The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy

by Jules Watson

  The undamming of Eremon’s own grief, however, did not mean the healing of it, and he still stumbled along like one in a dream. Rori and Fergus watched his steps as if they were their own, and Rhiann let them be, for she could see it eased their own hearts.

  She herself turned back from the lead only when Caitlin needed her, and the warmth Rhiann could impart to her sister’s heart when the pain became too much to bear. In this, Rhiann was aided by Aedan, who fought to draw Caitlin from her despair as he had once fought to draw her from birth pain. Though the songs he sang into the soft light of the long evenings were slow and full of grief, the tears that he wrung from all of them were pure, and eased them so that the next morning they could rise again and go on.

  At long last they came around the bare shoulders of the sacred mount Cruachan, the rushing streams that cut the wide valleys on its flanks no more than shining threads amid an immensity of rearing peaks. Slowly they picked their way along the streams until they reached the tree line once more, and stood above the long, shining Loch of the Waters, stretching south-west for all the leagues to the ancestor valley, and their own lands.

  They were cold and damp and hungry, their bones showing through their flesh, their skin grimed with dirt. Yet the loch lay like a path of silver, drawing them towards some hope, and they knew now that the bleak rocks, cold and mist of the highest mountains were behind them.

  ‘Now we need only follow the loch to Dunadd,’ Lorn said, leaning on his spear. The forested slopes on which they had halted were still steep, knee-deep in bracken and thorny brambles that had crept from the lower ground.

  ‘We will not go to Dunadd,’ Rhiann replied quietly, shading her eyes from the silver flare of the loch surface. ‘If they have discovered that Eremon is alive, then he is the most wanted fugitive in the land. We cannot risk drawing the Romans to Dunadd.’

  ‘The people are still living in the hills,’ Lorn argued, all boldness stripped from his voice by grief. ‘We can hide there until we know what the Romans intend.’

  ‘No.’ Rhiann turned and smiled at him to take any sting from her words. ‘It is your realm now, Lorn, and for you to order as you wish. But an end must come for Eremon on the shores of Alba. If he is forced to keep running, and hide who he is, then his heart will truly be lost, and nothing at all will be salvaged from this battle.’

  As Lorn stared at Rhiann in utter bewilderment, Nectan spoke up. ‘Come north to my lands,’ the Caereni chieftain offered.

  Rhiann smiled again and placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘No, friend. Those lands are a haven for you, but not for us.’ Her face swung back to the long bank of shining water, merging with the misty haze in the west. ‘It is to Erin we must go.’

  The two men were silent, and this time no one argued with her.

  Without waiting for an answer, she pointed with the staff of rowan Nectan had cut for her. ‘My friends, make camp down there on the loch shore, in the shelter of those pines.’ Then she turned and gazed higher up, to where the shoulders of Cruachan shook themselves bare of trees. ‘There is a shrine somewhere not far, a little pool built long ago for travellers. I must go to it now, for I have a call to make.’

  They came down towards the Bay of the Otters three days later, as the dusk was drawing in. From the last of the high hills they had seen the western horizon over the sea aflame from end to end, and all its calm waters pooling like molten gold around the dark peaks of islands.

  Yet Rhiann did not let them stop there for the night, and drank in that view while her feet kept moving. The sky was clear, and there would be stars, and she knew that under starlight they would leave, for Fola had seen it.

  By the time they reached the little hollow outside Eithne’s old, deserted house, just north of Crinan, the shore was steeped in twilight, the flame in the sky cooled to dark blue embers. The slight breeze stirred the dried strips of seaweed on the sagging fence, and the hissing of the waves over the shingle drifted up from where the hollow opened out on the shore.

  Beneath the first pinpricks of stars, Rhiann saw immediately that her call had been answered, as the weary travellers around her crunched their way onto the pale shell beach. Eithne’s father’s fishing curragh was already drawn up on the sands, and by it stood three dark figures, one holding a bundle that squirmed and fussed, and one a hound that raced up the beach towards them, yelping.

  With a wounded cry, Caitlin dropped her pack to the ground and ran to Eithne to sweep Gabran up in her arms, and for a moment no one moved, as she buried her sobs in her son’s hair. Gabran went quiet and still, and his soft whimper of ‘Muh?’ was the only human sound on that starlit beach beside the hiss of the restless waves.

