Manannan Trilogy

by Michele McGrath

  “In your own place, you were a person of some importance; that is evident from the richness of your possessions. As such, I do not think that you can stay here, unless you choose to become a novice and join our community.”

  “But the men’s search did not find my kin.”

  “They must have been searching in the wrong place. You came from somewhere; you weren’t born here. I’ve been thinking about it ever since they returned and I’ve consulted with Father Noe who leads the brothers of our community. He thinks that the best thing I can do is to send you to the High King.”

  “The High King?”

  “He may have knowledge of who you are or, if not, he will be able to organise a more thorough search than is possible for us. He is distant kin to Father Noe and will receive you for his sake.”

  “You are both kind to take so much trouble for me, a stranger,” Niamh murmured.

  “Little trouble. Are you not our guest? Your welfare is entrusted to us under our guest laws.”

  “Sister Fionnait?”

  “Yes?”

  “If the High King cannot find my kin, may I return here?”

  Sister Fionnait smiled. “Only if it is in your heart to join our community. Otherwise, I am sure that the High King will make fair provision for you. We will send one of the brothers with you, who will help you to explain to the High King what has happened and ask for his help. Also some of the servants will accompany you against the dangers of the road.”

  Niamh’s emotions were jumbled. She felt both excitement at meeting the High King and a deep regret for leaving the peace of the convent and the friends she had made there. It was unlikely that she would see them again for a very long time, if at all. Yet she knew that Sister Fionnait was being very kind to her. She had no better way of finding out her name or her family. She felt no call to become a nun, even though she had hoped such a call would come to her. She must stay no longer, imposing on the hospitality of the sisters. So she thanked the nun for her help and said that she would do as she suggested.

  She felt very sad that evening, as she packed the few things that she owned into a saddlebag. Sister Fionnait insisted that she take the red dress, in case it was recognised. On top she folded a spare linen shift, the gift of the nuns and some of the ointments that soothed her aches. One of the sisters sewed a pouch for her jewellery, so that it hung, firmly attached, inside her robe.

  “Better such things are not seen until your journey is over,” Sister Rathnait said with a smile as she gave it to Niamh.

  Niamh’s packing was soon done and her goodbyes had all been said, for she would leave next morning after Prime. They hoped that the party would reach the High King’s rath by evening if they started early. Niamh tossed restlessly on her pallet and began to wonder if she would ever fall asleep. Then she spiralled down through the darkness again and beside her spun the Guide of Souls.

  “Welcome back,” the woman said, but Niamh shrank back.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” Niamh said tensely.

  “Many times you will see me before your life’s journey is done. Come with me.” Her hand clutched Niamh’s arm, as she led her through the colours until, once more, the purple island rose above them.

  “Watch now.”

  Niamh saw high cliffs rising above her, as if from the deck of a boat. The stars shone, but the moon had not yet risen. Then a bright light flared, up on the headland, and something tumbled towards them spinning across the land. It leaped from the precipice and plunged with a hiss into the waves. Niamh threw herself down at the sight, thinking the fire would burn them, but the woman only laughed, a high shrill laugh like the cry of a hunting bird.

  “Nothing can harm you while you are with me. Look over there.” She pointed.

  A dark narrow shape, difficult to see against the sky, moved in towards the land. “Come closer.”

  They seemed to fly forward, swifter than any ship could sail. Niamh stood on the top of the waves, neither sinking nor becoming wet. Dimly she saw a dark-haired man against the gloom, his hand on the tiller, peering intently at the land ahead of him. The hull grated lightly on the shore and she heard the sound of someone wading through the surf towards him. The steersman reached downward and helped the other man on board.

  “You have done well,” the stranger said, clasping the steersman’s arm in greeting.

  “Renny?”

  “Safe away by now. She’ll wait for you at the cave.”

  For a moment the two men stood still, their arms linked. Then the steersman pulled away and said,

  “So this is farewell, Manannan McLir. May your gods go with you.”

  Niamh gasped and shivered. The name was somehow familiar to her.

