Waves in the Wind (3 page)

“What manner of foolish talk have you heard? I am a simple student, the same as you.”

“Not the same, I think. Not so simple either and certainly not the troublemaker I am said to be.”

I grinned. “Said to be, Laoidheach? Was the Master wrong then?”

“No, he was not wrong…oh I don’t know, somehow it seems I attract trouble. This time it was a girl, don’t you see. She must have said something.”

“A girl? There are no girls here.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Of course not here.” His hand gestured toward the grove of trees, indicating the village of Kilcullen beyond. “She lives there. Someone learned of our meeting and spoke to the Master.”

“Your meeting? I suspect it was more than that.”

“Of course it was more than that, but I was not the cause of it. I walked through the village, don’t you see, minding my own affairs when the girl stepped into the doorway of a small shed. She is a lovely thing and gave me a glorious smile…well, when I receive an invitation I know it.”

He was a bold one. “Yes, I see. Then you were not the troublemaker, but merely an innocent victim?”

“That’s right, I am a victim, and there you have the truth of it,” he replied, but I could see the laughter in his eyes.

“Hmm, but the Master said this was your second bit of trouble since you arrived here. Was a girl also involved in your first problem?”

“Ahem, well yes, you see—”

“Stop right there, for yes, I do see. I see a pattern where girls are usually involved in your problems. Am I right?”

A wink accompanied his wicked grin. “You can rely upon it.”

I rolled onto my back and laughed loud. Finally, I regained my breath, sat up and sputtered, “Then I foresee a lifetime of trouble for you. Tell me, Laoidheach, why are you here at Dún Ailinne?”

He remained quiet for a moment. “My father is a harpist in our village; my mother was a simple peasant girl. Her family was shunned in the village she came from because it was rumored that her mother was a changeling child and daughter of Belimawr.”

What an amazing thing if it was true! To have an actual god in one’s lineage was a virtually unheard of wonder, though ancient legends spoke of such occurrences. “Your grandmother was a changeling, half human-half goddess, and daughter of Belimawr, the fire god himself? Are you sure of it?”

“Sure of it? Now, how can I be certain of such a magical thing though I believe it to be true? It is still often spoken of by those who knew her.”

What manner of lad was he? If what he said was true, how much of the changeling had he inherited from his mother’s line?

His voice was soft, low and wistful. “My mother, Una of the Bright Hair, they called her, died while I was very young, and I have little memory of her.”

“In that, Laoidheach, we share a common sorrow, for I lost my mother as well.”

“You say so? Hmm, yes, it is a sad thing. Children should learn from the loving sides of their mothers, don’t you think?” He pondered for a moment, and nodded. “Yes, I think children could learn much from their mothers. Oh well, my father is a good man and fine musician. He trained me well, and my songs pleased our local king. So much so, he petitioned the Master here that I might further myself as a bard.”

It was no small thing that he attended the school at the aegis of his king; it spoke well of his talent. And it was no small thing to be pronounced a bard, a man who would be welcomed into any village, a man widely acclaimed for his poetry, songs and music.

The day slipped away. “Laoidheach, I’m sorry, but I must hurry to prepare for another lecture. Can we meet later?”

“Yes…but, wait. Of course! Ossian, I’m meeting two girls tonight. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Oh, no! When you meet girls, you get into trouble. Thank you, but leave me out of it for I have no interest in washing dishes.”

“There will be no trouble. I’ve, uh, that is, they are delightful, agreeable creatures. A flagon of ale waits in the bushes within yon grove of trees, and beyond, a short walk to the village and barn where we’ll meet the girls. Everything is prepared and you can’t say no to it.”

He was right. Then again, what eager lad of sixteen years could say no to it?

Chapter 3

An Acolyte’s Quest

I woke to the sound of a soft morning rain pattering on the thatched roof of the dormitory. It was there I slept alongside two dozen other students.

