Fionn: The Stalking Silence

by Brian O'Sullivan

  ***

  Fiacail was standing in the gateway passage when Cairbre and Bearach removed the barrier, almost completely filling the compact space with the breadth of his shoulders and the two, cloth-coated axes strapped to his back.

  From the rampart, Bodhmhall watched how he acknowledged the Ráth Bládhma men with his usual confidence, nodding then haughtily striding past and into the shadowy lis as though the ráth was his own personal property. She swiftly turned her back to put her foot on the ladder as his eyes swung up to the ramparts. Although she couldn’t see him, she could feel the weight of his gaze descend each individual rung with her. Stepping onto the ground, she took a deep breath before turning to advance into the circle of light thrown down by the flaming torches.

  ‘I see you, Bodhmhall,’ the warrior said.

  ‘I see you, Fiacail.’ She reached forward and embraced the big man, reaching up to put her arms around him. Abruptly, she pulled back, wrinkling her nose with an expression of surprise. ‘You stink like a tanner’s pit.’

  ‘A healthy sweat,’ he chuckled. ‘Besides, is that any way to greet a dear friend?’

  ‘Not so dear any more, Fiacail.’

  Their visitor sighed, head dipped in mournful resignation. ‘Ah, Bodhmhall. Will you never forgive a weak man’s foolishness? You are still as beautiful to me as the flowers in Spring.’

  ‘That was a well-worn compliment the first time you offered it, Fiacail.’

  A silence followed her retort, growing increasingly strained until it was mercifully disrupted by the bustle of Fiacail’s men entering the compound. Struggling to negotiate a handmade litter through the gateway passage, they finally succeeded in entering the lis, laying it on the beaten earth with an expressive display of cursing and groaning. In the torchlight, Bodhmhall saw Liath Luachra’s pale features stare up, cool and impassive, from the stretcher. Despite the show of indifference, she knew the warrior woman would be fuming inside, incensed at being returned to her people in such a helpless manner. The bandraoi felt a brief stab of sympathy for the two men who would have had to carry her and bear the brunt of her ill will.

  Leaving the Seiscenn Uarbhaoil man, she moved forwards to crouch down beside her companion. Placing one hand on the other woman’s shoulder, she squeezed and held her eyes for a very long time. Liath Luachra returned the stare in silence with her usual, aloof calm. Finally, Bodhmhall rose and turned back to the visitors.

  ‘Fiacail, you and your men have our gratitude for returning Liath Luachra safely. The hospitality of Ráth Bládhma is yours for as long as you wish to accept it.’

  The ritualistic declaration, uttered with the traditional sobriety, was somewhat undermined by a sudden snort from Liath Luachra. ‘I didn’t need their help. I would have made my own way back. Eventually.’

  She struggled to rise from the stretcher and although she succeeded in sitting up, Cairbre and Cónán were obliged to assist her before she could get to her feet. Swaying precariously, she regarded her rescuer with undisguised hostility.

  ‘You should rest,’ suggested the big man.

  ‘I am in my own home. I don’t need your counsel here.’

  Fiacail shrugged.

  Further dissension was interrupted as Bearach, fresh from barricading the gate, hurried forward and excitedly threw himself on Liath Luachra. A titter of amusement fluttered through the little assembly as she staggered back under the impact, struggling to extricate herself from the enfolding embrace. Scowling, she pushed the boy away.

  ‘I thought ...’ said Bearach. ‘I thought ...’

  ‘You thought wrong,’ she growled. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?

  ‘Yes, but ...’

  Stung by her unexpected hostility, Bearach gawped helplessly. Bodhmhall tactfully stepped forward, inserting herself between them as she directed the discussion to other topics.

  ‘Bearach, Liath Luachra needs to rest and we need a keen pair of eyes on the rampart. Can we trust you to do this?’

  The boy looked at her with a dismal expression but responded with a nod. As he trekked back to the gateway she made an apologetic gesture to the visitors.

  ‘Forgive me, Fiacail. It truly brings me joy to see you again but I’m sure you understand our relief at Liath Luachra’s safe return.’

