Waves in the Wind

by Wade McMahan

  Around the fire the old warrior’s words were greeted with silent nods, and I looked to Torcán. “What say you, my friend?”

  He looked up with a shrug. “If the war ends today, then so be it. Call upon me later if you need me and I will be back. Otherwise,” he rose to his feet with the effortless grace of a superb swordsman, and, ever the warrior, continued with a grin, “somewhere there will always be a need for a man with a horse and a sword.”

  “I shall send a message to the Christian bishop at Tara, relate to him what was said here today and request there be a truce between us.”

  * * *

  I stood upon the massive bole of a fallen tree. Before me more than two hundred captive Christians massed together under the gray afternoon sky, their faces sullen as I carried my message to them.

  “Do not mistake my words. They are not offered in kindness, repentance or as an offer of friendship, for I hold none of those things in my heart. You are my enemy. You fought against me, you killed my friends and, most importantly, you dishonor my gods.

  “I ask you this. What have you gained by coming here to do battle? What did you hope to gain?” My staff gestured toward the distant battlefield. “Hundreds of men fell upon yon fields, your men and my men, but to what purpose? Battles do not change men’s faith regardless of their outcomes. You surrendered because of your good sense and desire to live. However, despite all the deaths and the horrors of battle you did not surrender your trust in the Christian God, and my men remain true to the Lordly Ones.

  “You fought gallantly so I hold you are honorable men. Again I ask you, where is the honor in killing without purpose? Ask yourselves that question again and again as you return to your homes.”

  For the first time, faces brightened among the prisoners and they turned, chattering and slapping one another on the back. Until this moment they undoubtedly assumed they would be massacred or enslaved.

  I raised the staff calling for silence. Then, I gestured to Father Joseph, who stood among the throng, and motioned him forward. That his burns pained him greatly was obvious, as, once more leaning on the javelin, he slowly hobbled to the front of the prisoners where he stopped and looked up at me.

  I spoke loudly that all might hear my words to him. “Priest, your men are free to leave at your discretion. I leave it to you. However, there are many wounded among you who cannot be moved and require care. If you abandon them here, they will not be treated for they are not my concern.”

  His face was as cold as his reply. “I do not need a Druid to remind me of my Christian duties.”

  A heated retort almost escaped my lips but I held it in check. “Perhaps you think now to rebuild your army and return to attack us again. If that be the case, then so be it, for you have already seen we do not fear facing you. We fear only the wasteful necessity of doing so.”

  My attention shifted back to the mass of prisoners. “This war began in the darkness, never-ending night that clouded minds and sowed fear throughout the land. Now each morning dawns brighter than the day before. I ask that each of you pray to your god as I do mine that, with the return of the light, wisdom will replace fear, a desire for peace will overwhelm hatred and understanding will lead to tolerance, one for the other.”

  My words met utter stillness. Maybe I was wrong in freeing these men. Helplessness filled me for by their silence it seemed likely I would confront them in battle again.

  * * *

  “Joseph.” I rolled the foreign-sounding name on my tongue and turned to Laoidheach. “My friend, I am placing much hope in the priest Joseph. I pray the gods will give me the wisdom to sway him.”

  He sat cross-legged on the ground under my canopy running a tiny bone needle and thread through a rip in his tunic, and looked up from his work with a grunt. “Baile of the Honeyed Speech blessed you with the gift of the Blarney. If you cannot sway him, such a thing cannot be done.”

  I settled onto a wooden bench with a sigh. “I fear it will take more than the Blarney to convince him. He has complete trust in the words of his god and none in those of Druids. Now we soundly defeated him in battle and his heart is hardened even more against us.”

  “Then, you must melt his heart.” He squinted in the dim light cast by a single candle, and stretched the thread to its full length as he drew the needle through his tunic with practiced ease. “Augh. Now my patches have patches. I fear that I will soon be forced to remain naked for more than just battles.”

  “If that be your condition, please favor us all by completing your needle work. Tell me, ‘O bard among bards, how would you suggest I melt the priest’s heart?”

