Priestess of the Fire Temple (7 page)

“In this pitcher is fresh milk mixed with honey and uisge beatha, the sacred liquid that the Liaig use to heal. May our offering bring peace to the Daoine Sidhe as it brings peace and health to our human bodies and spirits.”

Niamh walked to the votive pit and carefully poured out the liquid, thinking of her own honored ancestors—those of her blood kin, those who had died to protect the Druid, the kingdoms, and the land, and those who had been her teachers and spiritual guides in this life and in former lives.

Each Drui in the circle reflected on the ancestors of their bloodline and their spirit as they watched the familiar rite.

Deg, one of the students, took up a wooden plate with slices of buttered bannock and cheese and walked to the perimeter of the nemed, reverently laying the plate on the ground just outside of the ritual circle, saying, “A gift for the land spirits—that they may feed upon it and feel welcome.”

Caoilfhionn, another student, took a small bowl of cooked oatmeal and cracked hazelnuts with a gob of melted butter on top and carried it away from the circle altogether. Placing it respectfully on the ground, she spoke in a firm voice: “Fomorians, outlyers, forces of chaos and disruption, here is your due! Trouble not our meeting!”

Deg and Caoilfhionn stepped back into the circle together and led the group in a hymn to Manannán Mac Lir:

O Manannán of the white waves

Come on your grey horse

To part the veil

That the gods may cross

From their realm to ours

And back again

May all evil be kept out

And only the good pass through!

Then each dropped a thick slice of cheese and a knob of butter into the fire as a gift for Manannán.

Dálach-gaes removed a golden bell branch from his belt and walked around the ritual circle three times, shaking it forcefully. “Let the Daoine Sidhe and all the fairy realms know that they are welcome here! May all with ill intent be banished and only helpful spirits remain!”

Niamh took up her carved staff, which had been lying across the stone altar, and struck the butt end onto the sod three times, saying, “I declare this meeting open!”

At that exact moment the two mogae appeared, each of them holding one end of a plank upon which were huge oaken bowls of boiled cabbage flavored with a delicate sauce of wild garlic, leeks, and onions in butter, bowls of braised parsnips and carrots, and an entire honey-roasted yearling pig that Barra Mac Mel had generously donated. A cheer went up from the crowd, and Bláthnait hurried back to the children's house to get her harp.

The Druid arranged themselves in a comfortable circle around the fire, with Dálach-gaes and Niamh near the center as the honored hosts, and the bowls of food and a large two-handled beechwood cup filled with cuirm were passed from guest to guest. It was Deg's job to make sure the cup stayed full and that it was kept in constant circulation.

Everyone ate with their two hands, and from time to time the mogae would present a fresh, fragrant, and warm linen towel so that the guests could wipe their fingers and faces.

Bláthnait played ale-music until the growling of her stomach made her at last put down the harp. By then everyone was comfortably full, sucking on bones and enjoying the warmth of the fire and the stars above. Even the two warriors Finnlug and Garbhán had eaten their fill; Deg had carried heaping plates of food to them at their posts outside the nemed. Now Bláthnait and Deg could finally help themselves to the remnants of the roasted pig and the buttery dregs of cabbage and carrots.

The gathered Druid were half asleep from the exertions of travel and the fine meal when Finnlug burst through the yew hedge.

“There is yet another Drui who asks admittance to the council. His name is Artrach, and he says he was sent here by the Druid of the Forest School of In Medon!”

“Let him enter and be welcome,” said Niamh, already rising to prepare a fresh plate of food for the stranger. No one would ever go hungry in her house, even if she herself had to go without.

“Deg, go to the children's house and fetch me a large loaf of barley bread. Our guest can at least sop up the juices and butter from our meal!”

Dálach-gaes rose to fill a cup of joy to welcome the stranger, and the others sat up expectantly, prepared to welcome yet another arrival.

When the man at last appeared he wore a pleasant smile, and even in the dark they could see that he was comely and graceful. His bright red hair hung down past his shoulders, and his grey hooded cloak was practical and well made. He had a beautifully carved walking staff, tall leather boots, and a stout leather pack. He looked intelligent, competent, and strong, a young man who would navigate the forests and mountains with ease.

