The Oak and the Ram - 04

by Michael Moorcock

  Here is your home!

  Now the bleating began afresh, but this time it was a lusty bleating, the bleating of a newborn lamb. And the voice came from the Silvern Ram as the moonlight fell upon its silver fleece and even as they watched they saw it grow and the bleating grew deeper and turned to a deep, lowing sound. And the Silvern Ram turned its head and its eyes had the same intelligence which Corum had witnessed in the eyes of the Black Bull of Crinanass. He knew then that this animal, like the Bull, was one of a flock which the Sidhi had brought with them when they came to this Realm. The Ram saw the Oak Woman and it ran to her and nuzzled her hand.

  Then Oak Woman smiled again, turning her head towards the sky, calling:

  Soul dwelling in the Mother Sea,

  Leave your tranquil haven. Your earthly destiny is yet unfinished.

  Here is your home!

  And the body of the High King stirred as if in sleep. And the hands crept to the face and the eyes opened and upon those blank features there was now written an expression of peace and wisdom. Where age had lined the flesh there was now youth, and where the limbs had been feeble there was now strength. And a cool, well-timbred voice said with faint astonishment:

  "I am Amergin."

  Then the Archdruid rose up, tearing off the sheepskin hood and releasing his fair hair so that it fell upon his shoulders. And he ripped the sheepskin clothing from his body to reveal a form that was naked and beautiful and clad only in bracelets of hammered red gold. And now Corum knew why the folk had mourned for their High King, for Amergin radiated both humility and dignity, wisdom and humanity.

  "Yes," he said, touching his breast and speaking wonderingly, "I am Amergin."

  Now a hundred swords flashed in the moonlight as the Mabden saluted their Archdruid.

  "Hail, Amergin! Hail, Amergin of the family of Amergin!"

  And many men were there who wept for joy and embraced each other, and even the Sidhi, Goffanon and Ilbrec, raised their weapons in salute to Amergin.

  The Oak Woman lifted her hand and she pointed a white finger through the throng to where Corum stood, still full of fear and unable to join the others in their joy.

  "You are Corum," said Oak Woman. "You saved the High King and you found the Oak and the Ram. You are the Mabden Champion now."

  "So I am told," said Corum in a small, tortured voice.

  "You shall be great in the memories of this folk," said Oak Woman, "yet you shall know little lasting happiness here."

  "I understand that also," said Corum, and he sighed.

  "Your destiny is a noble one," continued Oak Woman, "and I thank you for your dedication to that destiny. You have saved the High King and enabled me to keep my word."

  "You have slept all this time in the Golden Oak?" said Corum. "You have waited for this day?"

  "I have slept and I have waited."

  "But what power kept you upon this plane?" he asked, for this question had been puzzling him since Oak Woman had appeared. "What great power was it, Oak Woman?"

  "The power of my pledge," she said.

  "Naught else?"

  "Why should aught else be necessary?"

  And then the Oak Woman stepped back into the trunk of the Golden Oak and was followed by the Silvern Ram and the light from the oak began to fade. Then the outlines of the oak itself began to fade and then the Golden Oak, the Silvern Ram and Oak Woman were gone and were never afterward seen again in mortal lands.

  THE FOURTH CHAPTER

  THE DAGDAGH HARP

  Now the folk of Caer Mahlod carried their High King Amergin joyfully back to their fortress city and many danced as they moved through the moonlit forest. There were broad grins upon the faces of Goffanon and Ilbrec, who was mounted on his black horse Splendid Mane.

  And only Corum's brow was clouded, for he had heard words from Oak Woman which were less than cheering, and he lagged behind and was late in entering the King's hall.

  Their own good spirits clouding their vision, none of the others saw that Corum did not smile, and they slapped him upon his shoulders and they toasted him and they honored him as much as they honored their own High King.

  And the feasting began, and the drinking, and the singing to the sound of the Mabden harps.

  So Corum, seated beside Medhbh on one side and King Mannach on the other, drank a considerable amount of sweet mead and tried to drive the memory of the harp from his mind.

  He saw King Mannach lean across to where Goffanon was seated next to Ilbrec (who was manfully showing no discomfort as he sat cramped and cross-legged beside the bench) and ask: "How knew you the incantation which raised the Oak Woman, Sir Goffanon?"

  "I knew no special incantation," said Goffanon, lifting a cauldron of mead from his lips and setting it upon the table. ‘ 'I trusted to my hidden memories and the memories of my people. I hardly heard the words of the song myself. They came almost unbidden from my lips. I relied upon this to reach both the Oak Woman and Amergin's spirit wherever it drifted. It was Amergin himself who gave me the word which in turn produced that music which, in its turn, began the transformation."

  ' 'Dagdagh," said Medhbh, unaware that Corum shuddered at the sound. "An old word. A name, perhaps?" "A title, also. A word of many meanings." "A Sidhi name?"

  "I think not—though it is associated with the Sidhi. The Dagdagh led the Sidhi into battle on more than one occasion. I am young, you see, as the Sidhi measure age, and I took part in only two of the nine historic fights against the Fhoi Myore. By that time the name of the Dagdagh was no longer spoken. I know not why, save that there was a hint that Dagdagh had betrayed our cause."

  "Betrayed it? Not this night, surely?"

  "No," said Goffanon, his brow darkening a trifle. "Not this night.'' And he raised the cauldron to his lips and took a thoughtful swig.

