Waves in the Wind

by Wade McMahan

  His copper mug clunked on the table surface as my father hunched forward and countered my opening. With a contented sigh he leaned back in his chair. “There is a matter I wish to discuss.”

  My eyes remained riveted on the board as I suspected a ruse, that he merely wished to distract my attention from the game with idle chatter. “And that is?”

  “Next year, if the gods will it, I shall receive the honor and title of Master Druid. At that time it is my plan to step aside in my role as chief advisor to the King.”

  My contemplated move fled my mind at my father’s surprising words. There could be no misunderstanding them and I leaned back in my chair, waiting for him to continue.

  A small smile flickered across his face. “So, you do not ask the obvious? Why, eh?” His hands came together on his chest, his fingers flexed, forming a cathedral. “I have considered stepping aside for some time, but more so after the fall of Dún Ailinne. In fact, only recently the gods favored me with a proper plan for my future.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Despite your efforts and resistance by others, Christians continue to gain strength month by month. Our old gods, the Lords of the Sidhe, are being evermore pushed aside by the the new god and his son the Risen One. Dún Ailinne was a disaster for us. Almost one hundred bright young Druids were slain in a single night. Other schools were similarly attacked then and later, where more students were killed. Don’t you see? Almost an entire generation of Druids has been lost, so where lies our future? In the years to come, who will stand for our gods and time-honored traditions?”

  The enormity of his words left me breathless, for this was a vision I had not considered. My hands reached forward and gripped the edge of the table as the layers of his reasoning piled higher and higher in my mind.

  “You see the future you describe clearly,” I replied, nodding, my teeth clenched. “Yet now more than before I do not understand why you would step away from your duties to King Domnhall. Every Druid must stand forward to resist the Christians.”

  He rose to his feet, palms flat atop the table, and leaned toward me. “You are here now, on our King’s court. You can capably take my place. Never worry, I shall not relinquish my responsibilities as a Druid. Dún Ailinne must be replaced and I think to begin a new school here. After I receive the title Master it is something I can do and I believe must do. We must begin to rebuild what we have lost.”

  A school for Druids here at Rath Raithleann with my father as its Master? It was an amazing idea…a grand idea. “You discussed this with the King?”

  “I did. Indeed, he is in accord with all I told you.” Lifting the pitcher of ale from the table, he refilled my mug. “When the time comes, King Domnhall will help sponsor the founding of our new school.”

  Long it was we talked of his plans, pausing from time to time, listening to the songs of the night birds. The ale pitcher was tilted often, most commonly toward my mug. So is it a surprise then, at the end, my father easily won the deciding game of our fidchell match? Oh, a sly one he was.

  Chapter 13

  Golden Summer

  The sun’s golden rays streamed across the morning sky, an omen promising a bright future. I awoke with a thick head and tongue, yet filled with eager anticipation. My position in the King’s court was assured while my father pursued grand plans of his own.

  Hopes, dreams and aspirations reside within the minds of mortals but are guided to their certain ends by the hands of the gods. It was knowing this truth that held me in prayer to the Dagda that he might influence the spirit of the bishop of Tara to accept my terms for a truce between Christians and Druids.

  In keeping with my plans and promise to Father Joseph, I wrote letters to noted Druids across the land asking their forbearance toward the Christians, pleading for a cessation of the fighting that all people might dwell and prosper within an atmosphere of peace. Each letter was written on vellum using the Ogham characters and rolled into a scroll for delivery by trusted messengers of my choosing.

  And then I awaited a response from Tara.

  * * *

  Beneath the thatched roof of an open-sided pavilion workmen rolled away the heavy stones covering the village’s six in-ground silos. Each circular pit contained locally grown grains—oats, barley, wheat, rye and flax. Livestock and poultry were important to the village, but in truth it was the grains that stood between the people and starvation.

  King Domnhall stood in the narrow lane behind me flanked by two burly warriors. I felt his anxious eyes on my back as I lowered a weighted line into each silo and made a note of my measurements. Eyebrow cocked, arms crossed over his chest, he was awaiting my report when I turned around.

