by Mia Pride
“Humans, however, have several flaws. They are jealous and spiteful, always seeking to gain power from those in rule. Some unrest grew amongst a few tuatha and three battles were fought against the Danann. The Danann proved to be the superior beings in the first two battles, taking over lands as they went.
“The third battle, however, was not victorious for the Danann. They fought against the powerful Milesians. In the midst of their contact with the Danann, the Milesians encountered the three beautiful goddess sisters of Danu named Ériu, Banba and Fodla, each with the power to control either water, fire, or earth. Each goddess was married to a powerful king and together they harbored much power over the humans. The kings were named Mac Cuill, Mac Cecht and Mac Greine.”
Gwynneth and Ceara both jumped as they heard the names of the kings in the legend. Mac Cuill was Liam’s surname, and Mac Cecht was Garreth’s. An eerie feeling overcame them, and the two sisters huddle together closely. Gwynneth continued to mindlessly sip her ale, while the familiar man sitting next to her continued to refill her mug.
“The three kings negotiated with the Milesians, asking for a truce of three days before battle would commence. The Milesians accepted this offer, and anchored their boat nine waves’ distance from the shore. However, the three kings did not comply with the truce and created a magical storm in an attempt to destroy the Milesian fleet anchored out in the sea.
“What the Danann did not anticipate, however, was the very powerful bard of the Milesian people, named Amergin, aboard the ship. Using his magic, he calmed the waters and his people sailed inland in a rage, defeating the ill-prepared Danann and proving that might be not always stronger than will.”
The entire tuath was enthralled by the story, listening intently as they nodded their heads in awe, leaning over in anticipation.
“When battle was over, the three goddesses of Danu and their kings called upon the leader of the Milesian people, seeking an equal division of the land. Cunning as always, Amergin agreed, sending the Danann underground to rule the lower half of the land, while humans freely ruled the upper half. As a way to honor the Goddesses of Danu, knowing they were not at fault for the error in their husbands’ judgment, Amergin named the land Ériu, after the goddess Ériu, for he found her to be as beautiful as the island itself.”
A resounding awe overcame the crowd, as they learned the origins of their native land.
“The Tuatha de Danann continued to live underground, while the human’s lived above, and all the descendants of the Danann over the centuries came to be known as faeries. Magical, yet sneaky and often spiteful to humans, faeries come out of their mounds when called upon, or on nights such as tonight, when the supernatural forces of the earth are allowed to roam our world…”
At that exact moment, Sean the Bard threw a handful of strange powder into the fire, creating large colorful sparks that hissed and popped, making everyone jump from their seats and cheer in delight, as if the faeries, themselves, had joined the ceremony. Waiting for the crowd to settle down again, Patrick silently observed until he could speak again.
“As the legend goes, centuries after the Danann were escorted under the earth, one rebellious faery refused to be trapped underground and kept from the beautiful world above. She snuck out of the faery mounds on the eve of Beltane and ran away to the closest tuath, determined to learn about the humans. She was a direct descendant of the three Goddesses of Danu and special magic ran through her veins. It is said that her beauty was unearthly, with her long wavy hair the color of fire and green eyes rivaling the rolling hills of Ériu on a mid-summer day.
“That night, she wandered into a tuath, having nay knowledge of their language and owning nothing more than a round ruby brooch pinned to the front of her tunic, the one trinket she had brought to the human world from her own. She was presented before the king, who saw the brooch and mistook her for a noblewoman sent to marry him from a distant land. Instantly falling in love with her, he insisted upon the marriage.”
Patrick paused to take a drink of ale and swallow hard, the smoke from the fire parching his throat. The bard had stopped all ceremony and stood behind Patrick in awe with unused herbs clutched in his hand. He clearly had never heard the entire legend of the Sisters of Danu and was so enthralled by the tale, he completely forgot to continue with the dramatics. By the look of the crowd, no extra props were needed to keep them entertained.