  Jhary-a-Conel left his seat and came to stand behind Corum. "Why so pensive, old friend?"

  Corum was grateful that Jhary had noticed his mood and at the same time did not wish to spoil Jhary's celebration. He smiled as best he could and shook his head:' 'Weariness, I suppose. I've slept little of late."

  "That harp," continued Medhbh and Corum wished that she would stop. " I recall hearing a similar harp.'' She turned to Corum. "At Castle Owyn when we rode there once."

  ' 'Aye," he murmured. ‘ 'At Castle Owyn.''

  "A mysterious harp," said King Mannach, "but I for one am grateful to it and would hear its music again if it brings us such gifts as the restoration of our High King,'' and he raised his mead-hom to toast Amergin who sat smiling and calm, but drinking little, at the head of the table. ‘ 'Now we shall mass," said King Mannach,' 'all the folk of the Mabden who remain. We shall build a great army and we shall ride against the Fhoi Myore. And this time we shall leave none alive!"

  "Brave words," said Ilbrec, "but we need more than courage. We need weapons such as my sword Retaliator. We need cunning— aye, and caution where it suits our cause."

  "You speak wisely, Sir Sidhi," said Amergin. "You echo my own thoughts." His old and yet youthful face was full of good humor as if he were not troubled one bit by the great problem of the Fhoi Myore. He wore a robe now of loose yellow samite bordered with designs of blue and red, and his hair was braided and lay upon his back.

  "With Amergin to counsel us and Corum to lead us into war," said King Mannach, "I believe that I am not foolish to show some optimism." He smiled at Corum. "We grow stronger. Not long-since our lives seemed lost and our race destroyed, but now ..."

  ' 'Now,'' said Corum finishing a whole hom of mead and wiping his lips upon the back of his silver hand, "now we celebrate great victories." Unable to control himself he rose from the bench, stepped over it, and strode from the hall. He walked into the night, through the streets of Caer Mahlod—streets which were filled with merrymakers, with music and with laughter—and he went through the gate and over the turf toward where the distant sea boomed. And at last he stood alone upon the brink of the chasm which separated him from the r
uins of his old home, Castle Erom, which this folk called Castle Owyn and thought a formation of natural rock.

  In the moonlight the ruins glowed and Corum wished that he could fly across the gulf and enter Castle Erorn and find a gateway back to his own world. There he had been lonely, but that was not the loneliness he felt now. Now he had a sense of complete desolation.

  And then he saw a face staring back at him from one of the broken windows of the castle. It was a handsome face, a face with a skin of gold; a mocking face.

  Corum called hoarsely: "Dagdagh! Is it Dagdagh?"

  And he heard laughter which became the music of a harp.

  Corum drew his sword. Below him the sea foamed and leapt on the rocks at the foot of the cliff. He prepared to leap the gulf, to seek out the youth with the skin of gold, to demand why the youth plagued him so. He poised himself, caring not if he fell and died. And then he felt a soft, strong hand upon his shoulder. He tried to shake it free, still crying: "Dagdagh! Let me be!"

  Medhbh's voice said close to his ear, "Dagdagh is our friend, Corum. Dagdagh saved our High King."

  Corum turned towards her and saw her troubled eyes staring into his single eye.

  "Put away your sword," she said. "There is no one there."

  "Did you not hear the music of his harp?"

  ‘ ‘1 heard the wind making music in the crannies of Castle Owyn. That is what I heard."

  “You did not see his face, his mocking face?"

  "I saw a cloud move across the moon," she said. "Come back now, Corum, to our celebrations."

  And he sheathed his sword and he sighed and he let her lead him back to Caer Mahlod.

  EPILOGUE

  And that was the end of the Tale of the Oak and the Ram.

  Messengers went across the sea, taking the news to all: The High King was restored to his folk. They sailed to the West to tell King Fiachadh of the Tuha-na-Manannan (named for Ilbrec’s own family Corum now knew) and they sailed to the North where the Tuha-na-Tir-nam-Beo were told the news. And they told the Tuha-na-Ana and they told King Daffyn of the Tuha-na-Gwyddneu Garanhir. And wherever they found Mabden tribes they told them that the High King dwelled at Caer Mahlod, that Amergin debated the question of war against the Fhoi Myore and that the representatives of all the tribes of the Mabden race were called there to plan the last great fight which would decide who ruled the Islands of the West.

  In the smithies there was a clanging and roaring as swords were fashioned, and axes made and spears honed under the direction of that greatest of all smiths, Goffanon.

  And there was excitement and optimism in the homes of the Mabden as they wondered what Corum of the Silver Hand and Amergin the Archdruid would decide and where the battle would take place and when it would begin.

  And others listened to Ilbrec who would sit in the fields and tell them the tales he had heard from his father, who many thought to be the greatest of the Sidhi heroes—tales of the Nine Fights against the Fhoi Myore and the deeds which were done. And they were heartened by these tales (some of which they knew) and glad to understand that the heroism which had been thought to be the fanciful invention of bards had actually taken place.

  And only when they saw Corum, pale and pensive, his head bent as if he listened for a voice he could not quite hear, did they consider the tragedy of those tales, of the great hearts which had been stilled in the service of their race.

  And at those times did the folk of Caer Mahlod become thoughtful and at those times they understood the enormity of the sacrifice made for their cause by the Vadhagh Prince called Corum of the Silver Hand.

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