“You did not.”
“No,” said Nuada. “I loved him well.” His voice broke on the admission.
“We have no choice,” said Miach again. “We must find our missing people. We cannot just abandon them. And we must ensure that the Fomor can never come into Tara again.”
“The Council has changed the doorway arms,” said Airmid softly. “The Fomor can no longer enter.”
“They will find a new way,” said Nuada. “They have seen our city and our treasures. They have stolen our people. What will stop them now?”
“True,” said Miach. “And they cannot change the heart of a traitor. Sister, I say again. You need not remain with us here.”
“I remain,” she said quietly. “I am proud to defend my people with the Knowledge of the Braid.”
“Then you must promise me that you will keep silent in Council, that you will not speak for us and our work here.”
Airmid said nothing.
“Promise me or you must go now.”
“I promise,” she said in a small voice.
“Swear on the Danu,” said Nuada from the table. “For I know of your love for us.”
“I swear on the Braid, in the name of the Mother.” Airmid choked it out.
Miach nodded. “Then with your permission, Uncle, we will remove your awareness of pain so that we can proceed.”
Nuada nodded.
Carefully, Airmid affixed small ovoids to Nuada’s forehead, behind his ears, and at the back of his neck. She activated a small device in her hand.
After a moment, she took a probe. “Uncle, I will touch the stump now. You must tell me the truth.”
She inserted the probe into the uneven layers where Nuada’s arm ended.
In the chamber, Fodla turned away and hid her eyes. “Tell me when it is finished,” she said softly.
“We need not relive it all,” said Eriu. “We know what choice they made.” She depressed the stone and gently twisted it to the right. The scene shifted again to the Great Council Hall. Nuada stood before the company, his arm attached. He flexed his fingers before the assembled Danu.
“Restore him as Triad Leader!” cried the Danu.
Dagda stepped to the platform beside Nuada. “Speak to us, Nuada; tell us why this was done.”
Nuada nodded. He spoke softly, and the entire company leaned forward to listen.
“It was done that I might save the Danu. Our people must be rescued from the Fomor. We must drive them from the shores of the Green Isle that they will no longer trouble the Danu or the Fir Bolg. The Fomorians are like a ship with a bottomless hold. This even the Fir Bolg told us long ago. No taxes, no slaves, no riches will ever satisfy them. More makes them want more.”
Now Dian Cecht stepped forward. “Someone must pay the price for this action. The Braid has been used in defiance of the law. Who has used the Braid Knowledge?”
Miach stepped forward bravely. “I have done this, Father,” he said quietly.
Dian Cecht’s face blanched and he looked stunned. Miach continued.
“It is not just that the Danu should always hide from their enemies. Nor is it just that the best and brightest among us should be unable to serve as a result of physical imperfection. Hear me, People of the Danu. The laws of the Old World should not be the laws for this world. We are a different race. Our circumstances here are different. The laws of Braiding must change. Of course we should not do what the Homeworld did. The power of Creation belongs to the Braid, not to any of her children. But those who have been created by the Braid should be healed and made whole! This the Mother would expect of us, that we would heal her children.”
Among the Danu there was murmuring and shouts of agreement.
“Still, the law is the law!” cried Dian Cecht. “The law must be obeyed. There is a price affixed to this transgression.”
“No, brother,” said Dagda. “Such a price is too high.”
“I will pay whatever price the law requires,” Miach shouted. “I have done what I believe is right and just.”
Dian Cecht turned toward his son, his eyes wide and sorrowful. “My son,” he said softly. “The penalty is death.”
“No!” Airmid screamed. “No! Do not kill my brother.”
Both Nuada and Miach whipped in her direction, their eyes fixing on her.
“Sister!” Miach cried. “By the Braid.”
Airmid pressed her lips together. Slowly, as though her legs had turned watery beneath her, she crumpled to the floor. The people of the Danu rushed to assist her.
“It is too much,” they cried.
“The penalty goes too far!”