Seeing their curious looks, Artrach introduced himself formally.

“I am Artrach O'Ruadán, great-grandson of Queen Ethne and Ruad of the fiana. My parents sent me to the Forest School for training.”

“Then we are kin!” Niamh exclaimed, delighted. “How are things at the school these days?”

“Everyone is well, thank you. The school is flourishing; in these times, we have mostly taken to training the young ones to be bards rather than Druid. We find that we can best keep the old stories and wisdom alive by weaving them into poetry and song. That way we can pass down our traditions right under the noses of the Cristaidi.”

“That is a good solution,” said Bárid, “because it keeps the peace.”

His face suffused with gloom as he said the words; he was visualizing the thin women and children with hungry eyes who roamed the roads of the north, hoping for charity.

They let Artrach eat in silence because it would have been rude to pelt him with further questions when he had just come in from the road. When he had finally sopped up the last bit of butter sauce with a thick slice of bread, everyone said their goodnights and padded off to their pallets. Deg led Artrach to the men's house to help him make up a bed near the hearth.

Niamh stayed behind to cover the fire, singing a prayer as she banked the embers to keep them alive until dawn:

I smoor as Brighid would

The banked coals this night

May the Three protect this space

May the Three protect our home

May the Three protect the kingdoms

May the Triple Goddess protect us

Land, Sea, and Sky

Be our strength through this night.

She glanced skyward towards the full moon and murmured a further blessing:

Hail to thee

Jewel of the night

Sister of the sun

Mother of the stars

Thank you for your light!

Then at last she too found her way to the warmth of her husband and family.

The next morning at sunrise, bright fingers of yellow light pierced the yew hedge and a chorus of bird song signaled that the new day had begun. Once again Niamh tended to the fire, softly brushing and blowing away the ashes from the banked embers while adding fresh sticks of dried peat. As she did so, she sang her morning kindling song:

I kindle as Brighid would

Three flames of her cauldron

Flames of the forge

Flames of the cooking pot

Flames of truth and knowledge

I give thanks for the white morning flame.

Alda and Cainleog were still snoring under their oiled-wool blankets on the grass of the nemed as Niamh prodded them gently, proffering steaming cups of elderberry brew to lure them from their warm nest.

The others emerged sleepily from their respective houses, still stretching and yawning and brushing their teeth and gums with fragrant birch twigs. Deg and Dálach-gaes fed the embers of the little fire with more peat and wood, coaxing it back to life.

After Carmac had danced before his goddess and everyone had given her a food offering or a drink, Dálach-gaes and Niamh made fresh offerings to all the gods at the Fire Altar and to the Daoine Sidhe at the votive pit. Then everyone settled themselves in a circle to eat the fried eggs, sausages, and mushrooms brought by the mogae and to begin their discussions in earnest.

“It appears that the major problems this sun cycle are in the north of Ériu. Perhaps one of the Irardachti Druid can fill us in with the details,” Dálach-gaes said, efficiently steering the conversation towards the most pressing issue before them.

Amlaim was the oldest and the first to speak.

“The northern province is suffering under terrible weather; the crops are rotting in the fields, the trees have lost their blossoms in the storms and bear little or no fruit. There is mold on the grain, and even the little bit that is stored has been spoiled by the damp.

“As you know, the Druid have lately been debased in the laws to the status of mere magicians—these days we can't even gain access to the court unless we go in as bards or jesters. We know exactly what we need to do, but we are just too poor to do it properly.”

Amlaim stared bleakly into the fire, seeing with his inner eye the blackened fields and the plight of his people.

Bárid touched his shoulder by way of comfort and added his own thoughts. “Before the Cristaidi came, we would have had the ears of the ard-ri. We could have asked him for two white oxen, which we would have sacrificed in the old way, painlessly and with honor, not like the butchers do these days. We would have dedicated every part of the animal to a power of the land, to strengthen the forces that grow the crops and nourish the people. Instead we are helpless. All we can do is lay a few pitiful offerings upon our tiny Fire Altar and hope that the gods will notice our plight. So far they haven't.”