A gray dawn illuminated the windows, and I rose from my blankets. During fair weather, we received lectures under the trees in a manner reminiscent of the days I had spent in the Sacred Grove with my father. But today it was raining and there was little to like at the thought of it.

“Ossian?” a sleep-laden voice rasped beside me. “Is it rain I hear?”

“Of course it’s rain, Cass, and what else would it be?”

Cass was one of only four students remaining out of the twenty who entered the school with me only four years earlier. He sat up, stretched and spat on the earthen floor. “So then, you’ll not be lighting your first sacred fire today.”

I grunted my disgust and walked to the open doorway. A tendril of smoke lifted from the chimney of one of the three other longhouses circling the compound. A student dashed toward the privy hut, his acolyte’s robe flapping in the wind. It was a visit I must soon make as well. Aside from the obvious reason, I would freshen myself in a water basin, and the thick plaited braid falling down my back like a red banner required attention.

Cass was correct; today I was to build my first sacred fire. It was a day decreed by Master Tóla, and an honor I had long looked forward to…but now? I had lain awake late into the night before, thinking through each step of the long, difficult ceremony. Perhaps the rain would end, but there was no sign of it.

Cass walked over to stand beside me and stretched a hand outward to catch the rain. “Bah! The Master called upon the goddess Cally Berry to predict the weather for today, and she claimed there would be no rain. I say it is a bad omen. This was to be a special day for you, but now…?” He shook the moisture from his hand as evidence of his thoughts.

“A bad omen? What you say may be true, for the Lordly Ones interfere in men’s lives for their own mysterious purposes. As for Cally Berry, it is well known she often misleads us for her own amusement. Still, do you truly think the gods would bring rain upon this entire region to prevent a mere acolyte from building his first sacred fire? No, they brought it for a far more important purpose, one that will benefit the farmers hereabouts.”

Cass stretched, scratched his belly. “As you say. I’ll not argue it. No, it seems I’m bested every time I try to argue with you. You are overly clever and have a strong mind. Already you are more than a full year ahead in your studies. That is also why you were the first chosen from our remaining group to build his sacred fire.”

The realm of learning captivated me from my very first day at Dún Ailinne, and I eagerly embraced each new opportunity to acquire knowledge. Therefore, it was true I was well ahead in my studies, but I found his comments overstated. “I have no special talents, nor is my mind stronger than yours. My father prepared me well for the school here and the gods have since smiled on me. That is all that separates us.”

“Hah. You disregard your exceptional abilities, but have it your way.”

There was no cause to discuss it more. Besides, the thought of warm barley cakes in the dining hall now captured my interest. A freshly oiled sealskin cape hung on a peg, so I took it, draped it over my head and scampered across the wet compound toward the privy.

I was almost there when I was stopped by a student of about twenty years named Earnán
who I knew only slightly. He wore the red-striped robe of a First Order Druid and served as assistant to Master Tóla. “Ossian, the Master calls for you. He waits in his sanctuary, so you must hurry.”

My stomach growled a disappointed response, but to keep the Master waiting was unthinkable. I hurried to the privy while wondering at the purpose behind the Master’s message. Rain fell in sheets as I picked my way along the slippery, muddy path to the top of Knockaulin.

I rapped on the door of his sanctuary and entered at his beckoning response. Stooped over his table scanning a manuscript, he glanced up to growl, “You’re late! And drop that old cape where you are before you drip water across my floor!”

I did as ordered and walked over to him. Of course, I wasn’t late, but I bowed. “I beg your pardon, Master.”

“Do you know what day this is?”

“Yes, it is the day I was to build my first sacred fire.”

He cocked an eyebrow and growled again, “No! It is the day you shall build your fire.”

Amazement swept through me as rain drummed overhead.

“Now,” he continued, “you will travel a half-day’s walk due south where you will find a grassy knoll. It is there you will build your fire. You remember the correct mantra?”