  He lay his mending aside. His long legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankles as he leaned back and rested upright upon his elbows. “You recall the story of Tea, daughter of Lughaidh?”

  My mind reached back. “I remember a bit about her. It was the Age of the World 3502; Tea demanded the hill Druim Caein as her dower from her husband, King Eremhon. Later the hill was renamed Teamhair in her honor, for therein she was buried. Of course we now call that same hill Tara.”

  “Aye, that’s the same girl, though there was much more to her story.” He reclined onto his back, clasped his hands behind his head and spoke upwards to the canvas canopy. “It seems Tea, daughter of Lughaidh, son of Ith, was chaste, beautiful and well known for her sweetness. She was desired by all who saw her. Her father had great hope that she might marry well and took her to meet Eremhon, who became king of all Eire after he defeated Emhear at the Battle of Geisill. Eremhon was known to despise all women and he greeted Lughaidh and Tea in his chambers with great rudeness. Forthwith, they were dismissed.”

  I fidgeted at the open entrance to my canopy as Laoidheach told the story. “So in the end, Tea overcame Eremhon by her loveliness and sweetness. I doubt I can do the same with the priest.”

  My interruption of his story was met with a snort. “You’ve a vile temper. Shut up and listen.” He paused a moment, still staring upwards, recapturing his place in his story. “Lughaidh was angered and embarrassed by Eremhon’s reception of them but wondered at the king’s hatred of women. Therefore, he went to a Druid and asked that he divine the cause behind Eremhon’s bitterness. Through incantations, the Druid called upon the goddess Aebhel, who, as you know, is wise in the ways of lust between men and women. Aebhel responded to the Druid, saying, ‘Within the shee near Dun Deilginnsi in the territory of Cualann, you may hear the whisperings of the fairy queen, Sorcha, who has King Eremhon’s ear and loves him. Her love for a mortal can never be satisfied, so in her resentment and sorrow she cast a magic spell upon him that he would detest all other women.’”

  The sky seemed brighter this night. Perhaps the moon gleamed behind the high clouds of ash. It was a thing unseen for many months. I stood staring upwards, my mind following Laoidheach’s story. I feared there would be little point to it.

  He sighed. “It would be a sad thing, I think, to be a fairy and love a mortal. There is a story—”

  I threw my hands up in despair. “Would you please complete your first story before beginning another one?”

  “What? Oh, yes, of course. Now where was I?” Still lying upon his back, his right arm shot upright and he shook a knowing finger in the air above him. “Aha, I have it. Lughaidh loved his daughter above all else, and thought there could be no finer future for Tea than that she become wife to the king. Yet such a thing was impossible unless Sorcha relented and removed her spell. So it was that Lughaidh traveled to Dun Deilginnsi and climbed the grassy mound that held the fairies’ shee.

  “He called Sorcha’s name down the entrance to her magical underground palace. Again and again he called until finally she answered him. Lughaidh pled his case to the fairy queen, expressing his love for his daughter and hopes for her, but Sorcha remained unmoved. ‘I shall not relinquish my hold on Eremhon,’ she replied, ‘for I love him more than any mortal woman ever could.’ He acknowledged that might be true, but explained, ‘Because of your
spell, Eremhon has become a bitter, lonely man. He is king of all Eire, but, due to you, he shall never sire an heir to replace him on the throne. You may well love him, but you love yourself more, for by your spell you place your happiness above his. Only by releasing him can you prove the truth of your love.’”

  Laoidheach sat up, hunching forward and wrapping his arms around his knees. “Of course, Sorcha heard Lughaidh’s sincere words and released Eremhon from her spell. Soon after, the king was married to Tea and their story you know.” He cocked an eyebrow, and asked, “Now do you know how to melt a priest’s heart?”

  The candle burned low on its unadorned dish, yet the warmth of its glow filled me as I turned to stare into the darkness. Yes, my way was clear.

  * * *

  The morning fog was lifting as Joseph hobbled into my canopy. He collapsed upon a rough bench with a long sigh, his hard dark eyes on me.

