Only the Stones Survive: A Novel (27 page)

From the Wide River we had a considerable journey to reach the caves Shinann had told us about. Pockets of primitive tribes flourished in the forests of the west, but they did not bother us. They did not even see us; we made certain of that. Hiding in plain sight was one of our arts.

We were still the Túatha Dé Danann.

At last, we reached the cliffs at the edge of the Cold Sea. According to Shinann, the entire region was studded with caves, and the women were eager to find them. Yet I could not help lingering to gaze in awe at the majesty of the feral waves crashing against the coast. Too wild ever to be tamed.

My father had claimed descent from Manannan Mac Lir, the unconquerable spirit of the sea. Manannan’s chariot was pulled by a team of white-maned horses. In the far west of Ierne, I stood on a rocky beach in a blowing gale and watched the white-maned horses come galloping in.

Are you here today, Mongan?
I asked.
Can you see this?

I trusted the wind to carry my words to him.

As we traveled along the coast, we observed crevices in the shoulders of the land. A few opened into little caves that were not large enough for our purpose, but their existence encouraged us. “Where there is an egg, there might be a chick,” my mother used to say.

Like the dwellings we had shared with the bats, the western caves were made of limestone. Carved out by the drumming fingers of rainwater and the restless travels of underground rivers.

Water is life.

From far away, we could see a truncated mountain that resembled a giant table. We hurried toward it with Shinann running on ahead, lightfooted and laughing. But the mountain was not as close as it appeared to be. By the time we reached it, the children were exhausted and peevish, so we made camp and prepared to spend the night.

Halfway up to the plateau on top, I observed a perpendicular rock face like the wall of a giant’s fortress. The surface was badly eroded by weather but held in place by ivy and pierced by numerous cave openings.

Shinann waited with the other Dananns while I climbed up to explore.

The caves were clean and dry and devoid of bats, to my surprise and perhaps even disappointment; I had grown to like the little creatures. But these caves were not large enough for us either.

The following day, we went on.

Near the northern edge of the range that included the flat-topped mountain, we finally caught a glimpse of what we sought. Wearily, we climbed a steep, grassy slope overlooking a deep valley. At the top of the slope, we had to pick our way across a dangerous talus of loose stones and a slanting rock face in order to reach the immense natural arch that had attracted our attention.

Before we could explore any farther, we stopped to light torches.

The initial cave was more than large enough, and it led to a cavern of immense proportions and astonishing beauty. Flashes of torchlight illumined sharply jutting rocks high above our heads—much, much higher than the domed ceiling in the temple on the ridge. Higher still were patches of unfathomable blackness that indicated still further heights.

“Mind your feet,” commented Droma, who was always looking down because of the injury to his back. Lowering the torches, we discovered unsuspected abysses lurking in the floor of the cavern. Falling into one of them could be worse than falling into a hole in the bed of the Wide River. At least we knew what drowning was.

Exploration ceased abruptly while we used all the ropes we had to link ourselves together again. Those who were not adequately secured were ordered to “Wait right here!”

And I meant it.

The enormous cavern had other secrets to reveal. We were amazed to see giant spearheads of ice hanging down from the darkness above, bunched together like frozen fruits and many other improbable shapes. Walls and overhanging ledges were festooned with giant icicles. The entire cave glittered in spite of its permanent dusk.

When we examined the ice with cautious fingertips, we discovered it was not ice at all but stone. In the torchlight the stone gleamed like the quartz at the temple on the ridge.

That association prompted Cleena to exclaim, “This is like a palace. We should have brought the Dagda here!”

“No,” I said quickly.

Saball chimed in with, “We could never have carried his body this far.”

“Even if we could, it would have been a mistake,” I replied. “There is one duty yet to perform for the Dagda, and it can only be done where we left him.”

“What are you talking about, Joss?” Melitt asked.

“A final request he made of me.”

“I didn’t know anything about it,” she said with pain in her voice.