  The great shoulders shrugged. ‘We were fortunate to be in the right time at the right place, Bodhmhall.’

  ‘And the right place is Ráth Bládhma?’

  The warrior’s features tightened. He looked at her with an oddly cryptic expression that she was unable to decipher. ‘A man cannot visit an old friend?’

  ‘Of course. A friend such as you is more than a thousand times welcome.’

  Fiacail smiled, somewhat pacified by the compliment.

  ‘But when it requires a trek of several days,’ continued Bodhmhall, ‘such visits, by necessity, raise enquiry.’ This time the bandraoi smiled coyly. ‘Even for a wanderer the likes of Fiacail mac Codhna.’

  The tall man’s good humour faded and his face took on a pinched, drawn expression. He fiddled nervously with the ends of his moustache, a tic she would not normally associate with the brash and confident warrior.

  ‘I come with poor tidings, Bodhmhall. I have travelled direct from Dún Baoiscne -’

  Bodhmhall raised one hand to silence him. ‘Then I already know of the tragic tidings you bring.’

  Liath Luachra and Fiacail stared at her in surprise. She couldn’t help but notice the sharp intake of breath from Fiacail’s two kinsmen and the way they took a step back from her. The mysterious and terrifying powers of An Cailleach Dubh manifested for all to see! It took some effort not to snarl at them.

  ‘You know?’ asked Liath Luachra.

  ‘I do. But perhaps we should first discuss a more critical matter. Bearach told us of a war party. We had feared you’d been taken by them.’

  There was a brief silence as Liath Luachra’s eyes took on a strangely haunted look. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘We came across the tracks of a fian.’

  ‘Are they coming in this direction?’

  The shorter woman looked unhappy. ‘They scatter tracks all over the land without any clear direction. It’s as though they’re searching for something. Or someone.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Fiacail cut in, earning himself a pointed glare from the woman warrior. ‘But the situation is worse than that. We also encountered the trail of a second fian.’

  Bodhmhall felt a hollowness swell inside her stomach. ‘A second fian?’

  ‘Yes. We think there’s about the same number of fighting men. Twenty to thirty warriors. They too seem to be wandering from direction to direction. I can’t guess at what they might be searching for. I’m sure it’s not for each other.’

  Bodhmhall wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  Gods! Two fian. Forty to sixty warriors.

  It took all of her self-control to resist wringing her hands in despair. So many warriors was hardly a raid so much as a declaration of all out war. She hadn’t seen such numbers mustered since her childhood when the fighting between Clann Baoiscne and Clann Morna had been at its height. ‘Yes, well,’ she began in as casual a manner as she could manage. ‘It’s possible that the object of their search is here at Ráth Bládhma.’

  She proceeded to brush some imaginary dust from her skirts.

  Once again Fiacail and Liath Luachra stared at her in consternation. The woman warrior’s eyes flickered in comprehension.

  ‘The ráth has received a visitor.’ Her words were expressed as a statement, an expression of complete certainty. ‘There is no other way you could have learned of Fiacail’s news.’

  Bodhmhall nodded slowly.

  ‘Well, who is it?’

  The bandraoi released a deep breath. ‘It is Muirne Muncháem.’

  This time Liath Luachra’s reaction was not one of surprise but one of complete astonishment, a rarity for her. It slid from her features quickly enough. Her eyes hardened but despite her obvious sho
ck, she refrained from comment, leaving it to Fiacail to express their shared bewilderment.

  ‘Well, well. Muirne Muncháem. When I was in Dún Baoiscne, Tréanmór made no mention of her departure but -’ The warrior paused and gauged her with a thoughtful stare. Before he could query Muirne’s presence any further, she cut the subject short.

  ‘Fiacail, I truly appreciate your efforts but Liath Luachra is in pain.’ From the corner of her eye she observed the woman warrior raise one cynical eyebrow at this. ‘I must beg your indulgence for such a poor welcome but I do need to treat her.’

  She gestured to Cairbre, who had silently positioned himself behind her during the discussions.

