Manannan Trilogy

by Michele McGrath

  “No, they have never been worn since Sionainn died. I remember her well,” Bronagh said.

  “Has my aunt never...?”

  “She wouldn’t dare,” Bronagh hissed at her. “These things may only be used by those that have the right, beautiful though they are. Who knows what might happen if anyone else put them on?”

  “Who knows, indeed?” echoed Lalog, another of the servants.

  Slowly Niamh stripped off her finery and packed it away, all except for the torc that Bronagh said she must wear from now on. Perhaps it was for that reason, or for fear of the coming journey, but the night before she left the rath, Niamh began to dream.

  3

  Niamh had dreamed before, but never like this. It came upon her suddenly. She fell asleep early, curled against the furthest wall of the house with the other unmarried girls. She thought she would be too fearful to sleep, but her eyes closed almost immediately. She slipped down into blackness. For a long time she seemed to be falling and then everything changed. She was in a place she did not know and a strange woman was with her.

  “Who are you?” she asked uneasily, trying to peer through the woman’s closely wrapped veils.

  “I am the Guide of Souls. Did nobody tell you to expect me?” Her voice was harsh, with the cold of the north wind in its tones.

  “No,” Niamh said, wondering who should have told her.

  “Come.”

  “Where to?”

  “There are things you should see; things I must tell you. Come.”

  Niamh felt the woman’s hand close on her wrist and chill her to the bone. Then she was swirling in sky filled with ribbons of coloured light. When her vision cleared, she was standing upon the banks of a flooded river, with storm clouds at her back.

  She heard shouts and then a stinging pain across her cheek, then a harder one.

  “Wake up! Wake up!” Another blow and someone was shaking her violently. Her eyes fluttered open. She was back in the rath. Her aunt was kneeling beside her, hand upraised to strike again. Niamh cringed away from her.

  “Sabh, hold!” Her uncle’s voice ordered and her aunt’s arm dropped to her side. He loomed over them both. Others crowded around and, on every face she saw both anger and terror.

  “What did you see?” Aed hissed at her. “What is going to happen to us? Tell me!”

  “Husband?” Sabh turned to him, puzzled. “The girl has only had a nightmare and disturbed us all with her screaming. She is leaving to go to her husband tomorrow or I would have her well whipped.”

  “Perhaps, but it may be more than that. I have seen her father dream like this.” Aed knelt down, pushing Sabh aside so he could look into Niamh’s eyes. “Tell me,” he repeated, “what is coming to us?”

  “Nothing,” Niamh stuttered, hardly able to breathe. “What I saw was in a far away place, not here.”

  “Go on.”

  Niamh closed her eyes, so she could not see the people who surrounded her and her uncle most of all. She spoke haltingly at first and then with more confidence as memories returned.

  “I met a woman who took me to a flooded river. We had to cross, because another storm was coming. If we did not, we would have to wait until the flood waters subsided. I was one of the last to enter the river and, as I did so, lightning broke over us. My horse reared up and I was thrown into the water. It closed above my head.”

  “Is she telling us about her journey to come?” Sabh asked in a whisper.

  “Perhaps. Go on.”

  “I was on a ship,” Niamh continued. “A purple island rose out of the waters, its mountains covered in mist. We landed near a shining white cliff with a rath on top. It looked a fair place, but whoever was in it was my enemy. I wanted to run until I could run no more, but I could not...” Niamh’s voice trailed away. She opened her eyes.

  “You were alone? No one here shared your journey?” Aed’s voice was insistent.

  “Not alone, but no one I knew came with me.”

  “Who was with you?”

  “I did not recognise their faces.”

  “So nothing is going to happen to us?”

  “No.” Niamh looked up into her uncle’s eyes.

  “What does all this mean?” Sabh asked, fearfully.

  Aed rose. “A girl’s silly dream, no more, as you said. All of you go back to sleep. We have been disturbed enough this night.” He looked at Niamh. “I will speak to you again in the morning, Niece — alone.”

