‘This is not possible,’ whispered Scáthach, dropping her sword and taking a step backwards.
Aife’s face hardened its features and she seized her sword and took the opportunity while Scáthach’s guard was down to raise it ready to strike.
Scáthach was so stunned that she made no effort to defend herself. Her wide eyes were on the image of herself … on Aife, the High One of Lethra. She was poleaxed.
Aife’s lips were drawn back in a smile of triumph. She knew the contest was won; knew the victory was hers. Her sword was already moving for the vital spot, for the kill.
‘Hold your hand, Aife of Lethra!’
The voice, loud and commanding, rang out clearly across the hall.
It stayed the girl’s hand in mid-air.
Heads turned to identify who had the impertinence to issue an order to the High One of Lethra.
Darcon had started from his chair, frowning.
‘Who makes such a demand in my hall?’ he demanded.
Scáthach had come out of her daze and made a belated move to cover herself. She brought up her shield and sword to the ready.
Aife had also recovered from her surprise at being so peremptorily ordered and swung back to her opponent, but saw the element of surprise was no longer with her. She mouthed an obscenity and turned to discover who had dared to stay her hand.
Everyone was looking round.
An elderly man in the robes of a druid suddenly made his way between the rows of the people who parted to let him through.
‘Did you dare give orders in the hall of Darcon?’ thundered Darcon as the old man came to a halt before the dais.
‘I did,’ replied the druid.
Scáthach gasped in astonishment.
It was Ruacán.
Chapter Nineteen
The old druid strode forward into the shocked and silent hall. His stooping figure and white hair seemed oddly commanding. Darcon, brows drawn together, moved forward a step or two, but Ruacán raised a hand and he paused at the old man’s quiet authority. Aife, her sword now at her side, was glaring at the druid with a face distorted in anger.
Scáthach stared from her mirror image to the old druid in bewilderment.
‘What does this mean, old man?’ demanded Aife, cutting into her thoughts.
‘It means that what you do is against the law and well you know it, Aife of Lethra,’ replied the old druid, his voice strangely harsh and authoritative. ‘Ask your advisor, Droch, there. Did he not mention you transgress the law? Or has Droch forgotten that once he took a druid’s vow to maintain the law?’
Droch, the advisor, reddened and shuffled his feet.
Darcon summoned a sneer to his tightly-stretched features.
‘I am the law here, old man.’
‘Not here, nor anywhere,’ snapped Ruacán, with a shake of his white head. The law stands above kings and chieftains and well you know it.’
‘What is against the law?’ Scáthach asked, perplexed by the turn of events. ‘What does this mean?’
The old man smiled gently at her.
‘The law of single combat forbids a sister to kill a sister as it forbids brother to kill brother.
‘Sister?’
Scáthach turned to stare at the glowering Aife.
Ruacán pointed his hand towards her.
‘This is your twin sister, Scáthach. This is the reason behind your quest.’
‘I do not understand,’ replied the girl once more in bewilderment.
‘In good time,’ replied the druid. ‘Do you put up your weapon, Aife of Lethra, or do you tempt the anger of the gods?’
Aife hesitated and glanced at Eis Enchenn, who squatted on her haunches, her malevolent eyes full of venom on the broad face of Ruacán. The druid turned his eyes on the harridan. Nothing was said, but after a long while the crone finally dropped her gaze. Aife sighed and shrugged as if Eis Enchenn’s lack of challenge to the old man had decided the issue.
‘My sword is sheathed.’
‘You must never raise it against your sister’s person,’ Ruacán added.
Aife grimaced.
‘It is the law,’ pressed the old druid. ‘And by my authority I pronounce a geis on you. You can never meet your sister in mortal combat.’
‘You dare utter a sacred prohibition in my presence?’ stormed Darcon.
‘I have the power,’ Ruacán replied blandly, turning to the ruler of the Island of Shadows. ‘Do you doubt that?’
Darcon glanced at Eis Enchenn. The crone hesitated once more and then spread her thin arms in resignation.