  ‘I’m sure you will remember Cairbre. He now acts as rechtaire for Ráth Bládhma and will occupy himself with your comfort and sleeping arrangements. For the moment, I would ask you to take your ease with our blessings. We will continue our discussions and celebrate your presence here later over food.’

  Although the warrior would clearly have liked to discuss the subject further, he settled for a stiff smile. With a nod, he gestured for his men to accompany him and followed Cairbre towards the larger of the two lean-tos.

  As their visitors departed, a light rain started to fall, tumbling down out of the heavens like a storm of aqueous needles. Ignoring it, Liath Luachra silently looked about the lis, nodding in approval at the doused fire and the livestock lowing softly in their pen. After a moment, she turned to consider the bandraoi. ‘Why,’ she hissed, ‘is Muirne Muncháem in our home?’

  ‘She came seeking sanctuary. What would you have me do? Cast a defenceless woman to the wilds?’

  ‘Muirne Muncháem is hardly defenceless. That mouth of hers would knock an ox at sixty paces.’ She briefly picked at a clotted scratch along her scalp. ‘From the moment that woman arrived at Dún Baoiscne, she saw you as a threat, a potential competitor. She did everything in her power to undermine your standing there.’ She growled a low, blood-curling snarl. ‘She stood before our people and mocked you as An Cailleach Dubh. I should have slit her throat then. I certainly would do it now.’

  ‘If you had slit her throat,’ Bodhmhall pointed out. ‘Then the people could, justifiably, have slit yours.’

  ‘They would have had their work cut out.’

  Bodhmhall made no attempt to conceal her scepticism at that particular argument.

  ‘Muirne Muncháem is our guest.’

  ‘Bodhmhall, she has proven herself no friend of ours. She poisoned your father’s ears and used her influence to drive us from Dún Baoiscne. If she –’

  Bodhmhall’s eyes suddenly flared with all the authority derived of a privileged and regal upbringing. ‘It was not Muirne Muncháem’s influence with my father that drove us from Dún Baoiscne. You, of all people should know that.’

  Taken aback by the bandraoi’s unaccustomed ferocity, the woman warrior uncharacteristically yielded the point. ‘That’s true enough,’ she admitted, although it was a concession tainted with obvious bitterness. ‘I stand corrected.’

  ‘Besides, I have offered Muirne sanctuary for tonight. As Taoiseach of this settlement, that is my decision to make.’

  Liath Luachra considered her with muted airiness. In all their years at Glenn Ceoch there had never been any doubt of Bodhmhall’s leadership role. It had been Bodhmhall, after all, who’d successfully negotiated access to the land and the ráth, and who’d obtained the essential equipment and livestock. Everyone knew that without her influence and family connections there would be no settlement, although there’d never previously been any need to confirm this assumption so explicitly.

  ‘Then you are truly your father’s daughter, oh noble one.’

  The bandraoi stiffened and for a moment it looked as though she might bite back at the sarcasm. Instead, her gaze softened.

  ‘That was thoughtless. Forgive me, Liath Luachra. It’s been a trying day and I’m close to the edge of my tolerance.’

  Liath Luachra shrugged, her forehead creasing up in pain despite the slightness of the movement.

  ‘Put your weight on me,’ said Bodhmhall. ‘I’ll help you to Cairbre and Conchenn’s roundhouse.’

  ‘So Muirne Muncháem’s sleeping in our bed as well then?’

  Bodhmhall refused to respond to the provocation. ‘Just lean on me.’

  The woman warrior was no stripling but by wedging one arm under her shoulder, Bodhmhall was able to support her towards the roundhouse shared by Cairbre and his family. Stumbling through the wooden doorway, the bandraoi steered her to the nearest sleeping platform and eased her flat onto the fur-coated straw mattress. A small oil lamp placed on the stool to one side of the hut emitted a flickering, greasy light that competed with the glow from the small fire-pit.

  ‘Wait here.’

  The bandraoi left the dwelling, returning a short time later with a bowl of scented water in one hand, a bowl of oil in the other. Shuffling the heavy leather flap aside, she placed both carefully on the rush-strewn floor then sat on the platform where the other woman lay.