  For the rest of the night, Niamh did not close her eyes. The swirling pictures of her vision mingled with fear of her journey and dread of her uncle. When the others roused in the morning, they kept well away from her, as if she harboured some terrible disease. Their behaviour only served to increase her fear.

  When everyone had broken their fast, her uncle told those who were making the journey with her to prepare and be ready. Then he ordered everyone except Niamh to leave the roundhouse. Aed called her over to him. She could feel herself shaking as she walked forward and he did not rise. His fists lay tightly clenched on his lap. She stood before him like a naughty child expecting to be beaten.

  “Have you ever had these visions before?” Aed’s eyes bored into hers.

  “No. I’ve had dreams, but never like this.” Niamh shivered.

  “You’re afraid.” There was contempt in Aed’s voice. “Is there anything you haven’t told me?”

  “No, nothing.”

  Aed stood up. “You are your father’s child, right enough, and my mother’s granddaughter, more’s the pity. Last night proved that, even if I didn’t suspect it before. Now, listen to me, Niamh, do not speak of this to anyone. I will give orders to the people who go with you to remain silent also. If he learns what happened, Barrfind may reject you. If he does, be sure of this — no one else wants you, nor can you return here. When you leave, you leave for good. So, for your own sake, keep a still tongue in your head.”

  Niamh nodded but stayed silent, not knowing what else to say. A queer, sick feeling held her rigid.

  “Niece or no niece, I’ve done my best for you. If you resist this marriage, the consequences will fall on you alone. Do you understand me clearly?” he insisted.

  “I understand.”

  “Go then and prepare for your journey. You leave at once.”

  4

  Niamh trotted out of the rath and did not look back at the small group of people who had gathered to see her go. Eber rode beside her and four of the tribe’s warriors followed. Niamh almost smiled when she found out who had been chosen. Good fighters, but without any more imagination than the beasts in the field. All of them could be counted on to obey her uncle’s instructions exactly. In one way, she supposed she was lucky. None of these men treated her any differently than they would have done any other young girl. In fact, they mostly ignored her presence and did not speak to her except from necessity.

  A servant, Betha, had also been sent, much to her displeasure. She muttered curses all the way along the road until the rath faded from sight. She did not like Niamh, but she had no choice except to follow orders. She deliberately rode at the back of the group and, after a while, started chatting to one of the men.

  For once, Niamh had been assigned a good horse. Like all children, she had learned to ride ones that were old and slow. Never before had she ridden a youngster with an even pace. It was exhilarating and Niamh enjoyed being at the head of the column, not breathing in anyone else’s dust. The day was fine; she was away from her aunt and uncle and well mounted. Niamh decided to forget her doubts and enjoy herself for now, but, after a few hours, the novelty wore off. She was sore from the unaccustomed exercise, because she had never before gone so far or so fast on horseback.

  The long dusty miles would have been dull and painful indeed without Eber’s presence. Niamh had known him all her life, but she did not remember a time when she had ever talked with him beyond a sentence or two in passing. Certainly they never discussed anything that mattered in the past. Now he rode
by her side and seemed to want to be with her. At first they talked about the places they were passing, the things she had never seen and the fineness of the day. When they resumed their journey after resting the horses, she felt comfortable enough to say, “Tell me about the man who will be my husband.”

  “What do you want to know about him?”

  “What does he look like?”

  “He’s a stocky man, rather like me, about my age too.”

  “So old?” Niamh murmured and then clapped a hand to her mouth as she realised what she said, but Eber only grinned.

  “His eldest daughter is older than you.”

  Niamh had often day-dreamed about the man she would marry. She hoped he would be tall and fair, a few years past her own age. She also wanted him to love her for herself. An impossible ideal, a prince with all the virtues — she had been unwise to think of such things, she saw now. Life had never given her anything she had hoped for.

