Battle Eagle

by Jayne Castel

  He smiled at Talor. “How about a hug for your da then?” he asked, surprised that he was suddenly nervous. What if the boy did not want to go near him?

  Talor did hesitate a moment before casting a glance in Mael’s direction.

  “It’s fine,” Mael replied gently. “Your da has just gotten back from a long and difficult journey. He’d like a hug.”

  Talor put down his piece of bread and tottered over to Donnel. The lad’s warm, firm body collided with Donnel’s, nearly knocking him onto his backside. Even small, the lad had strength to him. Talor’s arms encircled his neck. Donnel wrapped his own arms about his son and drew him into a hug.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears prick his eyelids. He could not believe he had denied himself this, cut himself off from his own flesh and blood. His grief and rage had truly blown him off course, but he had found his way home.

  Eithni wiped away a tear as she watched Donnel hug his son. Next to her Mael was also weeping. Wordlessly Eithni reached out and put an arm around her friend’s shoulders. Mael’s thinness shocked her; the woman had always been slightly built, but now she felt as if she would snap. She made Eithni feel as if her own lean frame was well-padded.

  Finally, Donnel released Talor from his hug and sat the lad back down to finish his meal.

  Mael saw Donnel and Eithni outside, leaving the children within so that the three adults could speak privately.

  “I’m glad you came today,” Mael said huskily. “Talor needs his father.”

  “I’m sorry I waited so long,” Donnel replied, a rasp in his voice.

  Mael met Donnel’s gaze. “I was happy to take Talor in. He’s a sweet-natured lad and good company for Ailene.” She broke off here, her blue eyes shadowing. “However, ever since I lost Maphan, I have found it difficult to cope …”

  “We will help you,” Eithni said, stepping closer to Mael. “Whatever you need. You know you aren’t alone.”

  Mael nodded, attempting a wobbly smile. Eithni’s heart hurt to watch her. Mael had always been so strong, so serene. Losing her husband had changed her. It should not have surprised Eithni, for she knew what grief did to people. She remembered how her father had transformed after her mother died and the fury that had consumed Donnel after losing Luana. They all dealt with it in different ways.

  “I don’t know how to be a father,” Donnel said, casting his gaze back at the shadowed interior of the roundhouse where Talor and Ailene were still eating. “What if I make a mess of it? What if he grows up hating me?”

  Mael huffed, wiping away the last of her tears. “None of us know what we’re doing … you just make it up as you go along.”

  “You will be a great father,” Eithni added, meaning every word. “Talor is a lucky boy indeed.”

  They left Mael to finish her noon meal and begin her afternoon chores, and began the walk back to the broch. However, half-way there, Eithni steered Donnel toward the outer wall—toward her hut. She had not been to visit it since their return, for there had not been time. Yet she wished to see it now.

  Her dwelling looked as if Eithni had never been away. Even the garden out front was neat; someone had been tending to it.

  She and Donnel walked down the path and let themselves in. The interior was exactly how she had left it over two moons earlier: her dried herbs, and pestle and mortar, still sitting on her work table. Her sleeping furs sat neatly folded in a corner, and the iron griddle where she cooked her morning oatcakes still hung over the fire.

  Eithni turned to Donnel, studying his face in the light filtering in from the open doorway. “How I’ve missed this place.”

  His mouth quirked. “Would you prefer us to live here then?”

  She inclined her head. “Don’t you want to live inside the broch? You have your own alcove.”

  He snorted. “It’s tiny … Tarl and Lucrezia sleep in my old alcove, but I’ve no wish to have it back. The broch’s too noisy anyway. I’ve gotten used to having space of my own. I’d like to live here.”

  Eithni glanced around her. The interior of her humble dwelling suddenly seemed shabby and cramped. “Are you sure it’s not too small?” she asked.

  “Possibly,” he admitted with a smile, “but I can extend it to give us some more space.” His smile faded then, and he stepped forward. “Would you mind if Talor came to live with us?”

  He looked so worried; as if the request was unreasonable, and she would deny him. Eithni moved close, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

  “Of course he can,” she replied softly, warmth flooding through her. “I don’t mind at all.”

  Epilogue

  Blessing

  Three months later …

  donnel went to Luana’s cairn at dawn. He walked alone, carrying a spray of heather, his boots crunching over the frozen ground. It was a still morning. The clear sky promised a fine, if cold, day ahead.

  It was not long before Mid-Winter Fire although at least three more moons of chill weather stretched before them after that.

  Donnel climbed the slope to the row of burial mounds and made his way to Luana’s cairn. It had been a while since he had visited this place, but it felt right to come here this morning—on the day that marked Luana’s death two winters earlier.

  The year before he had stood here, in the same spot, filled with black rage and a need to wreak vengeance upon the world. Only twelve moons had passed, and yet he felt completely changed—and as such the world seemed different too.

  Last year this row of cairns had been a depressing sight that had filled him with a bleak hopelessness. Now though, he felt just a gentle sadness, mingled with a feeling of peace. His father, Alpia, Maphan, and Luana—he stood here amongst the dead. They had let go of this world. They did not rage, grasp, and bicker like the living did.