  ‘Forgive me, Liath Luachra. I know Muirne’s presence eats at you but you can’t let that drive a wedge between us. She’s here only because she has nowhere else to go. Her husband – my brother – is dead.’

  Saying the words aloud served to release the truth of it. All at once, the strength that had sustained her throughout the afternoon finally gave way, crumpling like snow beneath a heavy foot. She began to weep. For her brother, for herself, for a childhood that was now truly gone and could no longer be retrieved.

  Startled before the intensity of Bodhmhall’s grief, Liath Luachra stared, unsure how to react. Awkwardly, she raised her right hand to stroke the bandraoi’s cheek.

  ‘I’ve wronged you, Bodhmhall. In my own anger I ignored your family tragedy. I’m sorry. I grieve for your loss, a rún. As I grieve for Cumhal. I truly liked him.’

  ‘My heart is low, Liath Luachra. I think it will break in two.’

  ‘Then you must find the resolve to hold those halves together, dear one. Our lives may depend on it. These are dangerous times.’

  ‘I fear I lack your resolve.’

  ‘Bah! You have iron in you. You just can’t see it as I do.’ Liath Luachra levered herself up onto one elbow. ‘I respect your decision Bodhmhall, but having Muirne here could come down heavily on us. On our people. Hiding out here in Glenn Ceoch we’ve avoided most of the bloodshed but now -’

  She attempted to shift closer but flinched at the sudden movement. Bodhmhall wiped the tears from her face.

  ‘That’s enough talk of Muirne. You’re wounded. Let me tend to your wound.’

  ‘There is no wound. Just scratches.’

  Bodhmhall stared, noting the stiffness in her voice.

  ‘No wound?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you can barely stand.’

  Liath Luachra rolled onto her stomach, face down into the furs and muttered.

  The bandraoi considered her with open curiosity. It was unlike the conradh to be so circumspect. Although she had, admittedly, softened over the years, she was usually direct to the point of bluntness. Bodhmhall’s lips twitched as she recalled Cairbre’s initial assessment on meeting the woman warrior for the first time. He had summarised her as “a silversmith’s hammer, the perfect instrument to deliver force directly and accurately to a specific point,” an accurate, if somewhat ungenerous, description.

  ‘Is this something you’re reluctant to discuss?’ Bodhmhall hesitated. ‘Is this discomfort to do with Fiacail?’

  A muffled voice emerged from the furs. ‘Accepting help from your old husband causes me no end of discomfort. But no, that is not it.’

  Sensing that this was a boil that would not be lanced with words, Bodhmhall retreated, dropping the subject as she helped the other woman out of her clothing: the grey wolf furs, the grey woollen tunic and leggings, the grey cloak, those dull and muted colours from which her name had been derived. Liath Luachra; the Grey One o
f Luachair. The warrior woman had always explained her colour preferences away on practical considerations. It made her, or so she claimed, more difficult to see during the hunt or when travelling in the Great Wild. Bodhmhall, however, had always suspected deeper motives.

  By the time she got down to the inner garments, the rank smell of dried sweat was strong and pervaded the roundhouse. Removing the final items, Bodhmhall dropped them unceremoniously in a small pile at the side of the platform and considered the slim form stretched face down on the furs. With her hat removed, Liath Luachra’s black hair now spilled freely down the left side of her back. Beneath the bulk of the furs, her frame was sleek and flat-chested but deceptively strong for all that.

  Whatever her mood, however, she had spoken the truth with respect to her injuries. There were no visible wounds that Bodhmhall could see, provided one discounted the ragged set of old scars that ran from her shoulder blades down to the base of her spine.

  Dipping a rag into the bowl of scented water, she started to wash the woman warrior, carefully wiping her skin clean and getting her to roll over or raise her limbs when she needed to get at the more awkward areas. The hand-bath did not take long and, on completion, she dried her off with a loose cloth. With a frown, Bodhmhall traced one line of welted tissue along Liath Luachra’s back with the tip of her forefinger. She had become intimately familiar with the scars over the years but had never truly grown accustomed to the visual evidence of such severe punishment. Liath Luachra had never divulged how she’d come to receive them and, despite the draoi’s best attempts to find out.