‘He has the power, lord,’ she squeaked sullenly.
The old druid turned back to Aife.
‘The geis, the sacred taboo, is pronounced. Do you accept it?’
The girl bit her lip, hesitated a moment and then nodded.
‘You have my word, old man. My sword will never be raised against my … my sister’s person.’
Ruacán turned to Scáthach.
‘And do you sheath your sword, Scáthach? Sheath it never to raise it against your sister’s person? The geis is on you, too.’
Scáthach was gazing on her new-found sister.
‘It is done.’
Ruacán inclined his head.
Darcon took a step towards the druid.
‘You may come here preaching the law, old man, but my will prevails here. Guards … seize the girl!’
Two warriors moved hesitantly forward to Scáthach’s side, one of them taking her sword and shield from her.
‘Take her back to the dungeons to await my judgement.’
Ruacán raised his head and drew back his shoulders.
‘Scáthach must be released, Darcon.’
‘I rule here, old man!' snapped the king of the Island of Shadows. He turned and signalled the warriors to carry out his orders. They pushed Scáthach from the hallway.
‘You must not harm her,’ Ruacán admonished.
Darcon chuckled.
‘You have told us some of the law, old man. But must I remind you of all the law?’ he sneered. ‘Aife may not touch the girl because she is her sister, but I am only half-brother to her and it is not stipulated in law that I can suffer her no harm. You cannot pronounce your sacred prohibition on me. Nor will you. Now seize the old man and take him below to the dungeons!’
The last Scáthach saw was guards descending on the old druid and then she was hurried through the door which led down to Cuar’s domain in the dungeons. Poor Ruacán, she thought. He had risked everything to protect her by proclaiming the law and now he had become a prisoner as she was. She sighed, puzzled by the turn of events. It was more than enough to find that she had a twin sister, but a twin sister who apparently hated her … that she could not understand. Nor the reasons why that hate was so venomous. What had she done that Aife was full of such poison? How had Ruacán known this? Indeed, how had Ruacán been able to cross the chasm and enter, unobserved, Dun Scaith?
The thoughts raced through her head as she was led down the stone steps into the dark, cold atmosphere of the dungeons.
The hunchback looked up as the warriors entered his domain pushing the girl before them. His face was a picture of incredulous surprise.
‘What has happened?’ he demanded in his high-pitched, squeaky voice, as he stared in wonder at Scáthach. ‘Surely she has not slain Aife of Lethra?’
One of the guards sniffed.
‘They are twin sisters. In the fight Aife’s helmet was knocked from her head and everyone saw.’
Cuar stared in wonder.
‘Few have ever seen Aife unhelmed before. And she is this one’s twin?’
‘That’s right. An old man suddenly appeared in the hall and stopped the contest by reciting the law.’
‘But Darcon is the law.’
‘The old man was persuasive. Aife had to swear that she would not harm her. So Darcon has returned her to the dungeons while he considers her fate. And they are bringing the old man down too.�
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The hunchback chuckled.
‘Well, we will make their stay comfortable while they wait to hear what Darcon will do to them. It will be something special, I’ll warrant, for upsetting his pleasure.’
The ugly little man turned, and taking a bunch of keys led the way to the cells.
‘In here, my pretty. I would not hold out any false hopes because Darcon has no mercy in his soul.’
Scáthach said nothing but allowed herself to be pushed into the dank, dark blackness of her prison once again. She went to the wooden cot and sank down, as the cell door banged shut on her and the hunchback turned the key with a rasping laugh.
Alone the girl sat, the thoughts still racing through her mind. She could make no sense at all out of the events. She closed her eyes as she tried to clarify her reasoning.
A movement at the door of the cell caused her to start forward.
Her eyes widened in surprise as she beheld the shadowy stooped figure of Ruacán within her cell. As she opened her mouth, the old man raised a finger to his lips to bid her be silent. Then he turned, head to one side, listening, before moving back into the cell and standing before the astonished girl.
‘How … ?’ she began in a whisper.
