Waves in the Wind (4 page)

My mind went to work as I concentrated on the miserable beasts, and again past alchemy lectures proved helpful—“oil and water are enemies and will never come together.” My hopes surged—lanolin burned in the presence of water! But the wool was on the sheep and the lanolin in the wool…augh!

I tugged the cape closer against the rain, my mind testing and rejecting idea after idea. After sitting for some time I jumped to my feet and roared aloud into the downpour at my own stupidity. It wasn’t my mind that brought an answer, it was my nose! The old cape clasped about me all day was freshly saturated with lanolin oil.

It took time and work to complete the details, but I was there to conduct a sacred ceremony, not measure time. At last though a fire no larger than a sparrow burned within the clay pot beneath the protection of what remained of the cape after I had scraped the lanolin from it. The ritual must begin immediately, and I swallowed my boyish pride for having solved the Master’s riddle. The sputtering flame would be a fleeting thing, so I sat cross-legged beside my fire and chanted aloud the ritual’s opening mantra,

O Gods of my fathers,

O Mighty Lords of the Sidhe,

Defenders of Ancient Mysteries,

Purveyors of the Everlasting.

See this poor mortal,

See his unworthy fire of admiration,

And take pity upon him,

Hear his undeserving plea.

The ritual went on, time passed, darkness fell, and with it continuing rain. My tiny flame spit, sizzled and flickered but continued to burn valiantly, keeping the lengthy ceremony alive.

During the lateness of the night a vision came, a motionless painting in colorful, remarkable detail hovering in the air before me. There comes a point where weary eyes see though the mind refuses to serve its purpose. I forced myself to concentrate on the image, to press it within the folds of my memory for later study.

The ritual ended with the coming of the vision, and I muttered the prescribed closing, thanking the gods for it. Then, as though by magic, the rain stopped, the clouds cleared and stars bejeweled the night sky. I staggered to my feet and gathered my few belongings. Polaris sparkled high above to show me the way, and I began the long, mindless, muddy trek back to my bed at Dún Ailinne.

* * *

I awoke in my dormitory with sunlight streaming through the windows. Someone was shaking my foot. It was Earnán.

“Ossian, wake up. The Master calls for you.”

A groan escaped me as I sat up, and he smiled as he handed me two barley cakes. “The kitchen is long closed for the morning. I thought you might like these before climbing the hill.”

It was a kind act, and I thanked him for it before he left the empty dormitory. My robe was still damp and mud spattered. I donned it in disgust. The barley cakes were delicious, and I devoured them as I began a slow ascent up Knockaulin.

Upon my arrival, the Master was seated behind his table.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You built your fire?”

“Yes, Master Tóla. I burned that which cannot burn.”

“And that was?”

“A wet sheep.”

Humor glinted in his eyes, a currency he spent sparingly, as he nodded. “Lanolin. Yes, I hoped you would discover that solution. Now tell me, there was a vision?”

“Yes, Master, a vision came and I saw it clearly, but found no meaning in it. Within the vision were twin white sails upon a large curragh far at sea.”

“Twin sails on one of our Irish boats, you say?” He frowned in thought, and shook his head, bewildered. “It seems a small thing.”

“There was more. Centered on the sails was a large red cross, the cross of the Christians.”

His questioning eyes stared into mine for a long moment before he asked, “Were you aboard the boat?”

“I don’t know…that is, I’m not sure. The vision was so very plain, yet the gods’ message behind it, if there was one, altogether obscure. Can you see the importance of it?”

He continued staring into my eyes; did I detect doubt or even accusation in his? If so, why? I saw no reason for it.

Finally, he shook his head. “No, but I am troubled by the symbolism. You have learned many Christian ways and beliefs in your religious studies. Perhaps that is all there is behind it.” He sighed and relaxed in his chair. “One thing I promise you, Ossian. The vision sent you by the Lordly Ones, vague though it may be as to its true meaning, foretold a significant event. Someday, somewhere, you will see that boat again, and when you do you will face the greatest decision of your life.”