  ‘Am I not beautiful?’ The sardonic tone was not quite stifled by the furs.

  ‘You are beautiful to me.’

  ‘Sweet talker.’

  Bodhmhall smiled to herself. Pouring oil into her hands, she rubbed the palms together and began to knead the woman’s back and shoulders, fingers probing deep into the muscle beneath. Despite the absence of any fresh marks – apart from minor scratches and bruises – it was immediately apparent that Liath Luachra had suffered some immense physical trauma. Although the skin was relatively clear and responded well to the touch, the muscle and ligament beneath was tighter than Bodhmhall had ever felt it before and unusually striated in parts.

  Transferring her attention to the lower limbs, Bodhmhall frowned at the swelling around the knee and ankle joints. From the extent of inflammation, it was now evident why Fiacail and his men had been obliged to carry her.

  ‘You are dear to me, Liath Luachra. I feared the worst when you did not return.’

  ‘I always return. You know that.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Bodhmhall continued to massage, working the worst of the swollen tissue. It was warm inside the roundhouse and the crackling of the little fire was soothing. After a while, the bandraoi could feel the woman warrior relax beneath her fingers and she herself settled into a peaceful rhythm, lulled by the motion, the warmth, the silence.

  ‘We saw a fire.’

  The unexpected articulation took Bodhmhall by surprise. ‘What?’

  ‘Bearach and I. We were returning to the ráth. We saw a fire. At the foot of Drom Osna.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  The bandraoi nodded automatically, belatedly realising that Liath Luachra could not see the gesture. She continued to massage, the movement of her fingers focussed now on the inflammation about the back of the Grey One’s knees, easing her touch in response to a wince from her patient.

  Liath Luachra grew quiet and Bodhmhall could almost imagine her assembling her thoughts beneath that thick mane of black hair, rearranging the words to express herself more effectively. As though on cue, the woman cleared her throat.

  ‘I was curious. I managed to crawl in closer to get a better look. Then -’

  Bodhmhall listened wordlessly as the warrior recounted the events that followed, physically transferring her own mounting disquiet into her soft manipulation of muscle and tissue.

  Later, when Liath Luachra had completed the telling, she grew quiet and remained lying face down in the furs, withdrawing into that impenetrable silence once again.

  She’s embarrassed!

  Bodhmhall placed a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘A rún, you are too hard on yourself.’

  ‘I ran away. I ran like a coward from that ... creature. And I kept on running. I am less than I was, Bodhmhall.’

  The bandraoi shook her head but, once again, the action went unobserved. ‘No. That reaction was not truly yours but one provoked by another party. Believe me, you do not lack courage. You are fortunate to be alive.’

  Liath Luachra twisted herself around and up off the furs so suddenly, so violently, that the bandraoi was taken by surprise and, instinctively, pulled back. The woman warrior’s eyes drilled into her.

  ‘You know what it is.’

  Bodhmhall stared, too taken aback to answer.

  ‘You do!’ The exclamation was loaded with fresh conviction. ‘What was that creature? Tell me.’

  This time it was Bodhmhall’s turn to work through the words. Several moments passed before she felt she had the right of it.

  ‘This morning, out at the lubgort. I felt a great force, a great evil wash over the land.’

  ‘What was it you felt?’

  ‘It was One with the Gift.’

  ‘One with the Gift?’

  ‘Someone with the Gift. A draoi like me but with different ability. Where I can perceive life through life-light, this... thing is... a seeker of sorts.’

  ‘A seeker?’

  ‘Yes, something that has the power to draw in on people. It can perceive – feel – their thoughts. No-one can hide from it.’

  Liath Luachra continued to observe her without expression, weighing up what she had been told.

  ‘This morning,’ continued Bodhmhall. ‘When I felt its touch, I also had the sense that this individual was ... different. It felt tainted. Corrupted. At the time, I was too preoccupied trying to protect myself. Now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, I believe this draoi was not fully human.

