Waves in the Wind (32 page)

The man recoiled in surprise. “She’s gone…dead.”

Laoidheach gasped behind me and my heart sank. “Dead, eh? How did she die?”

He clamped his mouth shut, so I flicked my wrist and the man’s left ear fell into his lap.

His shriek filled the hut as his hand clasped the side of his head. Eyes clamped shut, he began rocking back and forth, wailing.

A quick step brought me close, where I kicked him and sneered. “I asked you a question, slaver! How did she die? Answer, lest you wish to lose your other ear.”

Quailing before me, blood running down his arm to drip from his elbow, he pointed to Scannlon, and whimpered. “He killed her just last night. He strangled her after she scratched his face. Look closely, you can see the scratches.”

I didn’t have to look for the scratches. I had already noted them. Both hands gripping my sword’s hilt, I swung the blade through the air like a scythe. It seemed to encounter no resistance at all as it severed Scannlon’s head from his shoulders.

Behind me came a shout from the man who previously stood by the door. He was coming at me, his knife but an arm’s length from my throat, when his skull seemed to burst in a crimson cloud. Goban entered, leaned over and retrieved his hammer.

He grunted, “The man wanted to fight, eh?”

The scraping of metal on metal turned me around to find the no longer wailing man drawing a sword as he began to rise. Once more, I swung my own and the man sat back, gaping at the stub of his wrist. I offered him the quarter he intended for me and swung the sword one last time, striking his neck.

Panting in fury I looked to the final man, who until now remained silent. “The girl, Aine, her body, where is it? Speak quickly if you value your life!”

He was a churlish bastard. “It’s gone. Only moments before you arrived we pitched it upon the wagon that collects corpses.”

The death wagon! I recalled the fires beyond the outskirts of the village. If I hurried, perhaps I could stop the wagon before it reached them.

Laoidheach stood behind me, face taut, tears streaming. I was striding toward him and the door when his hand flashed to his belt. He grasped his dagger, and hurled it past my head.

An agonized gasp turned me around to see the final slaver standing wide-eyed, Laoidheach’s dagger protruding from his chest. He panted, “But, you said—” and collapsed.

Walking across the room, my friend retrieved his dagger, wiped the blade on the dying man’s filthy clothing and shrugged. “And now it is done. The bastards are dead, every one.”

Dead, yes, but what matter such filth? Now, Aine! Through the door of the slaughterhouse of our making, I ran, and leaped upon my horse. One thought filled my mind—to stop the corpse-laden wagon before it reached the fires!

I kicked my horse in its ribs; its thundering hooves echoed against lifeless cottages as I galloped back in the direction from which we had come. Tears stung my eyes, blurring my vision, and I wiped them away with my forearm. Soon, the trundling wagon came into sight; it was nearing the edge of the village.

The wagon driver, cloaked in a black robe, gaped in toothless surprise as I reined my horse beside him shouting, “Stop! Stop the wagon!”

The man squawked, “Stop you say? Who would you be to be saying stop to a man who is going about his own affairs?”

My eyes had already found Aine atop the pile of corpses and my mind screamed its anguish. No matter, there was nothing for it now but to concentrate on the driver. “You have a girl there and I would have her from you.”

“You would have her?” A queer light shown in his eyes as the wagon rolled to a stop. “No, you cannot have her. She’s mine, all of them, the dead ones, they are mine now.”

“You must understand. The girl is my sister and I would see she is properly buried.”

“Your sister?” He cackled in the manner of a madman. “She is no one’s sister now, boy ’o. You cannot have her. They will give me food when she is delivered to the fires.”

I would bargain with the foolish man if I must, but, in the end, I would have Aine’s body. “See here, man. I will trade you the corpses of four men for the girl. What say you?”

“Four men you say?” His mad eyes were shifty, skeptical. “Where are these four men?”

“We have a bargain then? I will tell you if you agree.”