  Then Linnet and Fola were hastening to Rhiann’s side, and Fola reached her first, enfolding Rhiann in her arms. ‘I told you,’ Fola whispered, her voice trembling. ‘I told you I would see you here.’

  Rhiann kissed her on the forehead. ‘And so you have, dear friend. Yet it is not the last time so.’ She smiled directly into Fola’s dark eyes. ‘Throw off your grief, because I need you more than ever.’

  Fola stared wide eyed into Rhiann’s face, and something in her own features relaxed, and her hand gripped Rhiann’s fingers only once before she released her.

  Around them, the others had come to life: Rori and Eithne falling into an embrace, the men dropping their weapons with a relieved sigh and soft exchange of conversation. All except Eremon, who stood like a pillar of ice, ignoring the leap of Cù at his legs until Rori pulled the dog away.

  Now Rhiann reached for Linnet, waiting tall and silent behind Fola, her hood drawn up in sorrow. ‘Your voice woke me and drew me to the pool,’ Linnet whispered. ‘I heard you, and saw you as clear in my vision as I do now. I am so sorry, so sorry …’ Her voice broke, and she held Rhiann at arm’s length, her eyes straying to her distended belly, and the shudder of pain that passed through her vibrated within Rhiann’s breast, too.

  ‘No, aunt,’ Rhiann murmured, easing back her hood. ‘As you have seen within me before without words, so see now. For I have touched the soul of that child, and I have walked the mountain with Nerida, and I found the acceptance, and I saw what must be done. There is grief for all, but beyond it is light.’

  Like Fola, Linnet met Rhiann’s eyes in the starlight and searched them, and gradually a wonder dawned over her face, melting the lines of pain and fear into something that glowed as Rhiann herself glowed inside. ‘So shall it be,’ Linnet murmured at last, and bowed her head.

  The others were silent, watching them: Eithne in the curve of Rori’s arm; Caitlin tucked into Fola’s side. Rhiann stepped into the centre of the sand. ‘This then is what I dreamed,’ she said, raising her voice to them all, ‘for each of you has a part in it, if you wish.’

  As her steps drew closer to him, Eremon’s head swung around, his nostrils flaring with fear. And though Rhiann spoke to those around her, it was Eremon alone whom she held with her eyes, breathing a thread between them on the chill night air so that her words might travel along it and be heard, eventually, in his heart.

  ‘A woman was in a valley of light,’ Rhiann began, her voice filling the space around them, ‘with all the people of Alba. And though danger swept the air above, the woman cupped the cauldron of the goddess Ceridwen, gathering the Source so that it drove back the shadows. And by her side there stood a man of Erin, a leader such as this land has never seen.’

  At those words, Eremon slowly sank to his knees on the damp sand. As Aedan and Fergus started towards him, Rhiann raised a warning hand to stop them. She moved closer to Eremon again. ‘This man held a sword that brought not death, but protection and truth. And he and she had come together again, as they had in many lives, to hold the Source against the darkness. But it was no battle this man had to fight, and it was not to wield power that this woman gathered it. For there is more than one way to save a people.’

  Eremon gasped, his head sunk low on his breast, as Rhiann went down on her knees before him. ‘D
on’t mock me,’ he whispered fiercely, his face in his hands. ‘I failed the dream. I drew them to war, and they died, and Alba is lost.’

  Rhiann shook her head, and held Eremon by the shoulders. She could feel his trembling beneath her fingers. ‘Alba is not lost,’ she said gently, ‘not while we hold the Source in our hearts. The war was part of the Mother’s loom, and each man’s thread is woven by him and Her alone: it was not your will and choice that took the warriors there, only their own. But that wasn’t what the dream was about, Eremon!’ Rhiann stroked the damp hair back from his temples, though he wouldn’t raise his head. ‘There are other ways to lead, other ways to protect, and I will tell you.’