“However,” Patrick continued with a raspy voice, “she could not understand the human tongue. When she spoke her own language, the only word the king recognized was ‘Danann’. Assuming her name to be Dana, he married her the next day at the Beltane feast. Dana soon realized her mistake in leaving her world, now bound to a human king. She wished to go home to her true love, Aldwin, but it was too late, for the veil between worlds had been closed. She was stuck until the next changing of the seasons, when the veil would open again. However, by then, she was with child and could not leave her husband.
“She birthed many children and eventually loved her king. But she never forgot Aldwin and her tears flowed through the land, creating the rivers that flow through Ériu today. Her mischief came at a great cost.” The crowd was silent except for the sounds of sobs escaping from a few women clutching their own children tightly, touched by Dana’s story.
“Dana became the first living descendant of the Danann to live above ground. Every first born female descendant of Dana has received the mystical ruby brooch from the faery world as their birth right ever since.”
As Gwynneth gasped and covered her mouth in shock, Ceara looked at her with alarm. Several other people heard Gwynneth’s gasp as well, and turned to look at her. All eyes quickly landed on the sparkling, perfectly red gemstone brooch clasped to her cloak. As the entire tuath stared at the ruby dancing in the light of the fire, their mouths dropped open and a few people released startled yelps. Ceara pulled Gwynneth closer to her and clasped her tightly around the waist.
Patrick stared worryingly at Gwynn for a brief moment, but resolved to finish the legend. “The gods were unhappy with Dana’s escape, but they also pitied the human king who had fallen madly in love with his unearthly beautiful bride. Instead of sending her back to the mounds and breaking the heart of her besotted king, the gods saw an opportunity to repair the damaged relationship between humans and the lost Tuatha de Danann. Therefore, the gods decreed that when the time was right, on the eve of Beltane, the eldest female descendant of Dana would give rebirth to the three Goddess Sisters of Danu, each possessing a unique gift of the elements to aid the humans, who the sisters’ ancestors had betrayed.
“The three sisters will be identical in beauty, with only their hair color proclaiming their unique identity. The first daughter will have fair hair, almost like silver, the color of the clear waters she will control. The second daughter shall have the flaming hair of her ancestor Dana and control over the element of fire. The last daughter will have dark brown hair and control the element of earth. All three would possess the emerald green eyes of their ancestor, eyes that only one with the faery blood could possess.
“The gods proclaimed that each sister must be raised separately, with nay knowledge of their powers, nor the existence of one another. In this way, the sisters would live among the humans, just as Dana had, and learn to love and respect them as equals. As they grow into their beauty, each sister will fall in love and marry a man, a descendant of the original kings of Danann, who will someday become a king himself. By the twenty-first anniversary of their birth, on the eve of Beltane, the Three Sisters of Danu and their kings shall reunite to take their place as the reborn Tuatha de Danann, gaining control of their powers. Together, they will live peacefully among the humans, aiding them with their abilities and making redemptions for the past.”
All mouths around the fire dropped open. All eyes were staring in the direction of the sisters. Ceara and Gwynneth were huddled together anxiously as the tuath of Coraindt recognized two identical women, with different hair
color, one wearing the ruby brooch from the faery world.
The crowd went silent but they could have been banging iron cauldrons and howling at the moon for all Gwynneth noticed. She couldn’t hear anything at all through the loud ringing in her ears as she clung to her sister in distress. Never had she expected the legend to be so vivid, so undeniable. She had hoped desperately to find it laughable and brush it off as simply false tales. Nothing about this made her want to laugh as she clutched her mother’s brooch in her sweaty palm until her knuckles turned white.
King Garreth walked up behind Ceara and put a hand on her shoulder with a steely look in his hazel eyes, daring anyone to offend his queen. People started to look around at the reactions of their neighbors, and slowly, murmurs and nods of acceptance began to fill the silent void. One man raised his mug in the air and shouted, “To the Sisters of Danu!” and guzzled his ale. Everyone else followed, lifting their drinks in the air and repeating the chant, “to the Sisters of Danu!”