  Donnel moved close to Luana’s tomb and placed a hand on the icy stone. “I don’t suppose you thought to see me back here,” he murmured to her. “You probably guessed I’d get myself killed before now … and I almost did.” A soft smile curved his lips as he thought of how Luana used to tease him. Yet his memories of her were not quite as sharp as they had been. Her face was slightly out of focus, and he struggled at times to recall the sound of her voice.

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I’m happy again, Lu,” he whispered, “but I don’t want that to mean I’ll forget you. I never want to do that.”

  He clenched his fist against the stone, fighting against the knowledge that, with each passing year, his memories of Luana and their time together would slowly mist and dim. But that was the way of things—you could not hold onto the dead. They wanted you to let them go.

  “Talor has your eyes,” he said after a long pause, “although I’m unhappy to report the lad has inherited my stubborn nature. I really hoped he was going to take after you.”

  It was true—with each passing moon Talor had more and more to say for himself. He now adored Donnel although he did not like being thwarted. Just a day earlier, Donnel had been forced to reprimand him. Donnel had been about to leave for a day’s hunting with his brothers, and Talor had thrown a tantrum because he had wanted to join them. The boy’s rage had amused Galan and Tarl although in the end Donnel had been forced to sling Talor—now screaming with rage—over his shoulder and carry him home.

  Donnel glanced down at the heather he still carried. Luana had loved this plant, had worn it in her hair at their handfasting. He stooped down and laid the herbs at the entrance to the cairn. When Talor was old enough to explain things to, he would bring his son here on this day. He had already told the lad much about Luana. He wanted her memory to live on through Talor.

  As he straightened up he could have sworn he felt a light touch on his arm and a gentle caress upon his cheek. He tensed. There was no breeze this morning. What had touched him?

  A sense of peace flooded over Donnel then, the sensation so powerful that his breathing stilled. Despite the cold morning and the glittering frost that covered the world, a ge
ntle warmth soaked into his limbs. He knew then—without understanding how—that Luana was with him.

  The sensation was fleeting, gone like a butterfly that settles upon a leaf for a moment before fluttering away, and yet he was sure of it.

  His wife, who had been so cruelly ripped from him, had just given him her blessing to start afresh.

  Donnel kissed the palm of his hand before laying it flat on the rock guarding the entrance to the cairn. “Be at peace in your long sleep,” he whispered. “You are remembered, sweet Luana.”

  He left the burial mounds and made his way down the slope toward the fort. Up ahead, he spied plumes of smoke rising from the roofs of the roundhouses inside the walls and from the great broch itself. As the sun slipped over the edge of the hills to the east, the world around him sparkled, as did the flat surface of Loch Slapin.

  Donnel walked home through the village, returning to the dwelling he now shared with Eithni. It looked vastly different to a few months earlier—for he had built another hut next to it and knocked out the wall dividing them. In the past moons, Eithni had extended the garden too, preparing beds for the spring. Donnel had built her a coop for fowl. The birds were already awake, pecking around on the frosty ground as Donnel walked up the path.

  He opened the wattle door, his gaze settling upon the scene within.

  Eithni sat beside the fire pit, frying oatcakes on the griddle. The sweet nutty aroma of baking wafted toward Donnel making his belly growl. Next to Eithni sat a small boy, his chubby hands coated with butter and honey as he plowed his way through a dish of oatcakes.

  “Slow down, Talor,” Donnel greeted his son. “Save some for the rest of us.”

  Eithni glanced over her shoulder, a smile spreading across her heart-shaped face. “There’s plenty for all,” she admonished him.

  “You spoil the lad,” he replied, pretending to look cross when it was difficult not to smile. The sight of them sitting there in such easy companionship warmed his heart. Eithni had welcomed Talor into her life wholeheartedly, and the boy adored her.

  Watching them this morning Donnel reflected on how fickle the gods were. They could be so cruel at times, and yet when you least expected it they could be benevolent. Happiness was fragile and fleeting. You could not take it for granted, not for an instant. With love came the risk of loss. He had not wanted to accept that with Luana, but he did now—and the realization was freeing.

  Eithni flipped the oatcakes and glanced back at him once more. “Are you going to stand there for much longer?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s freezing outside—you’re letting in a draft. Come in and pull up a stool. These are almost ready.”

  Donnel smiled. He liked it when she was bossy. Eithni might have looked delicate and sweet, but he had soon learned this woman had a will of iron. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

  “Aye, alright then.” Donnel stepped down into the living space and pulled the door closed behind him. “Talor, move over and make some space for me.”

  The End

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  Can’t get enough of the Picts?

  Don't miss WIND SONG (Book #2: The Kingdom of Northumbria). He's a Pict and she's an Angle. Bridei will do anything to win back his people's land from Northumbria, but Hea is loyal to her own king. This novel was inspired by real historical figures and events: Bridei mac Beli was a Pictish king who rebelled against the English in the 7th Century. Available now on Amazon!

  From the author

  And here we come to the end of THE WARRIOR BROTHERS OF SKYE. It’s been an exciting, action-packed, and emotional journey—both for the author and the readers—and I’m a bit sad to see it end.