“He has restored Nuada to us.”
“We will defeat the Fomor and rescue our lost children.”
On the platform Nuada and Dagda stared out over the crowd. Dian Cecht began to weep like a child in great gulping sobs until at last Miach enfolded his father in his arms.
“And so he was executed?” Eriu asked softly.
“He was,” said Airmid.
“And you never spoke?” Banba addressed the Ancient quietly, with none of her usual blunt attack.
“Never,” said Airmid softly. “I begged them to let me speak and they would not. ‘Live,’ they said. ‘Work to change the law. Heal the Danu.’ And that is what I did.”
“It is because of you, then, that we can save the Hybrid children of the Fir Bolg,” said Eriu softly.
“It is because the people of the Danu changed the law,” Airmid said softly. “It is because of the courage of Miach and Nuada.”
“You asked me to tell you if we thought you had done aright,” said Eriu softly. “We believe that you and your brother chose well. We believe that the fear of the Braided Ones against the use of the Braid was overdone, based on their own experiences on the Homeworld. We believe that the change in the law was wise. Had you not restored Nuada, the Danu might well today be the slaves of the Fomor, and the abandoned children of the Fir Bolg would be freezing on the hillsides.”
Airmid nodded quietly. “I thank you.” She kept her head bent above her table, her hands clutching the edge.
“But our acknowledgment does not ease the pain, does it?”
“No.” Airmid whispered the word, forced it from her. “I thought that it might, but it does not.”
“Because you did not speak.”
“I should have died with my brother. I should have spoken that day before the Council.”
Banba brought a chair and placed it behind Airmid. The Ancient collapsed into it, her little frame shaken by weeping.
Eriu knelt before her. “You gave them your sacred vow.”
Airmid nodded.
“Your brother was wise. Do you not see? He knew that the law must change and he knew that the First Triad could not change it. You were the only hope for change.”
Airmid looked up. “You are saying what you truly believe?”
“I am. Did not Nuada defeat them in battle?”
“So I am told.”
“You were not there?”
Airmid shook her head. “I buried my brother high in the hills overlooking the sea and then I ran away. I went far to the north, alone. I lived in a cave in a hillside, nor did I speak to anyone. I studied the herbs of this planet and the healing medicaments and I stayed alone for many months. Once my father journeyed to find me. He pleaded with me to return, but I turned my back to him and would not speak. In his rage and anger, he tore my herbs from the ceiling, scattered the contents of my medicine jars, tore through my gardens and ripped my plants out at the roots. This from the gentlest of fathers that ever a child had known. But still I would not look at him or speak. He returned to Tara; later he died, his heart broken by grief and guilt, but I did not know then. I think that I would never have returned among the Danu. Never.”
“But you did. What changed?”
“Lugh,” she said softly, and her face folded into a smile that looked almost like a girl’s. “I met Lugh.”
22
“I remember Lugh!” said Banba. “I was a young girl—long before they married us to the Brothers. By Danu, he was a handsome man!”
“He was indeed,” said Eriu.
“You too?” said Fodla. “Are you catching her disease?” She gestured at Banba.
“Do you think he was her beloved?” said Banba.
“By the look on her face, what else should we conclude?” said Fodla.
“It would have been rude to ask,” said Eriu.
“If only we had not been betrothed to the Brothers,” said Banba with a sigh.
“Banba!” said Fodla. “Those were happy days. The Fomor had departed and the Fir Bolg were in our care. There was no danger for the Danu. The six of us wandered the Green Isle, always laughing. They were to us as elder brothers.”
“We did seem to be always laughing, didn’t we?” said Eriu.
“Well, they were such great friends, to us and to each other,” Fodla said softly. “How much longer do you think they might have lived, had it not been for the Lia Fail?”
“Do not think on it,” said Eriu. “We do what we must.”
Fodla nodded. “I think of them often. Mac Cuill, Mac Cecht, and Mac Grene. Handsome men and good.”