  A yellow-stained linen bandage was wrapped around his leg, the stench of the foulness beneath it evidence of spreading sickness threatening to kill him. Fever touched his face and I hoped his senses remained untouched as I spoke.

  “Thank you for coming. Had I known the condition of your leg I would have come to you.”

  “My condition is not your concern.” He leaned the javelin he still used as a staff against the bench beside him. “My life is in God’s hands. Go ahead; speak your piece, for my proper place is with my men.”

  His manner was neither more nor less than I expected. “There is much that separates us, you and me, though also much we hold in common.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “We are men of faith who stand beside our gods. On that you must agree. We speak to the people telling them of our gods’ truth.”

  His eyes blazed. “There is only one truth, the truth of the one God, the only God. It is Him I bring to the people. As for you?” He snorted. “Your pagan demons, if they exist at all, are Satan’s tools. Now what is it you want of me, Druid? I tire of your presence.”

  I squatted that I would be on a level with him. “I want you to tell me why we are fighting. I fear I no longer know.”

  He leaned back and squinted. “What manner of trickery is this? You ask a foolish question.”

  “Foolish? Yes, perhaps so. Yet I ask it honestly, so I would appreciate you answering it.”

  A hiss escaped his lips. “You fight for nothing…nothing, unless it is to spread Satan’s words. We fight and sacrifice ourselves for a grand and noble cause by spreading the Word of God Himself. We fight to protect the one true faith. Hah. You cannot say the same.”

  “Oh, but I can say the same. We sacrifice ourselves for our gods for the same reasons.”

  “You know nothing of the need for sacrificing for a cause greater than yourself. Hear me, for the Scriptures tell us, ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.’ That, Druid, is a greater sacrifice than any mortal can ever make.”

  My legs grew tired from squatting so I settled myself on the ground, cross-legged before him. “It is no small thing, I know, for a father to give up his son. Yes, your god sacrificed his son for a great cause, but today my thoughts turn to the many fathers,” I turned my face and looked toward the distant hills, “who gave up their sons on yon battlefield for far less. You say sacrifice is necessary in all grand things. Now you sit there, I sit here, and we talk of our sacrificed warriors. What grand end did their sacrifices serve?”

  Sweat beaded on his flushed brow, a sign of the sickness within him brought on by his rotting leg. “Mine stand for the Will of God by ridding all Eire of the likes of you.”

  “You wish to kill all Druids?”

  “I came here to take you by the throat and kill you. It was the devil’s own luck I did not succeed.”

  “Yes. But that was not my question. Your god demands the deaths of all who oppose him? Is that your mission, Joseph, to carry out your god’s will by sacrificing your men while murdering us all?”

  “Of course not.” A hand wiped the fevered sweat from his brow. “You have Satan’s voice and twist my words.”

  “I merely wish to understand them as I hope you will understand mine. Will you hear them?”

  “Have I a choice?”

  “Certainly.” I shrugged and gestured outward. “You may walk back to your camp, as you will, though I hope you will not until you’ve heard my offer.”

  “I will not bend to your threats or bargain with you, pagan.”

  “Threats? I did not ask you here to threaten you. Have I not already promised that you and your warriors may leave at any time? Hear me. I wish to beg a favor.”

  He snorted. “A favor? I am your prisoner and have nothing to favor you with.”

  The time had come and I opened my mind before him. “I want a truce between us. As to our faiths, we will never agree, but this war is an injustice for our people and the killing must stop.” I withdrew a scroll from inside my robe. “The favor I ask of you is that you present my offer for a truce to your bishop at Tara.”

  “A truce?” Skepticism crowded his face. “Even if I were to agree, how can I trust your word? The word of a pagan? No, they are Satan’s words meant to tempt me.”

  I shook my head. “They are my words, Joseph.” I gestured outside. “I am sick of this, the killing, the misery, the horror we bring upon this land. As spokesmen for our faiths we can end it if we can only agree that Eire’s future lies in the hands of gods, not on a battlefield. Let us carry out our fight on a field of ideas, allow the people to choose which gods to follow within their hearts.”

