Waves in the Wind (18 page)

“Divination was known to the Old Ones, a gift to humans from the goddess Cethlion.” My attention swept the faces of the group, though I paused for a moment at a pair of green eyes. “It was she who predicted the fall of the Formorians to the Tuatha De Danaans. Therefore, it is to her prayers must be offered that a prophecy might appear.”

Firelight guttered within the silent room and I cleared my throat. “You must all join hands as I begin the divination ritual.” Eager hands clasped amid subdued giggling as I leaned forward, palms flat against the tabletop, and continued,

O’er winds’ howls and moans and shrieks,

The goddess of tomorrow speaks,

Of things that might the future hold,

Or could, or should or must unfold.

O Cethlion, your wisdom flows,

’Tis only you who truly knows,

A sign that will the future tell,

Tomorrows wherein spirits dwell.

O Cethlion your prophecy,

Of sights, and sounds and what will be,

Within the mists of time concealed,

At last through you the truth revealed.

Eyes closed, the forced scowl on my face hid the mirth threatening to bubble to the surface. My hands felt for the bones, scooping them together until I cupped them all within my palms.

“O Cethlion, O Cethlion, see before you the girl Aine, daughter of Ciann Meghan the Druid, betrothed of Laoidheach the bard. See about her family and friends who gather now that you might divine her future life through these poor bones.”

For Aine I pray, for Aine I plea,

You shall reveal her truth to me,

Through these poor bones two worlds entwine,

O Cethlion, I pray your sign.

Bones rattled as I dropped them onto the tabletop and opened my eyes. Despite believing the ceremony utter foolishness, to my astonishment a vision truly did appear. The mirth within me melted away in an instant as a ghostly image formed within the scattered bones—a grassy knoll, at its crest a single tree, shaded beneath its branches a lonely cairn. The vision existed for only a moment and I jerked back gasping as it burst apart in glittering, colorful shards.

My fists scoured my eyes and I looked up to find Aunt Lou staring at me. Firelight flickered across her face, playing across deep, crisscrossing lines etched there year by year, decade by decade, memorializing her life, each a record of some great joy or sorrow. The hissing and crackling of the fire filled the silent room while her eyes questioned me as if to say, “You saw something, some fearful thing. What?”

I pushed the hilltop vision from my mind. Apparently the others merely expected my startled reaction so I forced a smile and returned to playing my game.

My finger pointed to the scattered bones. “See there, thigh bones cross symbolizing the union of Aine and Laoidheach. Close about them,” finger moving above the table, I counted, “fourteen smaller bones representing the bounty of their marriage.”

Teasing laughter erupted within the room as Aine shrieked, “The bounty? Fourteen children?”

“Aye,” I nodded, my eyes solemn, “and only a year apart their ages.”

Amid continuing laugher and women’s chatter Aine pretended to swoon, the back of her hand to her brow. Questions from the group came to me.

“What are their names?”

“How will poor Laoidheach feed such a brood?”

“How many will be boys?”

I waved the questions away with a dismissive hand. “The bones do not speak to those things. They are questions worthy of divination in their own time. However, the revelation offers assurance that Aine and Laoidheach will share a long, joyful, prosperous life together.”

Perhaps the vision of the lonely cairn would have preyed upon me had I not remained otherwise distracted throughout the long night in the presence of a delightful young lass with black hair and bold, green eyes.

* * *

Sickness was common among the villagers, especially the children. Often I was called upon to provide medicines and healing prayers. It was during such a mission that a messenger came and bade me report to the King’s longhouse.

The child I visited had a slight fever so I handed a small bag of crushed willow bark to his mother as I gave her instructions on its use, and hurried away. My father, Laoidheach and a number of stone-faced village elders sat upon benches facing the King.

“Ossian, a messenger brought this from Tara.” Sitting relaxed in his chair, King Domnhall leaned forward, handing me a scroll closed with a wax seal. “Likely it’s your reply from the Christian bishop.”

The room remained silent as I took the scroll from his hand, for all knew the prospect for peace hung in the balance. Breaking the seal and unrolling the document within my sweating palms I discovered it consisted of three individual pages, and then looked up in disgust.

“Sire, your pardon, but the message is written in Latin, the language of Christian priests.”

“You can read it?”

“Aye, but poorly. It’s a foul language, ill-suited for Irish tongues, and I may stumble a bit.” Greek was the accepted written language of the well educated. The Christian’s insistence upon Latin was another sign of their arrogance. I looked to my father but he shook his head in response to my unspoken question.

At the King’s urging I took a seat on a bench alongside the elders and began translating the first page of the bishop’s message as I read it aloud. He began with a flourishing greeting, bestowing his god’s blessings upon me. My hopes for peace waned as an extensive list of the Christians’ grievances followed, blaming Druids and their followers for the turmoil sweeping the land. As he had done during the synod at Tara he held us responsible for the onset of the recent darkness, saying that it was his god’s retribution for our stubborn adherence to our traditional beliefs.

My father cleared his throat and I glanced at him, though he remained silent. On the message’s second page the bishop went on to claim it was Druids who initiated hostilities while Christians merely defended their faith and themselves against our depredations.

Red faced, Laoidheach leaped to his feet. “Does this bishop truly expect us to believe his damnable lies? Does he think we have forgotten Dún Ailinne?”

“Be seated, Laoidheach,” the King admonished. “No one here is misled by the bishop’s words.” He nodded, “Continue Ossian.”

The message went on to list villages and Christian churches that fell which fell to our Druid forces. Sweat trickled down my back as I ignored the satisfied mumbling within the group and turned to the final page. Throughout the first two pages the bishop’s tone expressed anger. It was with small hope remaining that I prayed that I might yet find words of conciliation.