Banba sighed. “But oh, Lugh. There was a man!”
“He was not Danu, you know,” said Fodla.
“Surely he was,” said Banba. “He possessed our light and our eyes.”
“But not our hair or our height.”
“Don’t you mean our lack of height?” said Eriu.
The door slid open. The Sisters were surprised to see Airmid silhouetted in the passage, her tiny, bent frame leaning on the arm of Illyn.
“Ancient!” said Eriu. She leaped to her feet. “How may we assist you?” Illyn bowed from the room, and Eriu conducted Airmid to her own chair.
“The Invaders will make landfall on the morrow.”
“How do you know this?”
“I have had a watch posted for these three days; at dusk they saw the lights in their top rigging. Our spear warriors have heard music from their ships.”
“We have heard it too. It is most sorrowful.”
Airmid nodded. “So they have said. Only I hope that they do not blame their sorrows on us.”
Banba snorted. “Well, the Fomor always did. And the Fir Bolg as well, at least for a time. Why should these newcomers be any different?”
“What shall we do?” Eriu asked the Ancient. “Should we abandon our studies here and prepare?”
“In the past is the answer to the present, Sisters. You have very little time left for this work … and that is probably well.” She regarded Banba, squinted her eyes. “It seems to take a toll on you.”
Eriu turned to look at Banba. Banba looked weary; soft circles curved beneath her eyes.
Airmid seated herself and closed her eyes, resting her head on the back of the chair. “As for me, I know what I will do.”
“Ancient, you cannot stay here with us,” Eriu said, alarm in her tone.
“Have you seen him yet?”
“Seen who? Where?” asked Banba. She made a face at her Sisters as if the Ancient were crazy or mindless.
“I see that,” said the Ancient, her long finger admonishing. “One day you will be as I am now and the youngsters will gesture behind your back and call you mindless.”
“Or mean-tongued,” said Fodla.
“It is likely that they already call her that,” said Airmid, and all three sisters burst into laughter.
“True enough,” said Banba. “I apologize, Ancient.”
“Lugh Lamfhada,” said Airmid. “Have you seen him yet? Here in the Chamber of Memory?”
“No.”
“But you will return to the final battle, will you not?”
“We will,” said Eriu. “But memory is difficult, Ancient, just as you warned us. Sights, smells, sounds, fears and joys. It is as if we were there among them. Even the immediate effects …” She glanced again at Banba.
“What should I fear, Eriu?” said Airmid, the infant smile creasing her face. “Old age? I have lived for three millennia. Weariness? I have been weary in my spirit since Miach died. Death? There is no death, as well you know. We return to the Braid who wove us, she who will weave us again. Only you three know my secret and you have forgiven my choices. With you I feel myself again. As I have not felt since … well, for a long time.”
Banba snorted. “Since Lugh. You wish to see Lugh again.”
“I wish to see Lugh again,” said Airmid. And her voice was the voice of a young girl.
The Plain of Mag Tuiread shimmered into view, morning sunlight pouring down among the stones.
“So we come to battle here again,” said Eriu. She was curled on the floor at Airmid’s feet, resting on a pillow, her back against the chair in which the Ancient sat.
The Ancient tousled her curls. “Always here, girl. You know that history repeats; it is as true for us as for every culture we have ever known.”
The Fomorian horde was gathered at the far side of the field, among them ten ancient, shrunken men dressed in the garb of much younger warriors. None of the other Fomor stood near them, as if they bore a disease that all could catch.
“So,” said Airmid. “They paid the price for entering Tara.”
“Rather for departing from it,” said Eriu softly.
The giant Balor stood at the head of the Fomorian army. He bristled with war armor, a huge two-horned helmet on his head, a giant war ax in his right hand. He was all hair and beard, black like some ancient animal. He had removed the patch from his eye and the cloudy blue-gray orb appeared luminous and large, terrifying in the morning light.
Beside him was Bres, dressed in the war garb of the Fomorians.
