Waves in the Wind (10 page)

It was a place I knew, a place told of in old stories, a place undefined by ‘where,’ but rather by ‘when;’ it was a place of waiting, a place of the dead. How or why I arrived there I could not imagine.

A shuddering moan broke the stillness and an ethereal green image shimmered before me only to whisk away and disappear into the distance. Spine-tingling shrieks, one atop the other, filled the air while I sensed more than saw spirit creatures churning within the darkness; indefinite forms not human, but which at one time might have been human. I cringed at the sights and sounds of those terrible dead things and trembled as unseen wings fluttered and swished overhead.

The ghastly essence within the distressful, lonely setting caused me to consider that perhaps I was merely the dupe of my own fantastic dream. I slapped my face hard, once—twice, but no. Conceivably I stood amid the reality of an implausible unreality, but it was no dream.

The haunting, dreadful sounds and motion ceased as unseen cymbals crashed, the reverberation emanating from I knew not where! Then ensued the deep throbbing of a drum—a double beat like the pounding of a man’s heart, thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum…

My eyes were temporarily blinded as two torches flared on the beach a mere five paces before me. Now I could see that a single-masted ship lay there nosed against the sand, sail furled, a gangplank extended to the shore. Two more torches blazed and then two more, two more, and on and on to form opposing parallel lines that ended atop a high dune on my left. It was a flame-lit corridor—but for who, or what?

The drumming continued and the head and shoulders of a hooded form appeared within the corridor above the top of the dune. The robed figure crested the rise and came on, proceeding down the corridor while behind it another individual arose, followed by another, and then another. A seemingly endless, single-file line of robed men marched in lock-step down the slope toward the ship, their paces keeping cadence with the sound of the drum; thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum, step-step, step-step…

I knew them, although how I knew I cannot say—the ghosts of the dead of Dún Ailinne. White spirit faces frozen like those of granite statues were framed within the hoods of their robes. It was with relief and gladness that I could not recognize the stone-like faces, for I did not wish to.

The line progressed before me and each figure, in turn, walked up the ship’s gangplank and disappeared aboard. At last the final figure mounted the top of the dune and there could be no mistaking it—Master Tóla.

My eyes held him as he followed the others down the dune and I waited in breathless anticipation until he came abreast of me. I called out to him, “Master Tóla!”

The throbbing of the drum stopped, as did the procession of the dead. He turned to me with unseeing eyes. His was the face I dearly remembered, though immobile like the others, as if graven in the rarest alabaster.

His lips did not move though he answered in his familiar voice. “What’s that? Did someone call to me?”

“Yes, Master. It is Ossian.”

“You say so? Should I know you?”

“Of course. I am or was your student.”

“I’m so very sorry. I do not recall.”

He did not recall? The strangeness of it held my tongue at bay.

He continued, “Are you the Druid who called for the ship lying there? If so, we whole-heartedly thank you. We have been waiting for it within this darkness for ever so long.”

It was with a sense of shame at my negligence that I replied, “My apologies. I should have prayed for your deliverance much sooner. Only now have I performed the sacred ceremony that might bring you final release. Since the very night of your…that is…um…since the night of the attack my thoughts were for your comfort and peace.”

“Your kind thoughts are appreciated. However, seek neither comfort nor respite within these halls of the dead, for you will find none here. Such bliss may only be found among the Golden Ones on the shores of Tír na nÓg. There by the aegis of the Lordly Ones all become young for all time.”

“Yes, Master, of course. Paradise awaits you on the shores of Tír na nÓg. Before you sail there, I would that you know that plans are already underway to bring vengeance against those who struck Dún Ailinne.”

“That may very well be, though vengeance holds no value to me. The world of the living embraces no actuality for the dead. It is the world of what was and might have been; a dream world that died with us. For the moment we of Dún Ailinne exist between worlds, only within the here and now on this lonely strand beside this sea. Yon ship waits to transport us all to our final reality, to the islands of Tír na nÓg—all save two still held within the dream.”