Chapter 4

The Darkening

Laoidheach sat with his back against the bole of a tree idly strumming a lyre, his long legs stretched before him. A promising, straggling goatee sprouted from his chin.

I lazed in the grass nearby, my mind as idle as his fingers. I sat up, yawned, stretched and uttered an equally idle thought. “Are you aware we’ve known one another for four years?”

He didn’t look up. “No.”

“And do you realize we’ve wasted much of our time together on shameful adventures among the maidens in Kilcullen?”

His fingers strummed a peaceful chord. “Not so much, I’m thinking. Kilcullen is a small village.”

My mind continued to wander. “Hmm. Eight years gone and now four more.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. I was merely reflecting on the years I’ve spent here and those that remain.”

He finally glanced up. “I’ve been here four with two long years yet to go.”

“Why ‘long’ years?”

“Alas, there are no more mysteries to solve in Kilcullen.”

“Augh!”

He struck a discordant key, and grinned. “Now to more important things. There is to be a songfest tomorrow night, will you be coming?”

“Perhaps. The Master has acquired a new book at great cost. It’s titled ‘Elements,’ and written by the famous old Greek mathematician, Euclid. We are studying his teachings on geometry. Learning his formulas is difficult and takes much time.”

“Euclid? Geometry? I’ve never heard of them. Bards have no need to know such things.”

Nothing my friend said surprised me anymore. “Geometry is an ancient mathematical form though Euclid extended its use. We are learning much more of it through his book. He was a great man, often cited by Archimedes himself.”

“Archimedes? I’ve not heard of him either, but back to the songfest. You must come! Treasa, Dáirine and other girls will be there.”

His mention of the girls raised my interest. “You will be singing, then?”

“Aye, I will be singing my new song, a ballad honoring the goddess Fachea the patron goddess of we bards. That is…ow!” He clasped a hand to his eye.

“What is it?”

“Some bloody tiny thing flew into my eye. It is nothing.”

I happened to glance at the sleeve of my robe and saw it speckled with tiny gray dots. They disappeared when I rubbed them with my finger. “Ah, it’s merely ash. The wind is blowing the cooking smoke toward us.”

The sun dimmed overhead. Laoidheach glanced up and his mouth fell open as he gaped and pointed behind me. “Ossian! What is that?!”

I turned to look. Overhead, a thin haze shaded the sky light gray, but to the west lightning flashed across a towering, enormous black mass.

* * *

Master Tóla stood atop Knockaulin, his commanding gaze capturing the students grouped before him. Behind him a great sacral fire roared in the darkness, sending flaming brands skyward.

The Master uncrossed his arms, raised his hands palms outward and began. “Yesterday, a mysterious darkness fell across the land, and with it, darkness entered the hearts of men. Fear clutches the minds of all, as it does your own, for fear is the son of ignorance and ignorance the daughter of blindness. The immense fire behind me offers light in the darkness, not a light by which we might simply see but a light of knowledge, a light by which we might understand what lies behind the darkness itself. Now listen all, listen that you might learn, listen to the message brought by the great sacral fire, hear the words of the Dagda!”

A murmur swept the assembled group. The Dagda! Master Tóla had spoken with the High God of the Tuatha De Danann themselves, the Dagda, Lord of Perfect Knowledge.

Tóla’s raised hands closed to form fists, and quieted the crowd. “Now hear you all and praise the song of the Dagda,”

So, the earth revolves,

and night turns to day.

By the hand of Belenos, the sun gleams,

and once again brings life to the Tree.

The bole of the Tree stands steadfast,

resisting all forces for all time.

Branches spread outward from the Tree,

from its branches all living things hold fast.

Mother Earth shudders,

the cauldron within her boils.

A pustule forms and ruptures,

cauldron smoke fills the skies.