  “I must conclude my calculations, Your Highness, but it seems the levels are dropping as predicted.” The workmen remained near with their big ears. I dismissed them with a wave and added, “Provided we continue rationing the grain, the stores should be more than sufficient to meet our needs until this summer’s crop is harvested.”

  His hands went to his face as though to wipe the tension from it. “That is good. That is good, Ossian. You’ve seen the refugees?”

  I winced at the thought of them. “Yes, Sire. I treated a few suffering illnesses. They are a pitiful lot, I’m thinking.”

  “Aye. They are that, but there is not enough food to continue feeding them and our own people. To every party of refugees I authorized giving one handful of grain for each family member. Afterwards our warriors escort them down the road.”

  “It’s sad for them, I am, Your Highness, and a generous thing it is you are doing. During this famine what king could do more, eh? In fact, a month ago I heard a rumor that some kings are selling their stores for great gains while their people starve.”

  “It is no rumor, Ossian. I regret to say it is true, may the White Lady devour their souls.”

  A growing concern in mind, I leaned a shoulder against a squared piling. “Sire, I recommend you post additional guards until this time of hunger is past.”

  “Why?”

  “The number of refugees is increasing. Some say they heard that food is plentiful here. Such false reports could prove dangerous for us. Others may come to demand more than your generosity.”

  “Our men are needed in the fields now.” He looked into the sky as though seeking inspiration, and shrugged. “I will consider your suggestion. Now then, continue to monitor—” He paused, interrupted by the approaching tittering of women.

  A broad grin spread across my face. Laoidheach and Aine walked side by side along the narrow lane winding among small cottages, Aunt Lou and a small bevy of her aged cronies in close pursuit. It is said the gods decreed the courtship rituals. Perhaps it’s true, but if so, surely they were inspired by the wiles of women, for no man could conceive such things.

  The King, a lopsided smile on his face, excused himself with a soft “harrumph,” and hurried away in the opposite direction. I leaned away from the piling and straightened up, awaiting the arrival of the happy couple and their ancient, giggling escort. When they drew near I bowed low, my sweeping hand almost brushing the ground. “Good morning mighty bard and fair lady. Please allow your poor servant to wish you a very fine day.”

  Aine, nose in the air, ignored my teasing. Laoidheach cocked an eyebrow on his haughty face and returned my banter. “And who would be giving you permission to speak to your betters?” He gave me a dismissive, backhanded wave. “Away with you, scoundrel.”

  Aine murmured, “My brother would play the fool. Don’t you be encouraging him.”

  I bowed again. “My sister would deign to notice her lowly brother? May the gods be praised for it.”

  Again her nose went into the air and she grabbed Laoidheach’s arm to hurry him past me.

  “None of that,” Aunt Lou reprimanded. “There’ll be no touching between you.”

  Again a grin spread across my face as the grand procession moved on, clucking biddies in tow.

  * * *

 
; It was with the knowledge of roast duck in mind that I accepted Aunt Lou’s invitation to dinner. If Aine was still irritated at my teasing two days earlier, she gave no sign of it as she busied herself preparing the table.

  The delicious aroma of roasting fowl mingled with the perfumed incense favored by women to create a heady mixture that permeated the small room. I relaxed in a chair near the fire, sipping a mug of hot apple brandy. The women prepared a small feast for the three of us and I asked the reason for it.

  “You’ll be knowing soon enough,” Aunt Lou smirked. “There is a favor we’ll be asking of you after we eat.”

  “And that would be?”

  Aunt Lou wagged her finger. “After dinner and after the other ladies arrive.” Her eyes swept the table. “Well then, it seems all is ready. Bring your brandy and sit there,” she pointed to the head of the table.

  I should have known. Whatever Aunt Lou’s wily plan, I was fairly trapped in it. Nevertheless, the duck was roasted to perfection, sided by stewed cabbage, black pudding and thick slabs of buttered rye bread. The women kept their plans a mystery throughout dinner though now and then knowing glances passed between them. Finally I pushed my grateful stomach back from the table.