Looking over at the empty space on the log next to her, Gwynneth realized the large sentry who had been serving her ale was gone. Had he panicked and ran when he realized who he sat next to? She started to look around for a familiar face. Ceara had Garreth to lean on but Gwynneth had nobody. She was all alone. No parents, no husband…no Liam. Duncan stepped in her line of vision and put a hand out to her. She gratefully accepted it as he dragged her away from the crowd, King Garreth and Ceara following.
Patrick was in the background watching the two united Sisters of Danu walk away. He knew their work was not done. They must find their other sister by next Beltane and he would aid them in any way he could, but for now, he had fulfilled his role in the prophecy. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, knowing he had pleased the gods with his efforts, he jovially turned to the crowd and began a new story, distracting them from the events of the night. Encouraging them all in drink, he lifted his own mug of ale in the air and took a large celebratory gulp. The tuath of Coraindt followed suite, and they were ready to delve into a new story.
Chapter 19
“Where’s my mother? I need to find her.” Panic was mounting in Ceara’s voice as she realized she had not seen her mother throughout the entire festival. “Tis not like her to miss any festival, but especially tonight’s. I have to speak with her.”
Gwynneth was following her back to Abigail’s house in silence as the men walked beside them. She could not sort through her thoughts. Too much had happened in such a short amount of time and she had questions buzzing around her head like a hive of bees. Feeling light headed, Gwynneth stumbled on a rock in the road and began to fall. Just as the gravelly earth began to close in, Duncan swooped up fast and caught her around her waist, steadied her body. Wrapping her arm around his shoulders, he helped her back on her feet. A loud hiccup jolted her body and she stumbled again, but Duncan gripped her more firmly around the waist. She saw the concerned sideways glance he shot her as they continued toward the house, but she was too busy pondering the disastrous state of her life to care.
They walked through the door of Abigael’s house and King Garreth shouted loudly into the room, “Abigael! Are you here?”
There was a draft in the house. It was pitch black and no fire burned. “It looks like she hasn’t been here since I awoke from my nap before the festival.” Duncan walked over to the wall in the house where Abigael kept her fire wood. He picked up a few logs and piled them into the central hearth, but before he had a chance to add kindling, it sparked to life and raged larger than expected, illuminating the entire room.
All eyes turned curiously to Ceara as the flames nearly licked the ceiling, but she was still scanning the room, looking frantically for any sign of her mother, or a struggle. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, Ceara looked over at Garreth and said, “Let’s go home. Mayhap mother is there.” Her voice was quaking with worry. “Gwynneth, please come get us right away if you find my mother,” and she and Garreth were quickly out the door.
Duncan looked over at Gwynneth and noticed she was swerving where she stood and he walked over to steady her. “Are ye alright?”
“I think so,” she said, putting her hand up to her head. “But I feel quite dizzy. I’m not sure if I had too much ale, or if I’ve suffered too much shock for one night, but I think I need to lay down for a bit.”
He nodded and walked over to the door, “I need to get us a travel team for the morning. We leave for Iverni at dawn. Get some rest and I will wake ye in the morning.” The door slammed shut behind him.
Gwynneth yawned and wiped her eyes with her fingers. She was seeing double and feeling overly tired. Pulling her yellow dress over her head and nicely folding it up, she placed it on the edge of the bed. Unplaiting her hair, she ran her fingers through the long strands and shook her head, releasing the platinum waves as they floated around her face.
A loud hiccup made her chest heave and she covered her mouth with her hand, grateful nobody was there to witness the consequences of her drinking. She was a disaster, but thankfully, she was much too numb to care.
