Waves in the Wind (24 page)

I hid a smile as I rose to my feet. “Yes, I can see how that can be done, but Euclid devised a simple mathematical calculation that will ensure they fit properly the first time.”

“Euclid?” Erc snarled. “Another of your pagan demons, no doubt.”

The monk’s ignorance was insufferable but I kept my voice calm as though explaining some important thing to a child. “Euclid was among the most learned Greek mathematicians. His works on geometry are well known.”

“Stories of the Druids’ great knowledge are also well known,” Brendan said, “and perhaps you can make the measurement predictions you say. However, I know better Erc’s abilities and place my reliance in him and the Lord.”

Brendan’s own lack of understanding of mathematics was confounding. I gave up on it and sought another way to gain importance in his eyes. “You will need a pilot aboard your ship when you sail. Yes, I understand your reliance upon your Jesus Christ. But when have the gods not demanded that men also contribute to their own needs?”

Erc raged, “You would dare tell the father what Jesus Christ demands of him?”

Brendan raised his hand for silence. “Ossian, you have said much about tides, the sun and stars. What are you truly saying?”

“I wish to assist you in any way you deem necessary and serve as your pilot when you sail to the Isles.”

The priest’s eyebrows jerked upward, his mouth fell open. “You wish to go with us? Ours is a mission to spread God’s Holy Word, while you are a—”

“A devilish pagan!” Erc spat. “Father, this man’s impudence is beyond belief!”

“Erc is correct.” Arms crossed, a scowl on his face, Brendan continued, “You are a non-believer and your presence upon our boat would be a distraction and serve little purpose. However, if you would hear my words and come to the true God, perhaps I would consider your request.”

“Father,” Erc’s hand swept toward me, “you cannot trust this man’s word! I urge caution in dealing with him. He will steal your soul and from it prepare a feast for his demons.”

Again I turned to Erc, little believing I might alter the cruel hatred in his heart. “You can trust me when I say that I will not bargain my gods and beliefs against a position on your ship.” Cool shrewdness glimmered in his eyes as I continued, “You know who I am. Yes, well I know the Tuatha Dé Danann and can cite all their names, but I also know the changing of the seasons by the sun, moon and stars. I know the movements of the sea and sky. I can predict changes in the weather and calculate numbers in my mind beyond the abilities of most men. I can lay a course for a long voyage at sea. Would not these abilities prove valuable on your journey to find the Isles?”

The monk’s face showed understanding, but hardened as he ignored my truth and turned to Brendan. “You see, father? He has the devil’s own voice. He tempts us with his demon’s tongue, and black magic.”

Brendan shook his head. “He does not tempt me, Brother, though he might very well be able to do all he says.” He looked at me. “Without you honestly come to Christ, you may not accompany us on our voyage.”

“But enough of this!” Erc snapped. “If this man is evidence of the legendary wisdom of the Druids, we will have little problem being rid of the remainder of them. Father, we have a real problem. The village chiefs say they have had enough. They say they have been stripped bare, that we take the men from their fields and that they have not enough to feed themselves or provision us for the voyage.”

Brendan’s face fell. “But we cannot give up now; we have come so far.”

“They are adamant, father…maybe next year we can—”

“Next year, next year…we must sail within two moons! You must find a way.”

The villagers’ burden was not a thing I had considered and I would have my say about it. “Families starve? Children go hungry so you can provision your voyage? Brendan, you are a priest of the Christian god and the people deserve better from you.”

Brendan’s hand went up to silence Erc, who bit back his rage. “The people suffer. Yes, I do not deny that’s so. Yet, God’s true followers gladly suffer to serve His Will. They will manage somehow, and the most important Being within all the Universe requires that we sacrifice for Him.”

Erc’s eyes glinted as he cocked an eyebrow. “Sacrifice; that is not a new concept for a Druid, is it?”

My face flushed. “If you refer to human sacrifice, you know full well it was an ancient rite that Druids haven’t practiced for untold generations. Now, as for the needs of the village. Would gold help to ease their obligation to you and buy passage for me aboard your boat?”

The monk eyed my torn kirtle and scoffed. “And where would a tattered hedge wizard like you find gold? Yes, bring us a bag of gold and you will be most welcome on the voyage. Now leave us. Father Brendan and I have much to discuss.”

There was coldness within me. “Someday I shall not ignore your ill-bred insults.”

My attention turned to Brendan. “This man has said that gold will purchase my passage with you. Do you agree?”

He glanced uncertainly toward Erc. “Yes, it will be as Brother Erc said. I prefer otherwise and think it a poor bargain, but it will be as he said—provided you have gold.”

It was troubling to learn that even the will of a man like Brendan might be bought for a handful of gold. Regardless, as the Morrigan predicted, treasure would open the way to Tír na nÓg.

I left them to exchange my trade goods for the journey north to Rath Raithleann, the place I had fled from in shame and sorrow. Few villagers were willing to part with the meager food left to them and I left
Trá Lí
Bay with only two stale loaves and a bit of dried fish.

If only my father’s treasure remained…if only.

Chapter 18

A Journey to the Past

The next day I set out early to continue north. It was a journey that I would fain not take. I cut a cudgel from a blackthorn bush along the way and chanted a charm of traveling to myself to keep my spirits up.

It was an ancient forest that I made my way through. Giant moss-encrusted boles and gnarled limbs of towering oak, beech and ash trees loomed over me. Waist-high ferns and bracken made the traveling harsh, with the trail sometimes disappearing into patches of thorn and briar bush.