The old man smiled.
‘I eluded my captors, that is all, and doors never hold back people of the knowledge.’
Scáthach shook her head in total bewilderment.
‘I do not understand,’ she began.
Then listen, my child, for we have little time and you must act quickly.’
He glanced towards the cell door, paused for a moment and then turned back to the girl.
‘My child, you and Aife are twins, born of the same mother and father.’
Scáthach grimaced wryly.
This much I have gathered, old man.’
Ruacán smiled.
Then listen to the story of your birth. Your father was Ard-Geimne, the king of Lethra. Though Ard-Geimne was a mortal, he fell in love with the Mórrigú, the goddess of death and battles who had visited his kingdom disguised as a beautiful maiden. Ard-Geimne was a handsome man and the goddess decided to use him for her own ends for she saw a chance for her offspring to rule the mortal world causing death and destruction among the peoples of the earth. She already possessed a half-mortal son, Darcon, who was growing to manhood here, in the Island of Shadows. An evil, profligate young man born of an evil father who was suitable to mate with the goddess of death and battles. But Ard-Geimne was a good man.’
The old druid paused.
‘What was he like, this father of mine?’ whispered Scáthach.
‘Ard-Geimne? He was an honourable, wise and just chieftain of his people but his infatuation with the Mórrigú was his undoing. The goddess of death and battles gave birth to his daughters — twins. Aife and yourself, Scáthach. At the birth it was prophesied that one twin would inherit the evil and ambition of her mother but the other would inherit the goodness, wisdom and justice of her father, it was further prophesied that only one of the twins would ever rule in Lethra but that the other would contain her evil and, further, would destroy the Mórrigú’s only son.’
Scáthach shivered abruptly.
‘Tell me, Ruacán,’ she asked slowly, ‘need I ask which twin was which?’
‘Aife was the inheritor of the goddess’s ambition,’ answered the old druid.
‘Go on,’ whispered the girl.
‘The Mórrigú ordered that you be put to death, Scáthach, in order to thwart the prophecy. Furthermore, as a token of his loyalty to her, she ordered your father personally to cast your body into the sea that you may be drowned. But, as I have said, your father was a kindly and loving man, a man of goodness. Instead of casting you into the waves to your doom, he took a wooden casket and had it waterproofed, and he placed you into the casket, which bore the sacred symbols of Lethra. Then he cast you upon the sea on a tidal current, praying wholeheartedly to the ocean god, Manánnan Mac Lir, to take you into his safe keeping. Your father then returned to the Mórrigú and, with a clear conscience, was able to tell her that you had been cast into the sea as she had instructed.’
The girl sighed softly.
‘And the ocean god brought me to the hands of Eola and Buimech.’
Ruacán nodded with a smile.
‘That he did. Eola and Buimech took you from the sea and raised you as their own, teaching you what skills they knew for, in their hearts, they knew that one day you would have to set out to discover the secret of your birth.’
‘And Ard-Geimne?’
‘The Mórrigú eventually had him slain in order that her daughter, Aife, could rule in Lethra.’
‘But,’ frowned Scáthach, ‘the Mórrigú is a powerful goddess. How did she not know that I had survived through the intervention of Manánnan ?’
‘Easy enough to tell,’ smiled the old man, ‘the power of Manánnan , who is the son of The Dagda, father of the gods, was able to maintain the secret from the knowledge of the goddess of death. It was not until Ard-Geimne was dying that she read his final thoughts … in those last few moments, your real father reached out to you … praying that you would come to Lethra to fulfil the prophecy … and she realised that you were alive. She told your sister, Aife, and Aife told her half-brother Darcon. It was Darcon’s idea that Aife should order the warriors of Lethra to fit out a vessel and go sailing to the coast of Éireann in search of you. They found Eola’s fortress, sacked it and killed him but you were away hunting.’ Scáthach nodded sadly.
‘And this was all the doing of my … my mother?’