  Rhiann drew a breath which misted in the cooling air. ‘Sometimes people must lose what they love in order to make them love it more; it is the heat of the fire which forges the strength of iron! And Alba’s people will need their strength, for I saw glimpses of what will come: Alba will be fought over for generations. Yet just as the dream foretold, we are part of what saves it from one of its greatest enemies.’ She gazed around at her friends. ‘Believe and trust that the Source in my dream can be protected and guarded all through those dark times, for it is all of what makes Alba free and fine and beautiful: the music and stories,’ she sought out Aedan’s face, ‘the lore of growing things and raising animals, and aye, the lore of men!’ Her eyes rested for a moment on Lorn and Fergus and Rori. ‘The chants and the ways of opening and closing, blessing and healing.’ She smiled at Fola and Linnet, then at Caitlin. ‘And the shepherding of the children, so that we may give the Source into their hands when we die, and they to their children, and so it is held safe until the time when war is passed for ever! Then will Alba still stand steady when the storm is passed, the hidden treasure beneath it only sleeping!’

  Rhiann felt the shuddering of Eremon’s arms in her grasp, and she took his face and gently but firmly turned it up to her. ‘And to you, husband, I say this. Those who will guard the Source need a leader, a man to protect them with his righteousness. That was your role, that was what She asked of you all along, to help us all make a fertile place where children can grow, where the lore can be nurtured and passed on.’

  ‘I can never raise a sword again!’ Eremon suddenly burst out, his eyes tightening with anguish. ‘For I chased war blindly, like a madman, and in the end it took him … and her, the child, it took her, too!’

  Rhiann brushed the tears from his cheek with her thumb. ‘It is not your skills of war we need, cariad. It is your wisdom, your soul sense, your gentleness, your strength, your eyes, your hands, your heart! It is not to challenge your kin that we go to Erin, but to find a place, a quiet place away from battle to nurture that which the darkness will seek to destroy. Is that not worthy of a life?’

  Eremon stared up at her, and Rhiann saw the faintest flicker deep within their starlit depths, of an understanding that could grow. Yet the pain was so bitter. ‘Is it?’ he said hoarsely. ‘Is it enough?’

  ‘My love.’ Rhiann drew his face up to her and kissed his cold nose. ‘You travelled in the Otherworld with me,’ she whispered. ‘You know it was real; that we lived there, you and I, though our bodies slept here. So you know this, too: that though those we love sleep in the ground, their soul-flames have already flown to a place of great bliss, and there they live in the light.’ She pressed her lips to his eyelids, one by one. ‘And they do not wish you to walk in darkness, cariad, they wish you to raise up your face and honour them with your joy.’

  Eremon gazed up at Rhiann, his hope warring with his pain. Yet he had no chance to fumble for a reply, for there was a muffled sound from behind them now, and Rhiann turned. Linnet had been drawn forward by her words, and now she fell to her knees, raising her arms to the sky. In her face, Rhiann recognized the trance of true prophecy, as she had seen it few times before.

  ‘If your heart will be cleansed, prince of Erin, then hark to me, for the gods give you something that will be enough even for you!’ Linnet’s priestess voice was deep, her whole body trembling with the fire of her vision. Imperceptibly, all the men drew back, as she closed her eyes, the moonlight seeming to pool there in a silver glow around her. ‘For a kingdom of Dalriada is born this day, and it will span the sea from Erin to Alba. It will spring from two lines – that of Eremon mac Ferdiad, and Conaire mac Lugaid –and in the years to come the lines will mingle, and from that mingled strand will come the greatest kings of Alba! Yet there is more.’ Linnet paused, flinging out one hand towards Rhiann, her eyes opening, terrible and fierce in their joy. ‘From your line will come she who brings nations together.’ The other hand reached to Eremon. ‘From your line will come he who rids Alba of the Romans for ever! Hark that Rhiann’s vision was no vision alone, but truth. So shall it be.’ Linnet’s hands dropped in her lap, and she bowed her head, breathless.

  Slowly, Rhiann stood from her crouch and walked towards her aunt, resting one hand on the back of Linnet’s hair. Her head shook slightly beneath Rhiann’s fingers, as Rhiann looked around at her friends and family, their faces expressing shock and sadness and bewilderment. ‘My aunt speaks the words of the gods. We will take this boat now and sail to Erin, and all who wish to come with us are welcome.’ Her eyes came to rest on Caitlin, and she read there the torn anguish. ‘Yet remember what was said. Those of us in Erin will be joined with those in Alba, as one kingdom, our blood mixing so that we are one people. This is also how we will serve the Source, for the sea is not very wide, and the crossings will be many.’

