows, as well as sending her art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.
* * *
Get in touch with Christy Nicholas:
Website (http://www.greendragonartist.com)
Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/greendragon9)
Facebook GreenDragonAuthor (http://www.facebook.com/greendragonauthor)
LinkedIn (http://www.linkedin.com/in/greendragon9)
Tirgearr Publishing (http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy)
OTHER BOOKS BY CHRISTY NICHOLAS
DRUID’S BROOCH SERIES
LEGACY OF HUNGER, #1
Published: October 2015
ISBN: 9781311528575
It’s 1846, and Valentia is bored with the life of a spinster on her father’s prosperous Ohio farm. She is haunted by dreams about Ireland, so vows to travel to find her grandmother’s family and a long-lost family heirloom. On the way, she loses many precious things, but gains far more than she imagined.
LEGACY OF TRUTH, #2
Published: July 2016
ISBN: 9781310151149
Gifted with a magical brooch, passed down in her family for generations, Esme finds herself isolated and ill in an unfamiliar land. Her sister plots to steal the family heirloom from her in order to exploit the magical powers for her own gain, and Esme must battle for survival of herself and those she loves.
TURLOUGH'S TALE, #2.5 short story extra
Published: September 2017
ISBN: 9781370474523
After his beloved wife dies in childbirth, Turlough leaves in the middle of the night with his son, Ruari, traveling west to find music, Turlough’s other true love. Unwittingly sleeping under an ancient stone, they wake up in Faerie, amidst enchanting music. When they return, Turlough finds two years have passed, though he’s only been gone two weeks. His mother is waiting for him with a gift.
LEGACY OF LUCK, #3
Published: January 2017
ISBN: 9781370831975
Irish Traveler Éamonn loves gambling, women, and drinking, not necessarily in that order. But he’s entangled in a true mess when he falls for fiery redhead, Katie. When she’s married to a Scottish Traveler, Éamonn travels to Scotland to find her, with the help of Katie’s sister and cousin, and the magical brooch gifted by his father. Their quest takes them across the Irish Sea to the Isle of Skye, encountering war, betrayal, death. In the end, Éamonn must make his own luck.
MISFORTUNE OF VISION, #4
Published: January 2018
ISBN: 9781370115228
In 12th century Ireland, Orlagh has been Seer to her king for 40 years. After dismissing her efforts to warn him of war, she decides to fulfill her own quest: to find a worthy heir for her magical brooch. During this time, she passes judgment on a thief, escapes a Norman war camp, and battle wits with a Fae lord. She enlists the help of a grizzled old warrior, who happens to be a long–time friend.
ALSO BY CHRISTY
THE ENCHANTED SWANS
Published: March 2017
ISBN: 9781370316731
In pre-Celtic Ireland, Fionnuala is a fae princess with hopes and dreams of love and a full life. But all her dreams are stolen from her, ripped away in a torrent of envy and magic, and forces to live under an evil curse—she and her brothers having been transformed into swans. Will she find a way to break the spell, or will they remain swans, tethered to three places for nine hundred years?
CALL OF THE MORRIGÚ
Published: July 2017
ISBN: 9781370942718
1798 Ireland–While rebellions are rising across the countryside, Theodosia Latimer and her grandfather Reginald are on a mission to discover the past. But when they discover an imprisoned goddess straight out of Ireland’s rich mythological history, they're both amazed and frightened. Will they be able to tame her lust for violence in the upcoming rebellion? Or will they fall victim to it?
THE HIDDEN GUIDES
Do you find yourself drawn to the magic of the Emerald Isle or Scotland? Would you like to see places beyond the typical tourist traps? Come, join me on a journey through the mists of legend, into the hidden places of mystery. Immerse yourself in the legends and myths, the history that has made this island precious in the hearts and minds of millions. Along with the tales and history, there is practical information on planning your trip, budgeting your costs, and finding the best places to while away the magical hours of your holiday.
IRELAND: MYTHICAL, MAGICAL, MYSTICAL
A Guide to Hidden Ireland
Released: June 2013
ISBN: 9781301520725
The Mythical Facet - History and Myth-tery
The Magical Facet - The Fair Folk
The Mystical Facet - Gods and Saints
The Personal Facet - Friendly Folk
The Musical Facet - A Song and Dance
The Stunning Facet - Photo opportunities
The Tasty Facet - Irish Fare
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br /> The Practical Facet - How do I…?
The Frugal Facet - Budgets, Discounts, and Deals
The Hidden Facet - Undiscovered Places
SCOTLAND: STUNNING, STRANGE, SECRET
A Guide to Hidden Scotland
Released: November 2014
ISBN: 9781311036391
History and Myth
Superstitions and Beliefs
Gods and Saints
Highland Hospitality
Ceilidhs and Flings
Stunning Shots
Haggis and Cullen Skink
Plans and Mechanics
Discounts and Deals
Hidden Gems
Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5 Page 27