“False king,” he called out now, taunting Nuada. “A damaged man of the Danu. Ask to see his arm, Balor.”
Nuada said nothing. Slowly, almost gently, he removed the silver gauntlet from his hand. He held up his arm, whole in the light. He clenched and unclenched his fingers.
“You betrayed us,” he said. “I treated you ever as a brother.” Though his voice was soft, it carried across the field. He replaced the silver gauntlet, pulling it on like a glove.
“No brother to those who did not want me.”
“Bres is ours!” cried Balor.
“Bought and paid for!” cried Dagda. “What did it take, little halfling? Wine, women, treasure?”
Bres had the good grace to lower his eyes.
Dagda stepped from behind Nuada, his own arm clad in silver. The Danu ranged up beside the two, holding their Light Spears. “Know this, men of the north!” Dagda cried. “This day we will defeat you. This day you will sail to the north from whence you came. For a thousand years hence, you will whisper of the little people of the Danu. You will fear to return among us. This day you will return our people to us!”
“Do you mean these?” cried Balor. More than a dozen Fomorian warriors stepped forward. Each held a leash in his hand, dragging at its end a Danu captive. Men, women, children, some of them so small that they did not reach even to the knees of their Fomorian captors. The Fomor held the little people before them, using them as human shields.
An uneasy shifting moved through the Danu.
“Come, Nuada Argetlamh!” called Bres. “Unleash your weapons now.”
“We will hit them,” Nuada whispered to Bres. “What course now, Brother?”
Suddenly there was a blast of sound and light from the rear of the Fomor company, followed by an unearthly scream of pain. Fomorians began to run for the front of the line, pelting in front of Bres and Balor and their Danu captives.
“What has happened?” Dagda shouted at Nuada.
“I know not. But take the tide that turns for us. Let us rescue our people!”
Lightning began to stream from the thrown Light Spears, which hissed as they arced toward the enemy. The Silver Arms began to spit blue light, flame, concussions of noise. Fomor sti
ffened and fell, great clods of dirt exploding around their tumbling forms.
While the Sisters watched, the little Danu sped among the Fomor, appearing and disappearing, unleashing confusion and terror.
Balor came at a run toward Nuada and Dagda.
“Obscure the field!” screamed Nuada.
Suddenly, Balor swung his great club. It connected hard with Nuada’s shoulder. The Danu gave out a cry of pain.
Dagda held forth his own Silver Arm. He pulsed it once toward the sky, once toward the earth. A high wind began to wail in the trees. Fog began to creep along the ground, threading through the great stone portals of the plain. In moments the battlefield was obscured by fog.
Suddenly, into the midst of the company rode a man on a great horse. He was tall and strong-limbed. His curly golden hair and wide eyes proclaimed him Danu, but he was a man of over six feet. He thundered in, straight at Nuada and Balor, who had raised his club for the death strike. Balor staggered back before the thundering hooves of the horse. The huge man leaned down and stretched out his arm to Nuada.
“Clasp it, brother!” he cried. “I will not play you false.” Nuada reached up; the great man hauled him into the saddle and they thundered across the battlefield.
The big man deposited him at the edge of the field.
“Physician,” he cried. Airmid came running from the edge of the field toward Nuada, her belt with its healing instruments and medicines bouncing at her waist.
“This is Nuada?” the big man asked.
“It is,” she said. “Our captives, mo ghra. Save them.” He turned and rode hard for the field.
Nuada looked up at her. “Welcome back, Airmid.”
“Uncle,” she said softly.
“It has been nearly seven years,” said Nuada.
“I have been in the north.”
“Your father has passed.”
She nodded. “He could not bear that he was author of Miach’s execution.”
Nuada nodded toward the horseman. “And the rider?”
“Lugh.”
“He is one of us?”
She nodded once.
“And who else? He is not Penitent.”
“He knows not. He is Danu.”
Song of Ireland Page 17