Song of Ireland

by Juilene Osborne-McKnight

  “You possessed intelligence and immense longevity, the power to heal your own diseases. But in the process of achieving that end, we destroyed hundreds”—his voice paused, wearied—“thousands of your people who were imperfect or deformed. Some of those imperfections were physical, some were mental. Some must surely have been imperfections of the spirit, but those we could not see. I fear that those creatures may be among you now.”

  Eriu thought of the Raveners, glanced toward the triangle of the Morrigu at the far side of the chamber. The ancient voice continued.

  “We bear the weight of the murders of your people, for that is what we now know them to be. Even when, at last, we created you of the Braid, you were judged by the people of our world to be not of the Danu. You did not look as we looked, you lived much longer, your vast intelligence terrified our people. To keep you in control, you were granted no rights among us. You were placed in the holds, removed from the sight and thought of our people.” Here the picture shifted to a kind of prison structure; though clean and well appointed, it was nonetheless an obvious camp surrounded by lightbolt-walls.

  “Though they were few in number, your ancestors rose up. Who would blame them now? All creatures yearn toward freedom and respect. Your ancestors began the BraidRising.

  “We had created a race of people who were self-healing, who would live to be most ancient, who were physically beautiful, intelligent beyond our own capacities, dangerous. We tried to repress, to exterminate, the very thing we had created.

  “We are the authors of your exile. The result of the BraidRising was that you were granted freedom, but only in exile. From the four great cities of our world, we provisioned you for a distant journey. From Falias, they sent with you the Lia Fail, the Stones of History and Destiny. They speak to you now. From Gorias, they sent with you the Invincible Spear Arms so that you might protect yourselves. It is my hope that you have never had to use those weapons.

  “Finias provisioned you with the Spear Ships in which you traveled. Murias provisioned you with food and the means to store and duplicate those stores. All shared in your provisions for all shared in the shame of what had been done to you.

  “Here, in the time and place that you see now, we of science have been judged and found guilty. We have received the ultimate punishment for our pride. That punishment is death; we accept that judgment as fair for what was done to you.

  “You, our brothers and sisters in the Braid, have been forced into exile by the very nature of your creation. To assist you on your journey, we have sent with you our own people, healers and lawgivers, wisdom keepers and historians, who have volunteered to accompany you into exile to right the wrongs that have been done you. They have called themselves the Penitents; they will live to right the wrong that has been done you.”

  The picture shifted now to her paternal ancestors, the solemn, tall Penitents with their copper skin and curling silver hair, their expressions of sorrowful solemnity. They were ranged up by the hundreds. She felt a surge of love for them, these ancient sacrificial people. How afraid they must have been! All had been dead for hundreds, thousands of years.

  “With you we have sent the knowledge of the healing, of the PreBraiding and the ReBraiding. You may guard it or destroy it, but use it wisely. It must never fall into the wrong hands, for it could lead again to the knowledge of Braid creation. That knowledge will never again be used on this world.

  “In the way of all creatures, time will pass and you of the Braid will marry and mate with those of the Penitents who accompany you. Some of you may well mate with the inhabitants of the worlds you will encounter. You will form a new race. We cannot say what your attributes will be. Will you live forever or will you die? Will you be creatures of the light or servants of the dark? What we have set in motion, we will not see to fruition. But we ask that you retain the name Children of the Danu that our two races will be joined forever across the stars, that She, the Mother Weaver, will protect you. We offer this as our apology; we seek your forgiveness. We ask that you remember that within the Braid dwells the spirit of Creation; that spirit moves in all and every create thing. We send with you our profound shame that we did not remember such a thing before we usurped the powers of the Weaver.”

  Not for the first time, Eriu wondered about the Teller’s people. How long had they lived? How wise had they become? Did they dwell out there still, among the far stars? Among her own people were none of them now, for all who had journeyed with them had died long, long ago. The Teller was right, though. There had been much intermarriage through the centuries, and now her own race was an admixture of Exiles and Penitents.

  And now a new race would soon come into their midst.

  Eriu sighed. It was the first time she had seen the history in hundreds of years, yet just as it had done the first time she viewed it, it had made her feel alien to herself and profoundly sad. She could hear soft weeping in the room and knew that it had had the same effect on some of her people. The Braided Ancients were silent, their eyes lowered, as if they were ashamed. The children in the room were silent.

  Eriu moved to the front of the chamber. She lifted her hands. From behind her she felt the hands of Banba and Fodla close around hers.

  “People of the Danu,” she intoned, “braided we are unbreakable, braided all life is unbreakable, all one, all in the Braid.” In the great room, her people linked hands, arm over arm, a physical representation of the Braid. She waited until all were linked.

  “Shall we hear more?” She almost hoped that they would say her nay. It was a sad history; in her memory it terrified her still.

  “We must!” An old and tremulous voice rose above the discussion. An Ancient couple arose from among the company and made their way toward the front.

  Historians. The man a descendant of the Penitents, the woman one of the last of the living Ancient Creatures of the Braid.