The bed was calling to her as she laid her spinning head down on the padded mattress. Her eyes kept drooping as sleep threatened to drag her away. She watched the fire as it blazed, much lower now that Ceara had left, and her eye lids became heavier and heavier. Realizing she hadn’t put on night clothes yet, she started to get back up, lifting her weary head. The room was spinning around and she no longer could stop sleep from claiming her. Gwynneth felt around for a warm wool blanket and carelessly draped in across her body as her eyes closed at the exact moment her head rested on the bed, falling into a deep ale-induced sleep.
“Mmmm.” Gwynneth felt a soft hand running up and down her spine and she let out a soft purr of delight in her sleep. The warm hand kept lightly tracing up the gentle hills and valleys of her backbone as gooseflesh formed on her skin. Still sleeping, but somehow aware of the sensation, she curled herself further into a ball, stretching the skin on her back to enhance the feeling of the touch.
The hand continued to glide up to her neck and into her hairline, slowly stroking her hair affectionately. More gooseflesh covered her body and she turned herself toward the source. Her senses stirred and her body started to awaken, yet her eyes remained heavy and closed, her head still spinning hopelessly. “Abigael?” Gwynneth called into the room, wondering if she had returned home and was trying to wake her up. “Is that you?”
“Shhhhh.” Fingertips continued to run softly through Gwynneth’s hair and suddenly she felt a gentle kiss on her cheek as the hand pushed her hair away from her face. “Tis me, Gwynn. I’ve come to take you home.” The rough, callused fingers trailed down the length of her arm, over the soft curve of her hip, slowly reaching over to cup Gwynneth’s naked backside beneath the blanket.
Releasing a soft moan in response to the touch, Gwynneth smiled and, keeping her eyes closed, brought up a hand, feeling a strong jaw line and a stubbly chin. “Liam, you came back for me?”
“LIAM?” a dangerous voice growled in anger as the gentle hand became aggressive, violently slapping her backside. Gwynneth’s eyes snapped open and a scream escaped her mouth. Her head was still spinning and her sight was blurry. The fire had almost completely burned out again; all that remained was a dim flickering light that cast ominous shadows around the room. Looking up at the man who was now yanking her out of bed by both slim wrists, she did not see Liam’s dark blue eyes. The eyes that stared back at Gwynneth were hazel with golden flecks, burning with the same intense hatred she remembered from her nightmares…nay, not nightmares. Memories. Memories of abuse and neglect that made her stomach roil with fear.
“You whore. I came all this way for you and you have the audacity to call me by his name.” His forehead pressed against hers painfully as his frightening eyes glared into hers without blinking. His teeth were clenched as he spoke, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on Gwynneth’s face. “Why would you expect Liam?” He was still holding her by the wri
sts and shaking her limp body as he seethed with anger.
“Baine…I-I thought…”
“Aye, you thought I was Liam. But, that would be quite impossible, my faithful wife, because Liam is dead.” He was sneering at her, waiting for the impact of his news to contort her features in pain.
Feeling disoriented, Gwynneth was having a hard time keeping her head up to look at him. But his words were enough to cut through her confusion and she let out an earth shattering scream as her heart burst into a thousand shards within her chest. This was all her fault. She pushed Liam away and now he was dead.
Quickly covering Gwynneth’s mouth with one hand, Baine dragged her out of the bed with the other and lowered her onto the floor, his body hovering over hers. “Shhhh. Tis alright now Gwynneth. Don’t you see? Tis me and you now, and the babe. Everything is as it was always supposed to be. Liam is gone and I will now be king. We are fulfilling the prophecy after all, Gwynneth, together.” His hand was still pressed tightly against her mouth as she shook her head violently back and forth underneath his grip. Baine straddled her naked body with his own and ran his free hand down her neck and over one breast, squeezing it painfully until she released muffled screams into his hand.
“Och, I forgot. Your breasts must be sore.” His voice sounded concerned, almost like a husband who cared about his wife’s well-being. Gwynneth struggled fiercely beneath him. His violent mood swings had always frightened her and she never knew if he was going to nurture her, or attack her. He took his free hand and continued to move it down to her abdomen, resting there for a moment as he imaged the life growing within her; the life of his child.