  “He has dark hair and a beard, both going grey,” Eber continued. “Barrfind is the ruler of his people and they are numerous, so he has to keep order among them. He is a stern man, from what I have been told, impatient with anyone who crosses him.”

  “Sterner than my uncle?” Niamh tried to imagine anyone worse. No one ever questioned Aed’s word within the rath or, if they did, they soon learned the cost and never made the same mistake again.

  “From what I have seen and heard, far more. You would do well to obey him and conform to all his wishes. His first wife did not have an easy life and I doubt he will change for you.”

  “You’re frightening me.”

  “I’m trying to help. Better frightened and aware, than to walk into trouble. Barrfind is not a man to take liberties with.”

  “I have never taken liberties with anyone!” Niamh exclaimed.

  “Keep that attitude and you’ll save yourself much grief. Don’t change now you have left your uncle’s house.”

  “I had hoped for so much more,” Niamh whispered to herself but Eber’s quick ear caught her words.

  “Don’t we all? Few of us find what we hope for in this life.”

  Niamh became silent, thinking over the things Eber had told her. Her future life, it seemed, would be no better than the old and probably much worse. She no longer rode forward eagerly, looking around at the new sights that surrounded her. Instead she held the reins loosely in her hands and her horse fell back almost to the end of the column. Eber did not follow her.

  The wind had risen and, although it was midsummer, it was cold. Niamh shivered, but not only from the wind. An icy chill seemed to possess her body and her mind. When at last they halted again to rest the horses, she pulled out her warm cloak from her saddlebag. She was thankful she possessed such a garment, rather than the thin and threadbare clothes she had always worn. She put it on and hugged it round her, trying to feel a little comforted.

  Eber sent one of the men ahead of the column to find somewhere to sleep. Distant kin lived not far from their route and Niamh spent her first night away from the rath at this man’s home. Lorcan could only offer shelter to the women, for his house was small, so the men camped outside. After they had broken their fast, though, Eber joined them by the fire to drink his ale. Betha took the opportunity to slip away to the men’s camp and Niamh thought her flirting must be going well.

  As usual, Niamh stayed silent as Lorcan and Eber discussed the harvest and recent cattle raiding in the next valley. It didn’t bother Lorcan, for he kept no beasts, but he warned Eber to be on his guard next day when they passed that way. Very soon afterwards, Eber rose, saying that they must make an early start. He told Niamh to go to sleep quickly for she would need her rest. No doubt she would be stiff and sore when she sat on her horse again, he reminded her with an evil grin.

  Despite his advice, Niamh tossed and turned on the straw of her bed. She did not really sleep until the morning light began to penetrate the cracks in the walls. Then it seemed as if she had barely closed her eyes before Betha shook her awake.

  “Come on, get up. They’re all waiting for you,” she said.

  Niamh had only time to drink some ale and splash water on her face before hurrying outside. Lorcan’s wife put a bannock into her hand, to eat on the journey. Niamh found out immediately that Eber’s prediction had come true. She was so stiff she could barely clamber on her horse and she sat down on its back with a groan.

  “Cheer up, it will get better, once your bum gets numb,” Eber told her. He turned, calling his thanks to Lorcan for his hospitality. Niamh did the same, and then they trotted out of the clearing. For some time, Niamh wriggled around, trying to find a more comfortable way of sitting but, gradually, she again found Eber’s words coming true. She became numb enough to look around her and see where they were going.

  Eber had taken a steep rocky path that wound up the slope of a hill. He paused at the top and Niamh drew her horse up beside him.

  “This is the place Lorcan told us about last night,” Eber said, pointing down into a narrow valley. “We are passing out of our tribal lands. This hill marks the boundary, which is why there has always been so much trouble here. We must keep together and look around us, until we have climbed to the top of that ridge on the far side.”