  Immediately, the Hybrids rushed to assist them, to raise them gently to the platform, to bring them chased stools with cushioned seats and soft backs, to attach the devices that would engage the Lia Fail. Not for the first time, Eriu blessed the Hybrids for the love and adoration they brought to the Ancients, for treating them as honored grandparents. When the Ancients were seated before the company, the woman spoke first, as was always the way of the Danu.

  “Children, it may be that soon we will be exiled again. We must know our history to choose our future. Open the Walls of Wisdom!”

  The walls of the room slid back to reveal a kind of museum. Suspended in midair were wavering, three-dimensional pictures, an island in the Internal Sea, the temples of the Greeks, the pyramids of Egypt, a city of lights encased in bubbles below the sea. In shimmering cases around the room were the gifts that the people had been given by those they had encountered, Egyptian necklaces of jade and gold, Greek diadems encrusted with jewels, beautiful chalices and dishes of chased silver and gold, finespun linens, musical instruments, gifts of gratitude for teaching and knowledge.

  “When first we came to this place, we slid our ships into the sea. We built our cities below the water and there we hid for many years. The shame and terror of the BraidRising dwelt upon us still.” She touched a button on the arm of her chair, and the Danu could see the city below the waters, its lights shimmering beneath the sea.

  She stood, her mate rising to hold her on his arm. She was withered, her skin a dusty white, folded on itself in ridges and creases. Her eyes were rheumy gray, her head completely bald, her fingers overlong. She was tinier than Eriu and her sisters by almost a foot, standing only three feet off the ground. Her grandchildren must have towered over her. She continued.

  “At last, however, some of our number ventured to the surface. They captured the images of those they encountered. They returned to us and learned to create Metaphor. The taught us to practice so that we could hold the image in place.”

  She touched the triangle at her neck with its braided vines. A rainbow shimmered within it. Suddenly she was more
than five feet tall. Her black curly hair was swept back at the crown and cascaded in long ringlets down her back. Her eyes were dark and expressive. She wore a white gown, single-shouldered, attached to a necklet of gold. The children in the room laughed and applauded. Eriu wondered how many generations of children and grandchildren she had delighted with her multiple transformations.

  She smiled. Pearly teeth glistened in a mouth that possessed none in its true form.

  “With Metaphor we could travel. Some few of our people came north into the region of the world where we now dwell. Our own ancestors built a city on an island in the middle of the Internal Sea.” Again she pressed a button. A city of curved white dwellings and huge gleaming columns arose on a mountainous island filled with light.

  “We traveled among all of the people of that region, Egyptians, Greeks, Persians. We taught and we learned. We shared our skills for building and healing. Our island in the Internal Sea became known as a center for wisdom and learning. I fear that the Greeks began to think of us as gods. This filled us with terror, for those who perceived us as different had exiled us.

  “But before the problem had time to grow, the Green Orb itself changed our circumstances.”

  She pressed a button on the arm again; a great volcano shimmered up in three dimensions, spewing hot red fire. The earth cracked apart. The people watched as the white-columned temples tumbled to the ground, as the island slipped beneath the sea. The ancient woman was silent, her eyes filled with sorrow. Her companion took up the tale.

  “Many of our people were killed, both Ancients and Penitents. Our ancestors retreated to the sea. Those who remained, intermarried and gave birth to the new children of the Danu, the true ReBraid of our races. When enough time had passed, we searched for a new place where we could dwell. We remembered that some of our company had traveled to the north, and we decided to follow. We found the Green Isle. Imagine our joy when we found evidence of the Danu in the structures of the people, huge lunar circles, temples incised with the Braid of the Weaver. We found no evidence of our vanished brothers and sisters. We could find no sign that they had married with the people of the place. Did Metaphor fail them? Were they destroyed? We do not know.

  “For a time we dwelled on the surface, but there came among us two great crises—the Fomorian sea raiders and the years of no summer. To be safe from those, we built our cities here”—he paused—“beneath the ground. Here we have dwelled for more than a thousand years. Now a new race will come among us, warlike and strong. It is time for the Danu to consider. Where shall we go?”

  From the back of the room came three voices in succession, nasal and smoky, sure of their powers. It was the voice of Morrigu.

  “We shall not go. We shall destroy the interlopers.”

  “We have the power. Did we not drive the Fomor back to the sea?”

  “We shall unleash the power of the Silver Arms.”

  14

  CEOLAS MOURNS

  Forgive me, my beloved.

  Oh, take me with you

  into the dark sea, the cold sea,

  that she may keep us both together.

  I cannot live apart from you.

  My heart is cold and dead.

  My heart is a drowned vessel.

  “Bush! Do you hear it?” Eriu pressed her hand against Banba’s lips to still her sister’s chatter, tilted her head toward the stone passageway that led to the surface.

  The Sisters had secreted themselves in one of the wedge passages whose secret doors opened into the hidden city of Tara below. They were seated together in the circular chamber at the end of the long passage that descended into the earth. Together they had examined the chamber, made certain that none of their people were anywhere nearby. Particularly, they looked to see that the Morrigu had not followed them to the surface.

  The command had been given that the people of the Danu were to remain below until they had decided what to do about the Invaders. The Sisters had violated their own order to enter the Chamber of Memory.