“Yes, yes, we have a bargain. Hurry now, tell me.”

Laoidheach and Goban wore grim faces as their horses trotted up to me. Laoidheach leaped from his horse and strode toward the wagon.

“Stop!” I yelled. “Go no closer. The corpses there, all those people but Aine died of the plague and you will likely get it too if you touch them.”

I turned to the cart driver. “You there. My sister is the small girl atop your ghastly pile. Pick her up and lay her gently here on the road beside me.”

He was wary of me. “And the corpses of the four men you promised me?”

“You remember the cottage where men put her body on your cart?”

The driver nodded. “That I do.”

“Go there. You will find the men inside.”

The driver grinned. “Four for one. I will dine well tonight.”

The man did as he was told and I rolled Aine’s poor naked body within my thin woolen blanket. Then Laoidheach and I laid her across the back of our packhorse. All the while my thoughts swung from anguish to raging fury with the bitter realization I had arrived just one day late to save Aine’s life…one day…one day…one irrevocable day that would burn within my soul forever.

The wheels of the death wagon squealed anew as it resumed its grisly mission toward the fires, and I looked to Laoidheach and Goban. “We must find a safe place away from here and you will wait there. I will take Aine into the hills where I will perform a proper burial rite over her.”

Laoidheach’s face flamed. “No, Ossian. I will not stand aside while my betrothed is buried. I will go with you.”

There was a thought in my mind, one that could be dangerous, and I said as much. “My friend, I plan a ceremony, one that could spell extreme danger for anyone nearby. No. You must stay away that no harm will befall you.”

“I said I was coming with you and come I will.” He mounted his horse and leaned toward me. “You think to use your Druid’s magic to invoke spirits of the dead? You think to perform a ceremony that will frighten me? You are right.” He nodded. “Under those circumstances, I would rather not come with you, but on the memory of my mother, you will not stop me from standing one last time by my Aine.”

I looked with exasperation to Goban, but the smith surprised me. “Laoidheach is right. Ye would be wrong to deny him his final chance to stand beside his beloved. You two are me only friends now. When ye go into danger, I will be with ye.”

Simple sincerity shown on his downcast face, and a lump formed in my throat. “No man ever had a better friend, Goban, and I thank you for it. Very well, but listen you, both of you. If you come with me, you must do no more or less than I tell you.”

I paused, my hands scrubbing grief and weariness from my face. “If all goes well, you will witness a thing seldom seen except by Druids themselves, and you must never later speak of it.”

Chapter 26

Beneath a Lone Alder

A soft evening rain spattered against the makeshift oilskin canopy covering us as we stood atop a grassy hill beside the open grave. Overhead, the boughs of a lone alder, the most sacred of all trees, would offer shade and protection for Aine’s bones.

Already, the gods of death and the Underworld had been made aware of Aine’s altered state, and the conventions of the burial ceremony satisfied. A gold coin nestled in Aine’s hand so that all would know her as a woman of means when she arrived on the shore of Tír na nÓg. Now, only one rite remained, one likely to utterly fail or even sow destruction about us.

Laoidheach, eyes red and watering, and a grim-faced Goban stood beside me, Aine’s blanket-enshrouded body at our feet beside the grave. Only her face was exposed; delicate, serene and lovely.

“Go there, both of you.” I pointed into the distance where the horses stood tied to a bush. “Do not come near again unless I call for you.”

“No.” Laoidheach shook his head, “Goban can go. I will remain here beside you and Aine.”

I laid my hand upon his shoulder. “My friend, please go as I asked. This is no place for you. I will call upon the gods, that they might awaken Aine.”

Hope lit his eyes. “You will bring her back to life? Back to us?”

“No.” I shook my head as I gazed down on Aine’s still face. “That I cannot do. Aine belongs to the gods now, and they will not give her up. If she awakens, she will be neither dead nor fully alive. She will reside somewhere between. It is said the guardians of the dead are jealous of their wards, so at best I might revive her for only a short while.”