  “Those are pretty words, snake worshipper, but they couch your deceit.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked away. “Waste no more upon me, for I will not hear them.”

  “But you must hear them if you care about the people of this land.”

  The full measure of his hatred filled his eyes as he turned back to me. “I care well enough. For the glory of God I shall continue to fight to rid this land of you and all like you, and the people will be all the better for it.”

  The message within Laoidheach’s story returned to me. “Better for it? Better because you choose to continue the fighting and killing though I offer a truce? Why? Is it bettering the people you care about most or your own thirst to rid Eire of all Druids? Would you place your wants above those of the majority who crave peace and prosperity? Look into your heart for the answer.”

  He tilted his head, his stubbornness unabated. “I fight for righteousness, that all might come to see God’s True Light.”

  “Yes, and in your mind that is a noble thing. Yet how many families must sacrifice their loved ones before you finally attain what you want?” His hatred weighed upon me and my hands scrubbed my face to wipe away the burden of it. “I will tell you this, though why I do so I cannot say, for you are my enemy. You will never defeat me, Joseph, until first you defeat yourself.”

  Perhaps he heard me, though understanding is a tenuous thing. His eyes remained hooded as again I proffered the scroll. “The truce I offer here is a thing we can do, should do and must do for the greater welfare of our people. I pray you will accept it.”

  He licked his parched, cracking lips, his eyes fixed upon the scroll. A sigh escaped him and his shoulders sagged. “You think me a fool, a man indifferent to the deaths about me? You think I do not yearn for peace?” Resolve returned as he straightened up. “If I were to agree to your request, it would be as you say, as a boon to our people. Even so, make no mistake, Druid, I despise you and the demons you stand for. My quest to rid Eire of the likes of you shall never end.”

  Hope surged through me. “You agree then?”

  “I agree only to consider it. I shall need God’s divine guidance on this matter.” His hand shook as he reached for the scroll. “Call upon me at my camp tomorrow.”

  I grunted as he took the scroll and inserted it inside his robe. “What I must do next cannot wait until t
omorrow.” I ducked from under the canopy, waved to Laoidheach, nodded and then stepped back inside. My medical bag lay against the canopy wall. Inside it was a bronze knife with an evil, curved blade, its edge keen as a razor.

  Joseph’s eyes grew wide when I removed the knife from the bag. Four burly warriors strode in and I motioned to the priest.

  “What happens here?” Joseph glared as warriors grasped his arms. “I agreed to consider your offer.”

  “Aye, but you will be of no use to me if you’re dead.” I gestured to his leg. “Your leg is rotten. If it is not treated right away, it will kill you. These men are here to hold you motionless while I cut away the foulness and apply curative herbs. Pray to your god for his mercy; scream if you must, for none will blame you. But by the Dagda, I will heal your leg!”

  * * *

  Our wounded lay under canopies nearby and it was there I spent my nights, tending their needs. Therefore, I awoke to the brightness of morning and Laoidheach bursting through the closed flaps of my canopy. “Ossian! Wake up. Come. See for yourself, the sun has returned, and oh, what a glorious thing it is too. Hurry now!”

  My shadow fell across the ground as I stepped outside. The magical prophecy held within the song of the Dagda, sung in the voice of Master Tóla, returned to me. Nine months of darkness there would be, the Dagda had said, and so it had been.

  Throughout the camp tents were coming down; men gathered in groups, packs slouching from their shoulders. A small group approached, Christians, two of whom carried a litter bearing a wounded friend.

  They stopped and a ragged, bearded man faced me. “Father Joseph spread word of your offer for a truce and we thank you for it. We return to our homes praying to God that such a thing comes to pass. May God’s blessings be upon you.” He gestured to the others and they continued on their way.

  Three days had passed since I began healing the priest’s leg. If he now spoke of a truce, I wished to hear it from his own lips, so hurried to his camp where I found him in his tent.