  ‘Huh,’ grunted Liath Luachra. She paused, awaiting further explanation but Bodhmhall had lapsed into silence, absorbed in contemplation of the morning events. ‘Not fully human,’ prompted the conradh.

  ‘Hmm? Oh, yes. Back in Dún Baoiscne when I studied under Dub Tíre there were stories of such creatures. Tainted Ones, they called them. Men and women consumed and controlled to exist purely as the instrument of other, stronger draoi. Such draoi have the power to affect the minds of others, to provoke emotions and unnatural thoughts. I believe this is what you encountered at Drom Osna.’

  ‘But what would a draoi’s minion be doing out here in the Great Wild? I don’t -’

  Liath Luachra halted abruptly as she saw the expression on Bodhmhall’s face.

  ‘Muirne Muncháem! I should have known.’ Rolling onto her back, she snorted and slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. ‘Already, she brings troubles down on our heads. You should dispatch her. At once.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But if this thing is as powerful as you say then it will find her. Is this not so?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Any yet -’ The conradh paused as she worked through the ramifications. ‘And yet, it appears to have missed her. How is that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suspect I simply distracted it. It did not appreciate being perceived by another.’

  Liath Luachra chewed slowly on the inside of her cheek. ‘Clann Morna seems extraordinarily intent on locating her. Two fian in winter? And now a draoi familiar? I know Muirne believes her arse shines like purest silver but it’s hard to believe anyone else would value her enough to go to such efforts.’

  Bodhmhall shrugged. ‘The motives are hard to understand. I would need to acquire imbas to have the knowing of such things.’

  ‘Imbas?’ Liath Luachra stared at her in surprise. The secret rituals used by the draoi for the acquisition of imbas – forbidde
n knowledge – were not initiated lightly because they invariably took a heavy toll.

  ‘It would not be my first choice,’ Bodhmhall admitted.

  ‘If you are seriously considering the imbas rituals,’ said Liath Luachra carefully. ‘You must be truly worried.’

  ‘I am worried. This Tainted One ... its doggedness, its ruthlessness terrifies me.’

  ‘Then get angry. Hate him.’

  The bandraoi looked at her in confusion.

  ‘That is how to deal with fear. If you hate your enemy, your hatred devours your fear. And your pain.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Bodhmhall responded, clearly dubious.

  ‘Do not doubt yourself, Bodhmhall. Come, you’re the talented one. You will work a scheme to save us from this creature.’

  ‘It could be that this Tainted One is not the most significant threat. Rather we should be seeking to identify the individual who hides behind the Tainted One, who directed him out to the Great Wild to find Muirne Muncháem.’

  With a sigh, Bodhmhall allowed her hands to drop to her sides. ‘I have brought this threat down on us. You were right, a rún. I should have consulted with you before making my decision. I am a poor leader.’

  ‘You’re not a poor leader. You are an exhausted one, stretched in too many directions at once. Besides, I wasn’t here and you had to make a decision.’ She reached up to grasp Bodhmhall’s wrist. ‘Lie with me, Bodhmhall. Come close and hold me. We will lick our wounds and you can draw from my strength.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t, dear one. I must occupy myself with our guests.’

  ‘Ah, our wondrous guests.’ Liath Luachra growled in pain as she rolled over onto her side. ‘First that prancing gadabout, now Muirne Muncháem. Truly, this is a day that improves with the passing.’

  ‘You may not like Fiacail but he was correct in saying you need to rest. If you sleep your muscles will relax and heal more rapidly.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ The woman already sounded drowsy. ‘But our visitors can wait. Spend a moment here with me and we can both rise together.’

  ‘Very well,’ the bandraoi relented. ‘Just a moment, then.’

  Bodhmhall lay down beside the other woman and drew a fur blanket up to cover them both. Nestling in closer, she closed her eyes and nudged her nose deep into Liath Luachra’s hair, inhaling that reassuringly familiar scent deep into her nostrils.

  Liath Luachra, Muirne Muncháem and Fiacail mac Codhna. Three of the most headstrong individuals she knew. All within one restricted space.

  It was going to be a challenging night.