  Beneath Rhiann’s hand Linnet at last stirred, and Rhiann stooped to help her to her feet, beckoning Fola to hold her aunt’s arm. Yet it was Caitlin who moved next, coming directly to Rhiann with Gabran in her arms, her back straight, though her cheeks were marked with shining tears.

  ‘Gabran is meant to be king at Dunadd,’ she whispered, raising her chin, the night wind stirring the hair over her shoulders. ‘So that must be my home, too. For once it is safe to emerge, he will need me to guide him to his Hall.’ Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together. ‘It is what I promised Conaire, there in the mountains.’

  Rhiann smiled at her, though her heart clenched with one pang of pain. ‘I knew this would be your choice, dear one, and it is fitting.’ She held Caitlin and Gabran close, her mouth next to Caitlin’s ear. ‘And remember,’ she whispered, ‘it is not far for a swift boat across the waves. You will greet us often in your Hall, and we will greet you often in ours, for our kins must become one.’

  Caitlin nodded and stepped back, unable to speak, but Linnet came forward herself now, moving with her old grace, and put her arm around her blood daughter. ‘I will stay with Caitlin,’ she murmured, her eyes hidden by the shadow of the boat’s single sail, snapping faintly in the breeze. ‘Daughter of my heart, though it would grieve me to leave either of you, her need is the greater, and my place here.’ Her hand came out to rest against Rhiann’s cheek. ‘And now we can speak in our souls and minds, so the waves sunder only our bodies, not our hearts. I will spend much time at my pool, and this time not be frustrated with what I cannot see.’

  Rhiann laid her palm along Linnet’s hand, and the three of them did not move for a long time.

  ‘I, of course, will stay,’ Lorn broke in at last, his eyes straying with sorrow to Eremon’s bent head. He hesitated for a moment, and then approached Eremon and leaned in on one knee. ‘Good sailing, sword brother,’ he murmured, but at that last word Eremon flinched, and the hand he had been extending to Lorn dropped again to the sand in despair. Bracing himself, Lorn rose and bowed to Rhiann. ‘Rest assured, lady, although I do not understand all of what that prophecy held, Caitlin and the child and your aunt will remain under my protection.’ Then he drew from a belt across his back Conaire’s sword, which he had carried all that way, and laid it across his palms. His pale eyes glinted with a deep grief, yet also a hard, grim strength, and Rhiann realized that the cocky youth was gone for ever.

  Rhiann impulsively laid her hand over th
e unsheathed blade. ‘You saved Eremon’s life, not once, but twice, and for that I am grateful. Your oath has been discharged.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘And do not fear, for I have this to add: you will lead your people for many years, and hold your lands free against the Romans.’ With a bowed head Lorn sheathed the sword, unbuckled it and handed it to Caitlin for Gabran.

  Nectan came then, and sank to his knees before Eremon with his bow across his own palms. ‘King Stag,’ the Caereni chieftain intoned, ‘you need someone to guide this boat over the waves to Erin. Let me perform this last service to you, for my people will always keep their oath, until the Goddess calls us home. You earned this, and you hold it still.’

  Rhiann’s breath froze, for Nectan sought to return to Eremon the respect he saw as destroyed. And for a long moment Eremon stared at Nectan with wide, pained eyes, his mouth twisting. Yet at last he stretched out his hand – trembling, hesitant – and as he placed it on Nectan’s bowed head, his eyes closed in some surrender. Rhiann let out her breath.

  Only two other choices were to be made. Fola declared immediately that she would not leave Rhiann’s side again, and that she was long overdue for an adventure of her own anyway. And when Rhiann turned to Eithne, the glow in her dark eyes as they rested on Rori told her clearly what the maid’s choice would be: to become Rori’s wife in Erin.

  As the others said their final farewells, Rhiann approached Eremon, who had now risen on shaky legs. She could not read his eyes clearly, but the faint moonlight showed her the clean lines of his face as she had first seen him, when he stepped from a boat to Alba’s shore. And though his jaw was tense, there was a softness there, too. ‘Rhiann,’ he whispered, his eyes raising slowly to meet hers, ‘I told no one beyond Conaire, but at leaf-bud, a man came from Erin. He had searched for me for moons to tell me my uncle had died.’ As Rhiann gasped, he gripped her fingers. ‘They wanted me to return – as king.’ He stared into her, willing her to understand.