So, the earth revolves,

but night remains night.

The sun, at the hand of Belenos does not return,

there is no life within the Tree.

The bole of the Tree stands steadfast,

resisting all forces for all time.

Branches spread outward from the Tree,

from its branches all living things fall.

Light within darkness,

from within the rath of the Sidhe.

Light where there is no light,

light where darkness prevails.

So, the earth revolves,

three times three darkness rules.

The sun, at the hand of Belenos returns,

bringing new life within the Tree.

The bole of the Tree stands steadfast,

resisting all forces for all time.

Fifth of seven chieftains,

from its branches all living things reborn.

* * *

A line of torches snaked down the side of Knockaulin as students returned to their dormitories. Someone jostled me in the darkness. It was Laoidheach.

“So Ossian,” he whispered, “tell me. What was it the Master was saying?”

“He spoke of the darkness,” I muttered, “and repeated the words of the Dagda. You heard him.”

“Yes, I heard him, but what was he, or the Dagda, saying?”

“Don’t you know?”
My feet were feeling their way in the flickering torchlight, down the steep, narrow trail.
“You are a bard and should understand such a song.”

“Yes, I am a bard trained to sing such things. That doesn’t mean I always understand them, for the gods often test us with their ridiculous riddles.”

I almost laughed, but the solemn events on the hill dictated otherwise. “Very well then, the Dagda was saying the earth rotates, and the sun—”

“Yes, yes, I know. Without the sun everything dies. Go on.”

“The Dagda further spoke of a Tree, meaning the Tree of Life where the bole is the never changing center of the universe.”

“I knew that too.”

“Somewhere Mother Earth has ruptured spewing smoke and ash into the sky. That is the cause of the darkness.”

Laoidheach grunted. “Oh. I see. What was meant by the light in rath of the Sidhe, and something about three times three and the fifth chieftain?”

“The light from within the rath of the Sidhe represents the Light of All Knowledge, meaning the Lordly Ones understand everything. I confess three times three meant nothing to me until the mention of the fifth chieftain. You see, there are seven chieftain trees, ash being the fifth. So, the meaning is…”

“Nine months!” he gasped. “The Dagda was saying we face nine months of darkness!”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“May the gods have pity upon this land.”

* * *

A fortnight passed, anxious days of unrelenting darkness. Word came that I had been called for an audience with Master Tóla, so I climbed the path up Knockaulin. The immense sacral fire now burned incessantly and cast an eerie glow to guide my way.

I rapped upon the door of the Master’s sanctuary and entered upon hearing his muffled response. He was seated in his customary position though his eyes betrayed the weariness within him. That he spent his days in constant prayer and divination with the gods, we all knew, though I would not have the temerity to speak of it.

He nodded. “King Túathal Máelgarb has called a synod at Tara to discuss the darkness. He commands that leading Druids and Christian priests from across Eire attend. Your father and I will be among them. Each of us may bring one aide and Earnán will be siding me. Your father sent word and requested that you serve in that capacity alongside him.”

I wanted to shout and leap into the air, but remained properly silent, my face calm. It was an amazing thing. Together with my father, I was going to Tara, the Royal seat of the High King of all Eire, Túathal Máelgarb himself.

The Master reached beside him and handed me a neatly folded red and white striped bundle. “You will wear this, the robe of a First Order Druid. Here, take it.”

My hand trembled though I knew there must be a mistake as I accepted the robe. “But Master Tóla, I am merely an acolyte. At the very least it requires ten years of study to attain the First Order, while I have but eight.”

A tired smile filled his eyes. “Not always. You are still a student here, but as of now no longer an acolyte. Yes, commonly the red robe requires ten years of study though it seems we have a special situation. It would be unseemly for your father, a Third Order Druid, to arrive at the synod with a simple acolyte as his aide. No, a man of his importance who himself shall in a few years be awarded the highest rank of Master Druid merits at least a First Order assistant.”