‘You were born from the womb of the Mórrigú, my child,’ acknowledged Ruacán, ‘but you have inherited your father’s wisdom and goodness and the skills of your foster parents, Eola and Buimech.’
Scáthach shook her head.
‘How can I fight a goddess … how can I fight my mother?’
‘It is foretold, child,’ replied the old druid. ‘You have been given the power, and you must use it, otherwise the world will become enchained to her evil whims.’
‘I cannot fight Aife,’ she pointed out. ‘You have made me accept the sacred taboo. How can I fight her?’
‘Not with a sword,’ replied Ruacán, ‘but are there not other means of fighting?’
The girl sat, once more her thoughts racing.
‘Even now in the great hall above, the Mórrigú sits with Darcon and Aife, plotting the best way of killing you,’ observed the old man.
Scáthach stood up, her shoulders squaring.
‘How can I escape from here and find my weapons?’ The druid chuckled.
‘There speaks Scáthach of Uibh Rathach. Come, follow me.’
He turned and made his way to the cell door, pausing to listen a moment or so before swinging the door gently open.
‘We must find Flann,’ the girl whispered, following at his heels.
‘We will,’ Ruacán assured her.
They moved down the darkened corridor to where some steps ascended. Without hesitation, the old druid clambered upwards. On a second level was a broader corridor, lit by flickering torches. Several doors led off the passage and the old man paused before one of them.
‘Here,’ he said softly.
The girl reached for the handle and turned it. Inside was a room filled with armaments. There on a table she saw her weapons. There was An Cruadin, the hard helm; there was her shield, An Seancholl Snidheach, the hard ridged hazel; there was her sword, An Chraobh Ghlasach, her javelin, the Corr-Bholg and her fierce spear, the gae-Bolga.
She gave a gasp of delight.
‘Hurry now, my child,’ whispered the old man, ‘array yourself for battle.’
The girl nodded and quickly put on her battle harness and took her weapons.
‘With these, I feel invincible.’
The druid chuckled.
‘Armour and weapons are only as good as the one who uses them, child.’
‘Can you tell me where Flann is held?’
demanded the girl, suddenly calm and clear-headed again. She felt in complete control now.
‘Below in the dungeons. I will lead the way.’
Ruacán turned and led the way back into the dungeons, down dimly-lit corridors, to halt before a cell door.
The girl paused hesitantly.
‘Flann?’
There was a gasp of astonishment and then Flann’s voice, nervous and full of suppressed excitement, came back: ‘Who speaks?’
‘Don’t you know me?’ laughed the girl.
‘They told me you were dead,’ cried the young warrior coming forward from the shadows to stand with his face pressed against the bars.
‘I still live,’ she grinned, ‘and so does Ruacán here.’
Flann swallowed.
‘You came to rescue me?’
Scáthach grimaced.
‘It is a long story, Flann Mac Fraech. First we must rescue you from this cell.’
‘Wait,’ the young warrior’s eyes were troubled. ‘How do I know that you are Scáthach of Uibh Rathach and not Aife. I was nearly fooled once before.’
Scáthach saw the suspicion in his eyes and frowned, wondering how she could reassure him.
Then, on impulse, she leant towards him and kissed him softly on the mouth.
He started, staring deeply into her eyes and then a slow smile spread across his features.
‘That is no kiss that Aife is capable of giving,’ he whispered.
Scáthach chuckled.
‘I am glad you can feel the difference, otherwise you are not the man for me, Flann Mac Fraech.’
Then she stepped back and gazed at the cell door. She frowned at the lock and glanced at Ruacán.
The old man smiled.
From his robe he took a piece of wire and inserted it into the lock, twisting this way and that until there was a soft click. Then the door swung to and Flann pushed out, clasping Scáthach in a fierce embrace.
‘By the gods … ’ he began.
Laughing, the girl disentangled herself, but her eyes were soft and kindly.
‘We have much to do, Flann, before we can be so selfish.’
‘Lead the way,’ replied Flann, firmly. ‘I have a debt to pay to the people in this fortress.’
‘And I,’ echoed a familiar voice.
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