How easy it is to hurt someone without meaning to; even in death, the Dagda was teaching me. “This was a burden he did not want to put on your shoulders,” I told her, “because I am the one who will have to carry it.”

Actually, I don’t know if that was what the Dagda was thinking—but I hope it was.

To my astonishment, I heard myself add, “What I do for him I shall do for you, Melitt, when your time comes.”

We continued to explore the huge cave system. To the right of the main cavern, we found a narrow but lofty chamber. Gradually, the walls contracted to form a gallery of sorts. Close to the entry was a curious mass of the icelike material, forming a colossal female form. Beyond this, the gallery continued to narrow until I had to crawl on my hands and knees—only to discover that it led again to the entrance cave.

To the left of the giant arch we found another gallery, wider than a tall man, with a winding pathway of stone rubble that eventually opened out on the face of the cliff. From this vantage point, we could see a magnificent panorama of the entire countryside. No enemy could approach us undetected. As the Dagda had said, we were perfectly safe.

We had come home.

The western caves exceeded our highest expectations. At first, I had thought they might be too hard to access, particularly for the crippled and the elderly, but they were part of a vast network with many openings, including a well-concealed entrance in the valley below. We did not even have to leave them to find water. Rainwater poured through holes in the limestone ceilings of the caves and was easily collected.

The deep valley was a haven for plant life. We discovered not only those things that were familiar to us but other herbs and roots we had never seen before. After testing to make certain they were edible, the women harvested them with glad cries. A variety of soft fruits were found with only a little searching. Streams and streamlets crisscrossed the region, providing an abundant supply of fish.

We could live here indefinitely and forget about the rest of Ierne and the enemies who hunted us. They would never find us here. Our future was secured—though not the future we once expected. Now severely limited in number, the Túatha Dé Danann who had roamed freely across the island for many generations must now limit themselves to hidden sanctuaries.

We would become the voices on the night wind, the tales mothers told to their children at bedtime.

Yet in my dreams at night I kept hearing the last word the Dagda had spoken to me.

Elgolai.

TWENTY-NINE

T
HE DREAMS OF SHINANN
were haunted too. She had thought returning to the west would make her happy, and it did, yet she discovered there were different shadings to that emotion. Her heart leaped with joy when she recognized the pellucid light originating from the Cold Sea and knew she was home at last.

She had ached for a companion to whom she could say, “Oh look, do look! Here we are!” But who would understand that something as ephemeral as light could bestow happiness? And that the lack of someone to share it with caused pain?

Shinann loved Ierne. Simply because it
was.
By existing, Ierne satisfied her spirit. The green land filled her eyes and the moist air was sweet on her tongue and the birds sang songs she knew and the hills were the shape she needed them to be.

Why, then, did she still feel such longing?

As the Dananns settled into their new homes—for every clan had its own crystalline spaces now—Shinann was happy for them.

And yet …

Both branches of the Mílesians and their followers now occupied great swathes of land. Most of it was mantled with forest, but they were confident they could clear enough to provide adequate grassland for their livestock and arable land for raising grain. Unlike Iberia, which suffered recurrent plagues of drought, on Ierne there was no shortage of rain. Summer was not too hot nor winter too cold, and the island remained green all year.

Yet neither Éremón nor Éber Finn were content. Each man thought the other had got the better deal.

Both blamed Amergin. He began trying to avoid them as much as he could, but it was a small island and through attrition Amergin had become the chief druid of the Mílesians. If his services were required, he had to provide them. His brothers were more anxious than ever to ameliorate their relationships with the unseen world. Births and deaths and dwellings being built and milk cows that went dry and quarrels over property all required the abilities of a druid in one way or another.

When a band of Éremónians came upon members of Éber Finn’s tribe building a fishing weir within the borders of the northern territory, a furious battle ensued. Men from both sides were killed. A runner was sent to find Amergin and advise him of the possibility of war. He was intercepted on his way to visit Sakkar—who now wanted to be known as Sétga, a name that sounded more Gaelic to his ear and pleased his new wife.