  “Hear what?” Banba swatted the hand away. “Do you think they are among us already?”

  Eriu shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought I heard singing … or chanting … I don’t know. It drifts in and out on the wind.”

  “I hear it too,” said Fodla softly. “It is a most mournful sound, a cup full of sorrow.”

  Banba stilled at last and tipped her head.

  Eriu shook her head again. “It is gone now. Finished. It made me want to weep.”

  “I think you are both imagining it,” Banba snapped. “We have more important things to consider. Did you charge the doorway?” she added in a soft whisper.

  “I did,” said Eriu. “They have not yet come to shore, but if they do, their attempt to enter will bring them the same reward that Airioch Feabhruadh earned.”

  “Oh, if only we had not worn the jewels and diadems when first we met them!” said Fodla.

  “We were trying to appear as Greeks,” said Banba. “Their ships were Greek.”

  “Ith had no interest in jewels and gold!” said Eriu. “Even his interest in our crops and cattle pasturage faded to nothing when he learned from whence we truly came.”

  “But, Sister, Airioch Feabhruadh had much interest,” said Banba. “As did the brother Eber Donn, though I think he too was more taken with the green fields and forests. And neither of them knows the dangers. There was too much here that called them back. Too much beckoned. Oh, we beckoned them.” This last came out of her as a moan.

  “What will become of our people?” Fodla whispered.

  “Come now,” said Eriu. “Do not give in to despair. We have lived long on the Green Orb and long on the Green Isle. We know that our ancestors did not have an easy way here in the beginning. Did we not lose Nuada Silver Arm in the war with the Fomor?”

  “Do you remember aught of Nuada’s Silver Arm?” Fodla asked.

  “It was a thousand years ago.” Banba shrugged. “We were children.”

  “I know that it was during the time when the Brothers presided over the Council. Mac Cuill, Mac Cecht, and Mac Grene,” Eriu replied softly. “And the Morrigu said ‘arms.’ Plural.”

  “Well, there is only one way to know,” said Banba.

  Eriu nodded. “We will study our ancestors here in the Chamber of Memory and reason how best we can defeat the newcomers. We are wisdom givers and gatherers. Throughout our history we have learned from those we encountered. We can reason our way out of this dilemma with our own history, Sisters.”

  “We should have studied our history earlier, Sisters,” said Banba. “Why did the Brothers not teach us this when we were bonded to them?”

  “You would not have studied it then,” said Fodla. “You were too busy fondling your new husband to study. You would have paid no attention at all.”

  Banba grinned. “Oh yes, I remember it well. One of these dark chambers, a huge cozy chair, and a husband who had been bound to me for the sole purpose of teaching me everything. And besides, they had learned the history before us and did not seem much interested in passing that part of our heritage on.”

  “And the result is that we are deficient in history,” said Fodla.

  “Did you ask them to teach it to you?” Banba asked. Fodla shifted uncomfortably. Banba laughed aloud.

  “Very well,” said Eriu. “We were young and full of desire.”

  “You too? Our senior sister?” said Banba and Fodla in unison.

  “The young should be full of desire,” said Eriu. “And our bond husbands did not seem troubled that they had to them such young and … frolicsome … wives. I do not remember them calling us back to any of our lessons. When once I did ask to study the history, they simply shrugged me off and suggested a picnic instead. They were men, after all.” She smiled at her sisters. “But now we are old and alone and our people are in danger.” She sighed; the mood of all three sisters changed liked quicksilver. “Now we must learn the lessons and draw from them the answers.
Our ancestors dealt with invaders. How did they protect the Danu? That is what we seek to know.”

  From deep inside her robe, she took a speckled stone the size of a hand.

  Fodla gasped. “How did you get that? Is it the turnstone of the Lia Fail?”

  “It is. I simply took it from its case in the room of the Walls of Wisdom.” A single protrusion jutted from the great rock at the center of the room. She lowered the stone over the protrusion, placed her hand upon its jutting surface.

  “Stop!”

  A door slid open at the back of the chamber, seeming to open out of the unbroken stone wall. An Ancient entered, a tiny woman of only three feet, bald with gray skin and long, slender fingers.

  All three sisters stood.

  “Ancient!”

  “Airmid, daughter of Dian Cecht!”

  “We are honored that you have come among us, Great Physician.”

  “You will not be so pleased when I have spoken.” The voice of the ancient woman was nasal, almost metallic, the words undergirded by a continuous soft, buzzing sound. “You must not use the Lia Fail.”

  “Ancient,” said Eriu. “With respect, this is why the Lia Fail was sent with us, that we might accrue knowledge and disperse it, that we might learn from it the true way to go. We must immerse ourselves in Memory now. We no longer have husbands to carry that knowledge. We must learn from those who came before, those who forged truce and those who drove the Invaders away. We must choose the right way to go.”

  Airmid shook her head. “To experience the Lia Fail is to experience history as those before you lived it. It will be as if you are there, seeing, hearing, smelling what they encountered. That is why these chambers are … above the surface. They are a space between our world and their world, a place where history may be experienced out of its sequence of time.”