  The group rode swiftly down into the valley, bunched together, with Niamh and Betha in the centre. Eber seemed nervous and on edge, but he need not have worried. Everything looked peaceful. They saw no one except a couple of herds keeping watch on the cattle that grazed in the meadows. Unusually, the fields were surrounded by strong walls woven out of thorns - the only sign of the unrest that plagued the area. Yet it served to remind everyone that the sooner they were gone from that place the better. Niamh did not realise how strung up she had been, until she drew rein at the top of the ridge. Even then, Eber would not let them stop to rest but hurried them down the other side, until they reached the trees at the bottom of the slope.

  That night they could not find any house to shelter them, so they camped in the woodland. Eber set two of the men on guard. The other men went to sleep quickly, knowing they would be called soon enough to take their turn. Betha, obviously bored, did the same. Only Niamh and Eber stayed awake, sitting by the embers of the fire. They talked for some time about the exciting journeys Eber had made.

  “When I was young, your father and I travelled to a place where the people dig gold and silver out of the mountainside. We returned with enough metal to make jewellery for your grandmother and some of the other women. The torc and your flower ties were made from that gold.”

  “Were you and my father friends?”

  “When we were young. After his visions came, he changed. He drew away from other people and spent more time journeying on his own. He had learned the art of healing from your grandfather, Lir, and he went to places where they needed his help.”

  “Why did he leave the tribe? No one has ever told me.”

  Eber sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “I suppose it is right to tell you now and there will never be another opportunity. We will not meet again. Well then, on one of his journeys, Manannan met a chieftain’s daughter called Fand and fell in love with her. She came from a family equal to his. Manannan brought rich gifts to her father so she would marry him. He had, by that time, become leader of our tribe as your grandfather died the winter before. Manannan and Fand agreed they would wed at Lughnasa, the traditional time for such things. Fand seemed quite content, but she did not tell him that a former lover of hers, named Sétanta, also wanted to wed her. He had already asked her father for her hand. The old chieftain refused, because the man had less wealth than your father. Sétanta bided his time and recruited his friends to help him. As Manannan and Fand were in the middle of their marriage ceremony, Sétanta attacked. Manannan was badly wounded in the fight and many were slain including Fand, herself. She ran the wrong way in all the confusion and a slash from a broadsword killed her.

  “Sétanta always blamed Manannan for Fand’s death, although
no one was ever sure who struck the fatal blow. He thought that she should have been given to him unopposed, because he was the one she wanted. He pursued the blood feud for over a year and, in that time; we lost many men and cattle. That is one of the reasons your uncle hates his brother so much. In the end, Manannan knew that he must leave. He went away, hoping to draw Sétanta and his followers after him, so we might be left in peace.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “No one knows. He travelled north at first. I rode with him part of the way. After that we only heard rumours. They say he went to the Norsemen’s city, Ath Claith, and took a ship across the sea. Someone told me that he left this land and sailed to a far off island, where he cured people from a terrible plague. I don’t know how true any of these rumours are. All I can tell you is that I never saw him again after we parted. Where he is now I have no notion. He may even be dead.”

  “My uncle thinks he’s alive. Why is he so afraid he might return?”

  Eber grinned. “Manannan’s a good fighter. Aed never beat him in a swordfight, at wrestling or anything else when they were boys. Manannan had a quicker mind and a sharper tongue. Also Aed was afraid of the things Manannan saw in his visions, especially those things Aed did not want him to know.”

  “Why does my uncle hate me? I’m not my father.”

  “Because you favour Manannan rather than your mother. You remind him too forcefully of the brother he did not like and wants to forget.”

  “Tell me about my mother. No one ever has.”

  “Little to tell. She was a pretty girl and found favour in Manannan’s eyes. This was a few years before he met Fand. Perhaps the blood letting would never have happened if she’d lived, but she died of the winter ague when you were in your second year.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Emer.”

  “Why has no one ever told me about her before?”

  “Her family died in the plague. She was the only one who survived and not for long. She was often ill and she just wasted away that winter. It was pitiful to watch. After her death, Manannan would not speak about her. Her memory pained him. He was fond of you, though, and sometimes he seemed almost happy when you played together.”