“Yes, Master. All save two. I am one of them, the other being the bard Laoidheach. Do you not remember our final night together upon Knockaulin?”

“Again I am very sorry, but no. I have forgotten that dream if such there ever was.”

“It is said that those at Tír na nÓg well remember the living and await their arrival.”

“Yes? Perhaps you are right, but that is not the case here.” He bowed before me. “Your pardon. I must go; the ship waits. May the gods’ blessings be upon you, Druid.”

I bowed in return. “And you, Master Tóla.”

Cymbals again crashed and the drumming recommenced. The Master turned away as the procession resumed shuffling toward the beach. My eyes followed him until he disappeared aboard the ship. Then the gangplank was pulled aboard by unseen hands, and the ship backed away from the shore to be swallowed by the night.

All became silent as the throbbing of the drums ceased and the echoes died away. The torches atop the dune wavered and went dark as became the case for all the others, as two by two in line toward the beach they flared and winked out.

Blackness returned as did the moans and shrieks, but the earth once more shifted below my feet and I staggered to keep pace with the motion. My head swam as the fresh aroma of the sea was replaced by acrid smoke. Before me sparks swam in the night sky above my fire within the Sacred Grove.

I swayed and fell to the ground, gratified by the clean smell of the earth as my fingers grasped the firmness of it. I smiled as I lay there. My remarkable encounter with the Underworld had been a beneficent gift from the Lordly Ones and I thanked them for their revelation and generousity. Peace filled me knowing all would be well with Master Tóla and my Dún Ailinne friends. Exhausted sleep found me.

* * *

I awoke to the grayness of the morning. Grass and leaves clung to my robe; my muscles were stiff after a night spent sleeping on the ground and they complained as I sat up. My hands scrubbed my face to wash the sleep from it.

A sense of being watched consumed me and I spun around to discover Aine sitting on the nearby bench, her hands clasped in her lap.

“Pardon me, brother, for disturbing you.” The anxious expression on her face arrested my attention. “You’ve been here the entire night and…so if…if this isn’t a good time we can speak later.”

I yawned and stretched; my stiff legs tingled as I extended them before me, kicking leaves. “No, you aren’t disturbing me.” Visions from the night before attempted to creep into my thoughts and I shook my head to clear them away.

A smile formed on my lips as I absorbed her poise. Her one-piece green and white floral dress covered her trim figure from her throat to the tops of her small leather shoes. “You wish to discuss Laoidheach?”

Her face flamed and she nodded. “Are my feelings toward him so obvious then?”

“I wouldn’t—”

Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it in alarm. “They must be since you knew my thoughts without asking! It’s shameless I am. What must he think of me?”

“He’s—”

“And don’t you make excuses for him!” She extended her hand forward, demanding silence. “He’s a man with his own thoughts so don’t you tell me that he hasn’t mentioned me.”

Puzzled, I tried again. “Yes, of course he has, but—”

“He’s a man who likes women and has much to say about them, I’m thinking. Women have a way of knowing such things about men. Hah!” She wagged a knowing finger at me. “You men think you’re so smart. Let me tell you, brother. Men have few secrets that women can’t see through, and you can rely upon it.”

I remained confused. What had I done to deserve such a lecture? “I thought you wanted me to tell you about Laoidheach.”

“And what have you just now been doing?” Her hands returned to her lap and she resumed her prim pose.

I grinned. “Did I mention that his grandmother was a changeling child?”

An incredulous smile crept across her face as the wonder of it dawned upon her. “He is? I mean, she was?” She leaned forward, eager to hear more. “Tell me.”

She would want to know everything so I laid on my back, clasped my hands behind my head and stared upwards into the crowns of the tall trees. There was little I knew about Laoidheach’s life before his arrival at Dún Ailinne. Much I knew though little I would share with her about his activities after he arrived.

“Well?” she persisted.

I told her about his father and mother, his training as a bard, and repeated his claim that he was descended from the Fire God, Belimawr.