After the arduous trek, I came to a small clearing with a shallow spring running through it, and decided to rest for the night, for I still had some four days journey to my old home. With some dry tinder from my pouch, and after striking a spark from my flint and ironstone, I soon had a good fire blazing.

As dusk began to close, I cast about at the clearing’s edge and found two young hedgehogs. They were soon gutted with a sharp stone; their bellies stuffed with burdock leaves and young nettles, and rolled in wet clay from the bed of the spring. Raking fire coals over them, I sat and waited as the dusk rolled over me.

Fear and shame had kept me from making this journey for too long, fear of the Corcu Duibne warriors and shame that I had slunk away and lived for so long without purpose. Now, I would follow the old gods where they led me, even in company with Brendan and the new god on the cross. I rose and kicked the coals aside, cracking the hot clay, pulling the hedgehogs’ skin and quills away from the tender flesh.

I slept well with a full belly and that night she did not come to me.

The second day was easier for the forest fell away as I came down from the hills to the river valley of the Blackwater. The land was fertile and good pasture for cattle. It was from here local farmers would bring tribute to King Domnhall, and pay service to my father for the charms he gave them and the blessings called upon their children. I skirted around the farmsteads that I came to, fearing I would be recognized. I did not know how strong the Corcu Duibne had become here.

I was nearing the Galtees hill country and climbed to a ridgeline. Small wooded mounds dotted the landscape and I was wary of them. Such places could be shee mounds, the haunted places of the fairies, beneath which they were known to live in elaborate, underground palaces. It was unwise to disturb them.

On the fifth day, I came upon a barren rise at twilight from where I could see the earthen wall encircling Rath Raithleann. The Sacred Grove still stood beside the fort’s perimeter. Within the evening’s stillness all looked as it was before the Corcu raid. I decided to rest and go upon it in the early dawn, so bedded down without a fire lest the enemy remained about.

At the first gleam of morning light, I went down from the ridge and made my way toward my old home. Nothing moved, no fires burned; there was no sound of cattle or children, only the screech of a hawk, high overhead, broke the silence. Fearing the main gate be guarded, I climbed the outer earthen wall to look down upon the lifeless, charred ruins of the village within.

The long hall of King Domhnall still stood, its roof burned out, but the stout oak beams and lintels had resisted the fire, which had swept through everything. I made my way across to the Sacred Grove, for it was in that holy place I knew that I must make peace with my father’s ghost. Yet when I came to it, I fell upon the ground and wept…for all was desolation.

Some trees had been outright felled while others had bark rings cut from them so that they stood bare and lifeless. Crude crosses had been cut on the trunks of many, and in the center of the grove, where the holy spring emerged from the ground, lay the bodies of two red deer. I could see the bones of many others. I went to the edge of the rock pool and saw the rotting remains of plants strewn in the water. Monkshood, wolfsbane and nightshade. The Corcu Duibne had not only assaulted our people, they had made war against Mother Earth, herself.

Anger took me as I sat against a dead rowan tree, as a wolf would take a young calf by the throat.
I will have blood for this
, my mind cried out, and, through a red mist, the Corcu fell to my sword, their women shrieking as I raged among them.

Drumming in my ears cleared my vision and a vague form appeared before me that coalesced into a terrifying figure all wings and claws and fury. The Hugh hawk’s head eyed me balefully and shrieked, “Vengeance
is not yours to give,
Ossian. I will feast upon their eyeballs soon enough. There is nothing here for you but dreams, Ossian, and you must follow your gods. To the west, Ossian, to the west.”

Flowing wings wide, she soared upwards and vanished in the clouds. She laid a burden on me that even my rage could not overcome.

I looked for a last time upon the ruined grove that had once held my soul, and thought of Beltane. It was the time when the young girls wore white hawthorn in their hair, and the great fires lit to welcome back the sun. And it was then we would lead the cattle to their summer pasturage and return to feast and dance among the sacred rowan trees.

The pleasant memories were like so much dust, and I shook them away to trudge up the old familiar path to the village of the dead. Even after so many months, the rancid smell of death still hung in the air, the bones of my people lay ravaged by weather, scattered by scavenging animals. Little I wanted or wished to see of the village. It was with only one purpose in mind that I hurried past the remains of haunted cottages.

Where my father’s roundhouse stood, only jumbled stones and charred oak beams remained. I cleared away debris and found the hearthstone where the fire-pit had once been. No amount of scrabbling in the dirt would move it.

A tool of some kind would move the stone, so I searched through the rubble. A bit of red caught my eye, a shawl, Aine’s shawl. Taking it up with a smile, I held it to my face that I might yet catch her fragrance. The stench of mold mixed with old smoke assailed my nose, and, disgusted, I threw the lifeless thing to the ground.

Returning to my original task, I took a charred beam and sharpened the end with a broken stone. After much effort, I finally raised it and levered the stone aside to reveal a large leather bag. They were still there, the collar, headband and golden coins. Beneath them in a separate package lay a prized Druid’s robe woven for my father by the Weavers of Screeban. Threads of silver and gold shaped a serpent’s head, its body coiled across the emerald green linen.

The robe I shoved into the bag with the treasure, slung it all over my shoulder and made haste to depart, all too ready to leave the stark ruins, the old ghosts and hopes of things that might have been. My future, whatever it might be, now rested with Brendan and his improbable voyage.

Chapter 19

A Twisted Way