“What power could do such a thing?” Goban whispered.

I raised my Staff. “Once again, my friend, the power exists here within the Staff of Nuada.” Pointing to them, I warned, “Should anything happen to me during the ceremony do not approach me or touch the Staff. Ride away. Ride away quickly.”

Shoulders slumping, they drew blankets over their heads against the light rain and strode away. My attention turned from them as I concentrated on the sketchy plan developing in my head. It was a thing I never before attempted, but lessons taught by Master Tóla on calling forth the dead returned to me. Settling upon the ground cross-legged beside Aine, I remembered back, piecing together the complex ceremony.

A fire would be needed, one that would attract the attention of the gods, and I peered out from beneath the canopy at the rain and water-soaked hill. A small smile touched my lips as I offered a blessing to the memory of Master Tóla. Rising while removing my knife from its sheath, I reached overhead and sliced off a piece of the oilskin canopy. Taking the knife and a piece of flint from a bag at my belt, I soon had a spark, and then a tiny flame consuming “that which cannot burn.”

Then, everything rested within the powers of the Staff, though whether it would serve in what I was attempting, time would tell. Yet, it contained powers unknown even to the Master, so if I called upon them, perhaps my plan would succeed even if every step of the ritual wasn’t followed precisely.

Aine suffered unimaginable abuse and died alone, far from home and family. For all that, I carried a great responsibility. Though I could never hope to set things right for her, perhaps I might capture this one moment that she would know she remained loved and remembered.

Taking the serpent pommel from its pouch I placed it atop the Staff. At once, the Staff shuddered, and I placed my right hand on Aine’s shoulder that its power might pass through me to her. Eyes closed, concentrating, imbued with seemingly limitless power, I opened the necromancy ritual,

Within the darkness where spirits dwell,

Ghosts of those who came before,

Lost to all but the gods of death,

Abides one there whose name I speak.

Aine, daughter of the Druid, Ciann Meghan,

Spirit child of Rath Raithleann, now lost.

I speak of Aine, whose faith remains unbroken,

Within the glory of the Light of the Sidhe.

I call upon you, O Cromm Cruaich,

Ruler of the Land of the Dead,

Guardian of the Underworld,

I call upon you, O Cromm Cruaich.

Hear me, O Cromm Cruaich,

Feel the power of the Staff of Nuada of the Silver Hand,

Through this power, I call upon you,

Release the ghost of Aine, that I might speak with her.

Release her, O Cromm Cruaich,

Release her spirit in the name of Nuada,

Release her while the power of the Staff endures,

Release her upon my promise she will be returned to you.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then Aine’s body rose to a sitting position. Her eyes opened, and she stared at me without comprehension. My hand remained on her shoulder, energized by the power of the Staff. No doubt, my hand trembled, as, awestruck, the full wonder of it swept over me.

Uncertain of how to proceed, but holding hope in my heart, I leaned close and whispered, “Aine, it is I, Ossian, can you hear me?”

“Ossian?” she murmured. “Ossian?”

“Yes, Aine, yes.” A chill ran down my spine at the sound of the voice I longed to hear. “It is Ossian, your brother. Do you not know me?”

Her clouded eyes fixed upon me, her voice like that of someone rousing from a deep sleep. “Yes, Ossian, I know you. I waited for you, you know. I prayed that you might come, and waited ever so long.”

A tear ran unchecked down my cheek as I nodded. “I know, dear sister. Within a vision, I saw and heard you calling for me. I…that is, I am so sorry that I arrived too late.”

Her face, like graven stone, revealed no expression. “Too late, Ossian? Too late for what?”

“To save you from the monsters who held you. To save your life.”

“To save my life?” Her voice was hollow, lacking tone or inflection. “Am I dead, then?”

She didn’t know. How could she not? Unsure of what to say, I continued with caution. “Have you no final memory of what became of you?”