“Oh, it must be true!” she exclaimed. “That explains everything about him, don’t you see? He is so handsome with his long, golden hair—and he’s very tall, like you and father. Just think of it, his grace, charm, wit and magical voice—only the gods could have given him so much. It is no wonder so many women have loved him.”

Now how was it she knew about the women? There are times when it is best to remain silent and I determined this was one of them.

I realized that my silence had become my undoing when she said, “Aha! I knew it! Your lack of words tell me I am right. Not that any of those women matter now, for they are all in his past. His future is all I care about.”

I sat up again. “His future? And just why is it you care about his future?”

She turned up her nose and peered down at me. “Because I’m in love with him and shall become his wife. He simply doesn’t know it yet.”

“I should say he doesn’t know it! And I must also say that for a girl who wants to marry a man, you’ve treated him rudely.”

“What would you have me do, fawn all over him like a little girl? Long ago you told me to learn the ways of women from Fainche, may the gods continue to rest her soul. Well learn I did, so don’t you be telling me how to treat a man!”

Whether the ways of women were blessed or cursed by the gods I could not say, though I could never make sense of them. “So, you are rude to Laoidheach because you want to marry him?”

Her eyes rolled and she shook her head as if she must explain a simple thing to an idiot. “I will not be like the other girls he has known and cast aside. Men desire most that which they cannot have. When the proper time comes Laoidheach will realize he wants and loves me above all others. Soon after we will be wed.”

It was not my place to tell her Laoidheach already loved her and had his own marriage plan. Little it mattered. He would have inevitably become ensnared within her sly trap anyway.

“You do not ask my blessing on your marriage?”

“Of course not. You love us both and would not wish ill against either of us. Besides, you approve of the idea of our marriage, do you not?”

“Of course I approve of it. Come,” I rose with a smile and offered her my hand. “We will walk back to our home. I will fill my empty stomach while you continue to taunt Laoidheach.”

* * *

“How many warriors have you?”

“Eleven mounted and twenty-four men afoot,” I replied to my father’s question.

Candles burned low as Laoidheach, my father and I gathered about a map spread flat on the surface of the table. Aine sat quietly in a far corner knitting, her work lighted by a low flame within the hearth. From time to time my friend’s eyes darted across the room towards her.

“It’s a small army you have to begin a war.” My father relaxed in his chair and sipped wine from a copper mug. “Still, King Domhnall was reluctant to allow more men to leave the village during these troubled times.”

“Aye, but those who volunteered are good men all.” My eyes moved from the map to meet his. “I will gather more as we travel the country. It was generous of King Domhnall to provide us with rations.”

“Yes, but you must forage for your own after they are gone. Our granaries here are still plentifully stocked. Only by carefully allocating the stores to our people will they barely meet our village’s needs before another crop comes in; provided the Dagda’s message was correct that the darkness will prevail for nine months.”

“You doubt it?”

“Of course not. During the three weeks since you arrived here we can already see considerable improvement. In only three more months, and perhaps sooner, the sun should reappear.”

“We may only pray that it might be sooner. The fields have remained fallow these many months. Now, men must turn to removing most of the fallen ash before planting can begin. Much work will be needed.”

“That is true.” He pointed to the map. “So, you travel north to strike first at Kilcullen?”

I rose and stood silently for a moment. “Kilcullen? No. Sure, it was from there that the attack fell upon Dún Ailinne, but I have no desire to return there. No, not to the pain and bitterness I left there, at least not right away.”

Worry showed on his face. “A traveler visited the village today. He spoke of widespread depredations against us. In addition to Dún Ailinne, Christian zealots are razing important shrines across the entire country. I fear you face a general uprising, my son.”

“Then the sooner we face it the better.” My hand slapped the tabletop. “We leave on the morrow with but a single thought in mind; to drive the Christians back and while so doing revenge those who have fallen! By the will of the Lordly Ones, we shall succeed.”

* * *

Villagers gathered ’round as I walked down the column of twos speaking words of encouragement to each man. Laoidheach and I would lead the march aboard our horses, followed by the men on foot. Mounted warriors and pack animals would bring up the rear.