“Of course!” Immediately I regretted my mistake and cursed my stupidity at allowing myself to become disconcerted. I bowed low before him. “My apologies for my rudeness, Master Tóla. I intended to say, yes, I know the mantra.”

His eyes blazed. “Is there something more you wish to say?”

“Again please excuse my disrespect, Master. Rain falls in torrents, there will be no dry fuel for a fire. Provided I could find dry wood, there will be no possible way to maintain a blaze on an open hilltop. Perhaps you will consider delaying my mission until a more suitable day?”

“Impossible. There can be no delay. This day was not chosen by me, but by the Lordly Ones. You must go today. Listen carefully; today you must create a fire that burns that which cannot burn.”

His words passed me as my heart sank, knowing there could be no further appeal or expectation that I might be successful.

He continued, “You realize you will only succeed if a vision comes to you from the gods during the fire ceremony?”

I nodded though his question mattered little. There was no hope for a vision. Unless the rain stopped soon there was no hope of building the fire.

“Do not look so forlorn. Remember the words of Epicurus, ‘The greater the difficulty, the greater the glory in surmounting it.’ Besides, you should feel honored for the gods are testing you. Indeed, I cannot recall the gods challenging an acolyte with a more difficult trial. To succeed you must maintain confidence in yourself, keep your mind clear and apply the knowledge we instilled within you. Now, if there is nothing more you wish to say, it is time you begin.”

* * *

The rain proved unrelenting. Large trees bent before the howling wind, their leaves flying through the air and skittering across the ground. My cape did little good as the driving downpour ran off it in rivulets, and soon I was thoroughly drenched.

I had begun my walk to the distant grassy mound with a leather bag and foul temper on my shoulder. The impossible task before me weighed heavily, though after a while the Master’s words began to come back and buoyed my spirits a bit.

“To succeed,” he had told me, “you must maintain confidence in yourself, keep your mind clear and apply the knowledge we instilled in you.” And there was one thing more, a riddle of sorts with words so twisted that only the magical fairy folk could appreciate them. “You must create a fire that burns that which cannot burn.”

Perhaps my trial was not impossible then. My reasoning continued, perhaps the rain itself was not the problem; perhaps it merely blinded my view of the solution.

I slowed down my mind as I walked along and called upon what I knew of alchemy. The world was made of four primary elements; air, earth, water and fire. Of fire I knew the least, but I understood that any fire required air, fuel and heat. Water was a fire killer for it suppressed the air around the flame and cooled the fuel. I sloshed on amid an abundance of water.

At last, I came to a tree-lined brook flowing full in the heavy rain. Beyond rose a grassy knoll that I knew for my destination. There was no help for it, so, disgusted, I waded the cold, thigh-deep water and began to cast about under the trees on the far bank for dry wood. I found nothing; even the partially rotten limbs that normally caught fire easily were saturated like a wet sponge.

I continued on to the crest of the hill where my view was obscured by a heavy curtain of gray rain. The wet grass underfoot would do me no good. Nearby were only large stones, a small flock of sheep huddled together in the rain. Again I searched for dry fuel, moss or lichens beneath the rocks that might be protected from the storm. Nothing was there, nothing of use.

I dropped my leather bag to the ground and plopped down beside it in defeat. Within the bag were an iron knife and piece of flint, useful for creating heat to start a fire…if I had dry fuel and could stop the torrential rain. A large clay pot contained magical herbs used in the sacred fire ceremony, now useless lacking a sacred fire. And of course there was no food, for it was dictated that the ceremony be a time of fasting…a silly thing it seemed now.

A sheep bleated, and my tired, drooping eyes were drawn to the small flock. “…burn that which cannot burn.” Bah, as if I could burn a wet sheep. Yet, there was something tugging at my memory, something about the sheep. Sheep provided meat, milk, wool, lanolin…yes, of course, lanolin. Lanolin oil rendered from sheep’s wool—oil that burnt with a bright, hot flame!