  “Take care of Renny. May happiness and peace last through all the days of your lives.”

  The steersman pulled away and leapt down into the surf, while the man he had called Manannan walked back to take hold of the tiller.

  “I have heard that man’s name before,” Niamh whispered.

  “And you will hear it again, for that is the name of your father,” said the Guide of Souls.

  “I remember...” Niamh said slowly. The image of an old man, speaking of her father, flashed through her mind and was gone .

  The scene dissolved again and they were flying through the colours until, this time, they stood in the middle of a village. A few women stared into the doorway of a hut.

  “This way.” The Guide of Souls pointed inside and they passed between the women, who did not seem to notice them. A girl lay on a heap of skins on the floor. A man with streaks of white in his hair and beard knelt beside her, spreading some paste onto her lips. The girl was ashen and her eyes closed, but her tongue licked at the substance that had been put there.

  “What is he doing?”

  “Curing her. Look well, for this is your father at another time and place. Your task is to find him and learn his skills, so his knowledge will not be lost forever.”

  “And if I cannot?”

  “Then many will die who might have lived. He has taught only one other person and she must remain in her home, so her knowledge will help few. You can help others, but it is your daughter who will carry his knowledge across the seas to other lands. This is your destiny, Niamh of the golden hair and hers. Do you accept it?”

  Numbly Niamh nodded and the world went dark. She opened her eyes to see worried faces peering down at her. She blinked and her vision steadied.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “You had a nightmare and shouted in your dreams.” The voice was that of Sister Fionnait, who was huddled in a cloak and looked as if she had just been fetched from her chamber.

  “I am sorry, I did not know.”

  “Help me, Sister Dearlu.” Sister Fionnait reached forward and lifted Niamh to her feet, wrapping another cloak around her shoulders. Together the two nuns led her from the dormitory and down into the warming room. The fire had been banked for the night but still gave off heat. Niamh was given a stool, as Sister Fionnait stirred the embers into life. At her nod, Sister Dearlu poured mead into a glass and gave it to Niamh.

  “Thank you, Sister. I can manage now. You may return to your sleep.”

  When they were alone, Niamh asked Sister Fionnait, “When I was dreaming, what did I say?”

  “You kept screaming a name over and over again – Manannan. Why did you call for this man? Do you know him?” A look almost like fear crossed the nun’s face.

  “No, I’ve never met him, but I heard his name before I came here. I can’t remember who told me about him, but it was an old man on my journey here.”

  “Does Manannan have any other name?” The nun prompted gently.

  “Manannan McLir. Manannan the son of Lir.” The name came easily to her, but why it should she did not know.

  The nun sighed. “That name is known to us. Manannan passed through this place long ago, on his way to the sea. I remember him well, although I was only a girl at the
time. It was a time of sickness and he cured many people. My father begged him to stay, but he would not and I’ve never seen him again. How strange that you should dream of a man I once knew and you do not.”

  “Stranger even than that,” Niamh whispered, “for the Guide of Souls told me that Manannan is my father.”

  8

  Father Noe, a tall, stocky man with his hair shaved from his forehead back towards his ears, looked deeply into Niamh’s eyes.

  “Have you had this sort of dream before?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure but I think so, for the woman who called herself the Guide of Souls was no stranger to me.”

  “Someone you know?”

  “Not in my waking life.”

  “And she said that the man in your dream was your father?”

  “She said so, but I don’t know the truth of it.”

  Father Noe swivelled around to look at Sister Fionnait. “I don't like it,” he said.

  “Nor I.”

  “Please, is there something you aren't telling me?” Niamh asked him.

  “I told you that we knew this man,” Sister Fionnait. “A great healer, but...”

  “But?” Niamh prompted her.

  “Some say that his healing was evil. He perverted the will of God by magic, curing those meant to die. He did the devil’s own work. The priest preached against him and some in our village believed the worst. They forced my father to let him go.” A look of sadness passed across Sister Fionnait’s face.

  “Did you want him to go?” Niamh asked, greatly daring.