  I know … you want more!

  And I’m happy to reveal that’s what you’re going to get.

  I’ve already planned out the next series. THE PICT WARS takes place just over twenty years after THE WARRIOR BROTHERS OF SKYE ends, and tells the stories of Galan, Tarl, and Donnel’s off-spring.

  The first novel in the series is WARRIOR’S HEART. This is the tale of Varar (Urcal’s son) and Fina (Tarl and Lucrezia’s daughter). Get ready for an angst-filled story about forbidden love! Book #1 should be out in early 2019. In the meantime here’s a sneak peek at the cover!

  Follow me on Facebook and/or my blog to keep updated on the new series. Or you can join my mailing list (not only do you get updates, exclusive stories, and a chance to join my ARC list, but you also receive a free starter library from The Kingdom of the East Angles series!).

  See you again soon, with another tale from the Dark Ages!

  Jayne xx

  Historical and background notes

  for BATTLE EAGLE

  Glossary

  Aos Sí or Fair Folk: fairies

  bandruí: a female druid or seer

  Broch: a tall, round, stone-built, hollow-walled Iron Age tower-house

  Caesars: the Ancient Romans

  Camanachd: the old name for the Scottish game of shinty, a game similar to hockey

  Clachneart: the Stone of Strength—an ancient form of shotput

  Place names

  An t-Eilean Sgitheanach: Gaelic name for the Isle of Skye

  Beinn na Caillich: the Red Hill of Skye

  Dun Ardtreck: a broch located on the Minginish Peninsula of Skye

  Dun Ringill: an Iron Age hill fort on the Strathaird Peninsula of Skye

  An Teanga: an Iron age broch located on the southern coast of Skye

  Bodach an Stòrr (The Old Man of Storr): a pinnacle of rock on the north-western coast of the Isle of Skye

  The four tribes of The Winged Isle*

  The People of The Eagle (south-west)

  The People of The Wolf (north-west)

  The People of The Boar (south-east)

  The People of The Stag (north-east)

  Gods and Goddesses of The Winged Isle*

  The Mother: Goddess of enlightenment and feminine energy—the bringer of change

  The Warrior: God of battle, life and growth, of summer

  The Maiden: Young goddess of nature and fertility

  The Hag: Goddess of the dark—sleep, dreams, death, winter, and the earth

  The Reaper: God of death

  Festivities on the Isle of Skye*

  Earth Fire: Salute to new life and the first signs of spring (February 1)

  Bealtunn: Spring Equinox

  Mid-Summer Fire: Summer Equinox

  Harvest Fire: Festival to salute the harvest (Aug 1)

  Gateway: Passage from summer to winter (October 31/November 1)

  Mid-Winter Fire: Winter Equinox

  * Author’s note: I have taken ‘artistic license’ when it comes to the names of the tribes, festivities, and gods and goddesses upon the Isle of Skye. The historical evidence is very scant, making it a challenge for me to get an accurate picture of what the names of the tribes living upon Skye during the 4th century would have been. Likewise I could not find any references to their gods and festivities. The Picts were an enigmatic people, and we only have their ruins and symbols to cast light on how they lived and whom they worshipped. To make my setting as authentic as possible, I have studied the rituals and religions of the Celtic peoples of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales of a similar period and have created a culture I feel could have existed.

  The culture, language, and religion of the Picts is one largely shrouded in mystery. Unlike my novels set in 7th Century Anglo-Saxon England, which is a reasonably well-documented period, researching 4th Century Isle of Skye proved to be a challenge. Pictish culture is largely an enigma to us. However, they did leave behind a number of fascinating stone ruin
s, standing stones, and artifacts, as well as a detailed collection of symbolic art.

  I created the four tribes of The Winged Isle from Pictish animal symbols. This is not a far-fetched idea; many Iron and Bronze-age peoples identified themselves with animal symbols. The clans we identify with Scotland did not appear until a few centuries later.

  Cast of characters (in alphabetical order)

  Ailene: daughter of Mael and Maphon

  Cal, Namet, Lutrin, and Ru: Galan’s four most trusted warriors

  Deri: young woman married to Cal, one of Galan’s warriors

  Donnel mac Muin: youngest brother of The Eagle chieftain

  Eithni: Healer at Dun Ringill, sister to Tea

  Galan mac Muin: Eagle chieftain

  Loxa mac Wrad: Urcal’s brother

  Luana: Donnel’s wife (deceased)

  Lucrezia: Tarl’s wife

  Mael: Luana’s sister (married to Maphan)

  Ruith: the seer at Dun Ringill

  Talor: Luana and Donnel’s infant son

  Tarl mac Muin: younger brother of The Eagle chieftain

  Tea: Galan’s wife

  Urcal mac Wrad: Wurgest’s elder brother, the Boar chieftain

  Wurgest mac Wrad: Urcal’s brother (deceased)

  Gurth mac Bolc: Urcal’s cousin

  Modwen: Urcal’s wife

  Varar: Urcal’s young son

  Fortrenn: chieftain of The Stag

  Acknowledgements