Amergin had no intention of cutting his visit to the couple short. He would not deny himself the pleasure of seeing the peace and fulfillment the former Phoenician had found at last. The red-haired woman was a perfect mate for him. She was genuinely interested in the stories he told about his colorful past and equally interested in sharing his future. Which, as Amergin the druid foresaw, would include the birth of twins.

They were overjoyed when he told them. He stayed with them for several days, and they pleaded with him to stay longer, but he did not want to intrude. They needed time alone together before their family expanded so dramatically.

Amergin was returning to his own home when he heard the pipes in the hills announcing a royal death.

Odba’s son Moomneh arrived at his door with a message. “Éremón bids me remind you that the chief bard must sing the eulogy for a chieftain’s wife and the chief druid must preside at her burial. As you are both, Amergin, you are doubly needed.”

Amergin could not imagine Taya being dead. A simple accident while she was drawing water from a well; her foot slipped; she overbalanced; it could have happened to anyone. If he had married her himself when they were back in Iberia …

But if was no answer to anything.

On the Hill of Tara, the bard stood beside the newly constructed tomb of Taya, honored wife of Éremón, and sought to compose a eulogy that would remind the Mílesians of their brotherhood. The words he needed would not come. In the end, he played Clarsah by herself, letting the harp create a vision of beauty and loss. As usually happened when the bard played his harp, people were deeply moved. Except for Éremón; it was hard to tell what he felt. His features might have been chiseled out of stone.

After the funeral ended and the tomb had been sealed, Amergin spoke briefly with him. He did not mention the incipient warfare, but both of them were aware of it. “You are a courageous warrior, Éremón,” Amergin said, choosing his words deliberately. “There is a new war for you to fight; win back the unity of the tribe. That would be a fitting memorial for Taya, who loved peace and amity.”

Éremón nodded, stepped into his chariot, and drove away with his head bowed in thought, but his contemplative mood did not last long. All too soon his brain was preempted by the plans/worries/irritations/angers/passions that could dominate the mind of a chieftain.

By the time he reached his stronghold, the words of the bard were forgotten.

When the other mourners had departed, Amergin was reluctant to leave Taya’s tomb. He had not loved her the way she wanted, but he had loved her, and she was his friend. He felt diminished without her.

Again, he experienced the desire that was familiar to all druids: a longing to move beyond the walls of flesh that imprisoned spirit. To soar across time and space, to be as light and free as …

 … as Shinann was, running up the hill to meet him. Holding out her hands.

When I learned that Shinann was missing, I did not worry about her, not at first. The Dananns from the western clans were not overly concerned either; we all knew that she wandered. She had come home, we reminded one another, so she was simply reacquainting herself with the scenes of her childhood. Who would not do the same after a long absence?

But when Shinann failed to return by the time the seasons changed, her kinfolk appealed to me to search for her. That request more than anything else confirmed my position as their leader. The problem was, I had no idea how to start. She could be anywhere. It would be as easy to trace the path of a leaf blown by the wind.

I decided to search in a wide circle spiraling out from the caves and took several of our less-damaged warriors with me. As a precaution, we carried swords, although we knew how little use bronze was against iron.

We had traveled for quite a distance before we came upon the first settlement of New People. Careful to stay well out of sight, we stopped long enough to observe them.

The dwellings they had built for themselves did not seem to grow out of the land, as ours did, but were set on top of it; heavy, circular structures of timber and sod sealed with mud and roofed with thatch. Aside from a single door, there was no allowance for letting light into the interior.

The barriers they had erected around their houses—walls and banks and ditches—added to the overall impression of permanence.

Outside of these barriers, the land was divided into individual holdings separated by low stone walls. The ground had been torn open by iron ploughs and planted with foreign seeds. Instead of collecting the abundant rain on the surface, the Mílesian settlers had punched holes deep into the earth to provide water. It was sickening to see the soft flesh of Ierne abused.