  Sister Fionnait smiled at her. “Me? No, for he was kind and the priest stern, but I was only a young girl then with little knowledge of such things. Perhaps it was better that he left.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Father Noe, “his so-called magic is still remembered by those who are old enough and the storytellers keep his name alive. It may not be wise to claim kinship to him.”

  “Yet it adds a fact that might be helpful in identifying her kin,” Sister Fionnait interjected. “This man’s name must mean something to her, for no one here has spoken of him for many years. Yet she cried it out in the night. Therefore Ana’s story and his are in some way connected.”

  “True.” Father Noe’s face crinkled in thought and a silence fell. Niamh sat there, staring into space, seeing again the images from her dream.

  “Do you think that what I saw is fated to come true?” she asked at last.

  “Who knows? Dreams can be sent by God or by the Devil. We can only pray to Our Blessed Lord that he is with you and no harm will come to you.”

  “Do you think we should still send her to the High King?” Sister Fionnait asked.

  “Why not? I would say that Ana’s dream doesn’t conflict with our decision. Her clothes and jewellery are sufficient clues to who she really is. They should be recognised and, if that happens, there will be no need for her to talk about her dream or the name of Manannan. If no one comes forward with information, she can mention it if she chooses to do so. Better like that, I think.” Father Noe looked out of the window where the sun shone brightly. “It’s too late for her to reach the High King’s rath before nightfall now, so I have given orders for an early start tomorrow.” He smiled. “Good luck to you, my child, may your journey prosper and may you quickly find your home and your own people again.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  That night Sister Fionnait gave Niamh a potion before she went to bed.

  “So no more dreams come to trouble you and you will be rested for the morning.”

  The bittersweet draught worked. Niamh did, indeed, sleep dreamlessly and woke refreshed. She said a sad goodbye to the nuns and thanked them for their care and their friendship. She had tears in her eyes as she rode away, but the bright morning helped to dispel her sadness. Once again, she was mounted on a fine horse with a smooth pace and she revelled in the exercise. He reminded her of another horse that had pleased her and wondered if her memory was beginning to return at last. Brother Lasair proved to be a cheerful companion and Glasan, one of the men who accompanied them, had a good voice. He soon had them singing along as they rode. They walked part of the time, resting the horses, but even so, the journey was accomplished much faster than Niamh had expected. Before long, green hills rose before them and Brother Lasair pointed to one of them.

  “The High King’s rath lies there upon that hill. You can’t see it from here, but you will as soon as we are on the top of that rise. On the other side are cliffs that lead down to the sea. It’s a strong place, easy to defend.”

  “You’ve been there before?”

  “Many times. Kilian, my brother, is poet to the High King.”

  “What’s the High King like?”

  “He's an old man now. Once he was a very strong warrior, but no more. He’s fought his last battle and his sons fight for him instead. It’ll not be long, I think, before he goes to God and one of them is elected to his place.”

  They trotted on along a path that widened with every mile, as they approached the hill fort. Niamh kept thinking of the words she would have to say to the High King and did not pay much attention to her surroundings. Then Brother Lasair threw up a hand to make them halt.

  “I smell burning,” he said with alarm in his voice and pointed. Smoke was spiralling into the clear blue sky – smoke from more than one fire.

  Slowly and carefully the group trotted forward into a copse of trees, looking all round them. Then they dismounted and Brother Lasair and gave his reins into Glasan’s hand.

  “Stay here with the girl. Tuda and I will go and see if the way is clear.”

  Niamh felt herself shaking and tried to control her fear, lest she infect the horses with her nervousness. There had been something in Brother Lasair’s manner that frightened her very much.

  “Hold the horses’ noses,” Glasan ordered. “If they make a noise they could betray us.”

  “What is Brother Lasair afraid of?” Niamh whispered.

  “There has been talk of raiders attacking the villages on the coast and even down some of the rivers. The raids took place miles away from here and this is probably just a couple of woodmen’s fires, but better to be safe than sorry.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Niamh challenged him.