  Soon afterwards, Aunt Lou’s plans progressed as women began arriving. Most I knew as friends of Aine or Aunt Lou’s elderly cronies. However, there was one guest I had not met, a likely young lass with bold green eyes and shimmering black hair falling across her shoulders.

  Aunt Lou stepped over to a shelf, removed a linen bag and then laid it on the table before me.

  “What’s this?” I prodded the bag with a finger.

  “Chicken bones.”

  “Chicken bones?”

  “Certainly. Every girl deserves a prophecy before she marries. So, Wise One, we gather here that through your reading of the bones you may foretell what the future holds for your sister.”

  So that was the reason behind the excellent meal and why I was there: to provide the evening’s entertainment. Still, the ceremony would serve the purpose. The women gathered to honor Aine while enjoying an amusing evening. What harm could there be in playing my part? A sly plan formed in my mind, a prophecy certain to bring laughter among the group.

  The reading of bones involved a simple ancient ceremony, one I learned at Dún Ailinne though Master Tóla held it in little regard. It was a common practice among charlatans to conduct such readings and I hid a smirk as I tilted the bag and dumped its contents onto the table before me.

  “Divination was known to the Old Ones, a gift to humans from the goddess Cethlion.” My attention swept the faces of the group, though I paused for a moment at a pair of green eyes. “It was she who predicted the fall of the Formorians to the Tuatha De Danaans. Therefore, it is to her prayers must be offered that a prophecy might appear.”

  Firelight guttered within the silent room and I cleared my throat. “You must all join hands as I begin the divination ritual.” Eager hands clasped amid subdued giggling as I leaned forward, palms flat against the tabletop, and continued,

  O’er winds’ howls and moans and shrieks,

  The goddess of tomorrow speaks,

  Of things that might the future hold,

  Or could, or should or must unfold.

  O Cethlion, your wisdom flows,

  ’Tis only you who truly knows,

  A sign that will the future tell,

  Tomorrows wherein spirits dwell.

  O Cethlion your prophecy,

  Of sights, and sounds and what will be,

  Within the mists of time concealed,

  At last through you the truth revealed.

  Eyes closed, the forced scowl on my face hid the mirth threatening to bubble to the surface. My hands felt for the bones, scooping them together until I cupped them all within my palms.

  “O Cethlion, O Cethlion, see before you the girl Aine, daughter of Ciann Meghan the Druid, betrothed of Laoidheach the bard. See about her family and friends who gather now that you might divine her future life through these poor bones.”

  For Aine I pray, for Aine I plea,

  You shall reveal her truth to me,

  Through these poor bones two worlds entwine,

  O Cethlion, I pray your sign.

  Bones rattled as I dropped them onto the tabletop and opened my eyes. Despite believing the ceremony utter foolishness, to my astonishment a vision truly did appear. The mirth within me melted away in an instant as a ghostly image formed within the scattered bones—a grassy knoll, at its crest a single tree, shaded beneath its branches a lonely cairn. The vision existed for only a moment and I jerked back gasping as it burst apart in glittering, colorful shards.

  My fists scoured my eyes and I looked up to find Aunt Lou staring at me. Firelight flickered across her face, playing across deep, crisscrossing lines etched there year by year, decade by decade, memorializing her life, each a record of some great joy or sorrow. The hissing and crackling of the fire filled the silent room while her eyes questioned me as if to say, “You saw something, some fearful thing. What?”

  I pushed the hilltop vision from my mind. Apparently the others merely expected my startled reaction so I forced a smile and returned to playing my game.

  My finger pointed to the scattered bones. “See there, thigh bones cross symbolizing the union of Aine and Laoidheach. Close about them,” finger moving above the table, I counted, “fourteen smaller bones representing the bounty of their marriage.”

  Teasing laughter erupted within the room as Aine shrieked, “The bounty? Fourteen children?”