I continued to read aloud. “Father Joseph tells me you are a sincere man whose words can be trusted. His conviction of your sincerity holds no sway with me, for I have no faith in the words of a demon worshipper.”

Again Laoidheach leaped to his feet. The King would have none of it and bade him return to his seat.

A lump filled my throat as I translated the following paragraph in my mind and resumed. “However, I agree that your proposed truce between us is in the best interests of this land’s people and, in God’s Name, I shall not stand against it. Therefore, word shall be sent across the land under my seal declaring God’s truce.” With my hands trembling I concluded, “Christian forces shall defend themselves vigorously against pagan attacks but under no circumstances shall they be the first to violate this truce lest they face the certainty of excommunication. I hereby decree by God’s Own Hand, let everlasting peace be restored to all Eire.”

King Domnhall rose from his chair to stand before us, arms crossed. “It seems the bishop is an arrogant bastard but at least he appears to hold some measure of common sense.” A smile flickered on his face. “Congratulations, Ossian. You have won your truce and proud I am of you. Everlasting peace the bishop decreed. Now let it be so, eh?”

Relief flooded through me as I sat there, humbled. Much work remained to ensure a lasting peace, but for now at least our people could pursue their lives without living under the cloud of possible Christian attacks. A contented sigh escaped my lips as my father stood and offered a prayer of thanks to the Lordly Ones.

Chapter 14

Beware the Open Hand

There was much to do as the midsummer festival neared. For one thing, we must call upon the goddess Aibheaog to bless the wells and springs. With this in mind my father directed me to groom the spring in the Sacred Gove.

My head shook at my father’s odd behavior as I walked through the village. Granted, my return to the village relieved him of his most tedious duties, yet he seemed to grow more distant and indifferent to his responsibilities each day. Still, my confidence in him remained unshaken and I grinned, remembering the cause for his distraction. A man could easily daydream in the presence of the widow Riona.

Songbirds trilled in the early morning air as I followed the well-worn path into the Grove to perform the cleansing ritual. The gentle strumming of a lyre blended with the birdsongs and I grunted in surprise. It was early for Laoidheach to be awake and stirring.

As I came into view he glanced up from the bench where he sat and grinned. His brilliant yellow tunic stood out against the shadowy wooded background. “Is there no place a man can hide?”

“Just what is it you’ve done now that requires hiding?”

He stretched mightily, arms above his head, stiff legs outstretched before him kicking the air. Then he drooped, elbows on knees. “It isn’t what I’ve done, it’s what I haven’t done. Aine told me, you know.”

It seemed an odd response, as if I might divine his meaning. “Know what?”

“About our fourteen children, of course. How is a poor bard supposed to care for so many?”

Laughter sputtered from my throat. “Poor bard indeed. Hasn’t the King favored you? Besides, as for the children—”

“That he has. It’s true the King has favored me and thankful I am for it. Yet even through his beneficence I cannot feed such a brood.”

“As to the fourteen children—”

Waving a dismissive hand, Laoidheach rose from the bench. “It isn’t that a bard cannot afford so large a family. It is simply that I can’t, at least not yet.”

Fists on hips, elbows wide, I tried again. “Will you stop for a moment and hear me out?”

He ignored my words as if they were chaff in the wind and continued his pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m not blaming you that Aine shall bear so many children. No, you merely foretold the future while well I know who will be responsible for creating them.” He stopped, glancing toward me. “I have a plan. Will you hear it?”

Snorting my disgust, I gave up and nodded.

“Good.” He resumed pacing. “Your future is assured. As a Wise One, wealth will come your way like butterflies to a floral garden. The same can be true for me,” he stopped, raising a wagging finger into the air, “provided my name becomes known beyond the walls of Rath Raithleann. We can both recite the names of famous bards who earn vast riches by accepting invitations to perform in villages across the land. It is in my thoughts to become one of them.”

If he was going to pace about, I intended to sit, and plopped down on the vacant bench. “You’ve the talent for it, to be sure.” I nodded. “Yes, your plan can work, but I must remind you that becoming a noted bard relies as much on luck as talent.”

“Thank you my friend. And right you are about needing luck.” He stopped pacing, and stared into the sky. “Noted bards have something more I lack; new, original songs and ballads all their own.” He glanced toward me. “I think to write a ballad about our fighting the Christians. Many heroes fought with us yet I must select the deeds and valor of one such man. Can you suggest someone?”

I thought for a moment and nodded. “Torcán perhaps? He is a fearless warrior and great horseman.”

A grin spreading across his face, Laoidheach snapped his fingers. “Torcán. Yes, of course. He is a perfect choice. He’s a dashing character and no man fought harder or with greater skill. Torcán it is then.”

“Good.” I began to rise, but dropped back down as Laoidheach continued.

“Of course the warrior’s ballad is only a beginning. No matter how original the story, I cannot rely upon it alone to catch the attention I’m seeking. No.” Shaking his head, Laoidheach frowned. “I need something more, something new, a tale of gods and men. Tell me Ossian, do you know such a story that remains untold?”

Yes, I knew such a tale, though hesitated to tell it. Nearby stood the altar where it began and ended. Memories returned of my visit to the Underworld, of speaking with Master Tóla and of a ghost ship bound for Tír na nÓg. Now my friend stood waiting, hoping that I might help him, so slowly, haltingly, I told him of that night and his eyes widened as I spoke of it.

His mouth fell open, and he swallowed hard. “Why have you not spoken of this before?”

“Perhaps because I felt it was a gift, a personal gift given me by the gods. Much there is I do not understand about the reason behind that night. But it was real enough. Of that you can be sure.”