  “No. Be silent now.”

  They stood there for some time, holding the horses and straining their ears for any sound. The trees blocked their view and they could see nothing but the branches moving and the leaves waving in the wind. After a while, Glasan began to move restlessly, shuffling from one foot to the other and fidgeting.

  “Do you think something has happened to them?” Niamh asked.

  “I don't know, but they should be back by now.” He glanced round the clearing again. “If I tie the horses to a tree, do you think you can keep all four of them silent, while I go and see if I can find the others?”

  “I can try.”

  “You must do better than that. Our lives and yours may depend on it.”

  “I will keep them quiet. Go. They may need your help.”

  Glasan looped his reins and tied all the horses to a nearby bush. He left Niamh standing between the warm bodies and peering out into the trees where the evening dusk was gathering. At first her job was simple, for the horses stayed silent. Two of them even cropped the short grass at their feet. Then her own horse pricked up his ears and pecked at the ground with his hoof. He drew in his breath and would have whickered except Niamh stuffed her fingers in his nostrils and stopped him. At the slight sound, the other horses raised their heads and they all looked hard in the same direction. Their action gave Niamh her only warning. Instinctively she ducked down behind the horses’ backs. Leaves rustled as several bodies pushed through the bushes. She strained her eyes and saw three dim figures coming towards her. Tall men, dressed in mail, with swords in their hands — bloody swords. They shouted when they spotted the horses, which started to mill around, not liking the smell of blood. Kno
wing she had only seconds, Niamh scuttled backwards, hoping to get into hiding without being seen. A shout told her she had not succeeded. She took to her heels and ran. Someone came crashing after her. At least one of the men was following. She weaved in and out of the undergrowth, hoping to throw him off her track but, even in armour, he was faster than she was, hampered by her long skirt. He fell upon her, his weight bringing her down to the ground. Soil was in her mouth and her eyes. Then the weight eased and she was hauled to her feet.

  She was so frightened, her eyes blurred. At any moment she expected his sword to pierce her ribs or her breast. The tales of the raiders’ cruelties were everywhere. Yet nothing happened and she found herself looking up at her captor. In that instant she felt a spark pass between them. He had a light in his eyes as he looked at her and he smiled. He said something she did not understand then he took a firm grip on her arm and dragged her back to the clearing.

  The other two men were already mounted and holding the reins of the rider-less horses. Her captor picked Niamh up and slung her onto one of them, mounting after her. His arm circled her waist, pinning her firmly to his body. He spoke to the others and then all of them trotted out of the woods.

  Niamh’s terror had lifted a little when she realised that she would not be killed immediately. She was obviously a captive to be disposed of, but at least she was still alive. She could not move and she knew she would be a fool to try to escape. Her eyes began to focus again and she looked round. Huts blazed up on the hillside and bodies lay around. Some of them wore the same kind of mail as her captor; others had the look of ordinary villagers. None of the men with her drew rein. They made their way along the track Niamh and her party had been following before they saw the smoke. When they came to a fork in the road, they turned towards the sea.

  The beach was sandy and shallow. Drawn up on the sand were three narrow ships bearing the heads of dragons on their prows. Niamh flinched and the man behind her must have felt her reaction, because he spoke to her again. Although she did not understand, the tone of his voice was soothing. Then they were among a crowd who were loading the ships and making ready to leave. A cheer greeted the arrival of the fine horses. The men dismounted. Niamh was lifted down and the horses were immediately led on board the largest of the vessels. Niamh was taken by her captor to another boat and pushed to the deck between the benches of the rowers. Her captor took a length of rope and casually looped it around her, tying her fast. Then he stood up and left her there. She tested the rope. Even though she could not untie it, it did not cut her and she was not that uncomfortable. Whatever was coming to her might not be as bad as the storytellers said. Yet she was a prisoner of the raiders, on one of their longships and bound for who knows where. She prayed — for herself and also for Brother Lasair and Glasan and Tuda. She had not seen them and she wondered what had happened. She prayed that they had enough time to get away safely.