“But you do have the ears of at least one of the royal household,” interjected Niamh hopefully.

Imar, Amlaim, and Bárid gave her a blank questioning look and then glanced at each other. They had no idea to whom she might be referring.

“We sent her to you almost two sun cycles ago! She is a student of our school and the wife of Deaglán Mac Íobar, prince of Irardacht.”

“What does she look like?” asked Imar, confused.

“Princess Aislinn has red hair and a fine figure. She is sprightly and bold in her manner, knows her sign languages and alphabets, and is half trained to be a fili! Is it possible that you do not know her?” exclaimed Niamh.

The three Druid looked at each other again as comprehension slowly dawned. Surely Niamh must be speaking of that strange red-headed girl who was so fluent in palm Ogum.

The realization of who I was, of how I had come to them on a heather-topped hill by the sea, came flooding back to them.

“Ye gods, we had no idea. She was there all along, and we thought she was just a madwoman!” said Bárid, feeling desolate about the opportunity that had escaped them.

“My best advice is that you find her and explain your dilemma. Surely she can obtain the needed bulls for the sacrifice. Tell her to advise the king on this matter. Afterwards he can distribute the meat to the poor, and if they are as bad off as you say, it will be a popular gesture and good politics,” said Dálach-gaes, who was no stranger to the machinations of kingship.

“May I go with you when you travel back to the north?” asked Artrach. “My teachers have told me that they want me to see the world and learn of the kingdoms. If I am to make a sun circuit of Ériu, I might as well start at Irardacht.”

And so it was agreed. That day and the next were spent sharing the news of each province. Kingdom by kingdom, all the important marriages, alliances, betrayals, elopements, deaths, births, thefts, and contracts were enumerated and memorized around the ritual fire.

One night Dálach-gaes met privately with Barra Mac Mel, and together they composed a letter advising Íobar to heed the words of Princess Aislinn regarding a matter of royal hospitality towards the poor. The four Drui would carry the letter to the north the very next day.

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7

I
n Irardacht, the season of summer began, and I was still coughing.

“Conláed, will you pick me some fresh rowan berries from that tree just outside of the dun? They are still green, but perhaps you can find some with a blush of red on them or dried ones from last winter that are still on the branch.” I addressed the household bard as he ducked through the doorway on his daily visit, as always clutching his harp.

“I have been lying here sick for months, dutifully following the instructions of Father Cearbhall in order not to cause offense. Clearly his methods are not working; I pray and pray to the god Ísu and faithfully enumerate my shortcomings, for which I am heartily sorry, but it still hasn't helped my cough.”

“I was wondering when you would stiffen your spine and look to your own training to heal yourself. This is welcome news indeed!” Conláed said with a smile, striking a joyful chord on his harp for emphasis. Druid trained, he had long felt that my sickness was as much a matter of my mind and spirit as my body.

That evening I prepared a thick syrup of sliced green apples, rowan berries, and honey, to which I added the chopped roots of reeds from the bog outside the dun. I cooked it gently all night in the small cauldron that hung over the embers of my hearth fire and then took spoonfuls throughout the day, every day, for half a moontide.

My coughing finally stopped. Father Cearbhall told me it was because of the Masses that were being said in my honor, but I knew better. The Druid teach that there is magic in the berries of the rowan tree and in the reeds of the bog, and even old Father Justan said that his God is everywhere and in all things, so I knew that there was a divine presence in those roots and rowan berries and that that was what had finally cured me.

Once I had my strength back, I began to consider my options. The stone walls of Irardacht were nothing more than a prison for me now; within their confines I could not exercise my learning or my gifts. There was no one other than Conláed with whom I could share my true thoughts, and he was often busy by day, and at night he was always working, playing his harp and telling stories in Íobar's mead hall.

I never went there because I knew I would have to see Deaglán with his concubine, and I would be shamed before everyone. By law I could have scratched her eyes and beaten her for three days and been exempt from liability, but I just didn't have the heart for it. I knew that even if I gave her two black eyes, he would still favor her over me, and then I would be right back where I started.

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