  “Aye,” I nodded, my eyes solemn, “and only a year apart their ages.”

  Amid continuing laugher and women’s chatter Aine pretended to swoon, the back of her hand to her brow. Questions from the group came to me.

  “What are their names?”

  “How will poor Laoidheach feed such a brood?”

  “How many will be boys?”

  I waved the questions away with a dismissive hand. “The bones do not speak to those things. They are questions worthy of divination in their own time. However, the revelation offers assurance that Aine and Laoidheach will share a long, joyful, prosperous life together.”

  Perhaps the vision of the lonely cairn would have preyed upon me had I not remained otherwise distracted throughout the long night in the presence of a delightful young lass with black hair and bold, green eyes.

  * * *

  Sickness was common among the villagers, especially the children. Often I was called upon to provide medicines and healing prayers. It was during such a mission that a messenger came and bade me report to the King’s longhouse.

  The child I visited had a slight fever so I handed a small bag of crushed willow bark to his mother as I gave her instructions on its use, and hurried away. My father, Laoidheach and a number of stone-faced village elders sat upon benches facing the King.

  “Ossian, a messenger brought this from Tara.” Sitting relaxed in his chair, King Domnhall leaned forward, handing me a scroll closed with a wax seal. “Likely it’s your reply from the Christian bishop.”

  The room remained silent as I took the scroll from his hand, for all knew the prospect for peace hung in the balance. Breaking the seal and unrolling the document within my sweating palms I discovered it consisted of three individual pages, and then looked up in disgust.

  “Sire, your pardon, but the message is written in Latin, the language of Christian priests.”

  “You can read it?”

  “Aye, but poorly. It’s a foul language, ill-suited for Irish tongues, and I may stumble a bit.” Greek was the accepted written language of the well educated. The Christian’s insistence upon Latin was another sign of their arrogance. I looked to my father but he shook his head in response to my unspoken question.

  At the King’s urging I took a seat on a bench alongside the elders and began translating the first page of the bishop’s message as I read it aloud. He began with a flourishing greeting, bestowi
ng his god’s blessings upon me. My hopes for peace waned as an extensive list of the Christians’ grievances followed, blaming Druids and their followers for the turmoil sweeping the land. As he had done during the synod at Tara he held us responsible for the onset of the recent darkness, saying that it was his god’s retribution for our stubborn adherence to our traditional beliefs.

  My father cleared his throat and I glanced at him, though he remained silent. On the message’s second page the bishop went on to claim it was Druids who initiated hostilities while Christians merely defended their faith and themselves against our depredations.

  Red faced, Laoidheach leaped to his feet. “Does this bishop truly expect us to believe his damnable lies? Does he think we have forgotten Dún Ailinne?”

  “Be seated, Laoidheach,” the King admonished. “No one here is misled by the bishop’s words.” He nodded, “Continue Ossian.”

  The message went on to list villages and Christian churches that fell which fell to our Druid forces. Sweat trickled down my back as I ignored the satisfied mumbling within the group and turned to the final page. Throughout the first two pages the bishop’s tone expressed anger. It was with small hope remaining that I prayed that I might yet find words of conciliation.

  I continued to read aloud. “Father Joseph tells me you are a sincere man whose words can be trusted. His conviction of your sincerity holds no sway with me, for I have no faith in the words of a demon worshipper.”

  Again Laoidheach leaped to his feet. The King would have none of it and bade him return to his seat.

  A lump filled my throat as I translated the following paragraph in my mind and resumed. “However, I agree that your proposed truce between us is in the best interests of this land’s people and, in God’s Name, I shall not stand against it. Therefore, word shall be sent across the land under my seal declaring God’s truce.” With my hands trembling I concluded, “Christian forces shall defend themselves vigorously against pagan attacks but under no circumstances shall they be the first to violate this truce lest they face the certainty of excommunication. I hereby decree by God’s Own Hand, let everlasting peace be restored to all Eire.”