Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

  “As you said yourself, you have a sound mind. I'll trust you to think of a way to persuade him. After all, you are a beautiful, charming young woman, Seerah."

  “You expect me to offer ... me ... me charms, to a complete stranger?"

  “Na’ exactly. But I trust you will do what ever you must to influence his decision. Without him, all will be lost, I'm afraid."

  “Och! When—"

  “He will come to you in due time."

  “Indeed,” Seerah said. She couldn't help wondering if this was just an elaborate—and crafty—scheme Izebeth had concocted to finally see Seerah wed. She quickly reject the notion, however, knowing that such a pretense was too conniving even for Izebeth's taste. “Where am I to go?"

  “Two of our Druid priests will escort you back home to Eire,” Izebeth said. “Dingle, a small village on the coast in the kingdom of Munster, be where your journey begins. Brian Boru rules the South now, and you'll be safe there for a time. The road before you is long, and you have much to learn, aye, but always know that I will be with you ... in spirit."

  “Must I leave so soon?” Seerah laid her head in Izebeth's lap.

  Izebeth gently stroked Seerah's hair. “I know that you have great fear of the unknown. The pain of loss makes you doubt all that is in your heart. You never trust what you feel, but you will. For the sake of the prophecy and Galynne, you must have faith—just as you must come to know that this be your destiny."

  Seerah nodded solemnly, but not because she believed Izebeth's declaration. On the contrary; Seerah would travel back to Eire, but only because she had little choice in the matter. She would always be a complete failure as a Druid witch; no divine power, magical or not, could ever change that—especially not some difficult man—Lord of Thunder, indeed. All I need to accompany me on me “quest” are me wits. I do na’ need any man, especially not some fairy tale champion with a nasty disposition.

  * * * *

  Gairloch Castle, Scotland

  The full moon hovered high in the evening sky like a spectral orb suspended by will alone. Gossamer clouds drifted past, lending an eerie quality to the night. The dense fog seemed to float just above the ground as if purposely concealing something forbidden.

  Tristan Kincaid ignored the damp chill in the air as he sat astride his gray horse and observed his surroundings; he scrutinized each shadow, every sound. Then, with his trained warrior mind already focused on the troubling task ahead, he prepared a mental list of potential hazards, leaving nothing to chance. He liked everything to be meticulously organized down to the last detail.

  Four more Highland warriors passed through the keep gate riding war-horses. Armed with broadswords, daggers and arrows, the men advanced as one with their mounts, the night mist swirling about as if to scurry out of their way.

  Though they varied in size and appearance, the warriors sat tall, their demeanor rigid and precise. Yet Tristan sensed something discerning in the depths of their eyes that indicated each man entertained doubts about the mission at hand—not that he could find fault with that.

  Aye, Tristan had his own misgivings. Searching the countryside for a supposed magic charm didn't top his list of priorities; only one thing did—revenge. He'd vowed long ago to avenge the murders of his parents and his first love, Catrin Maclean. The man responsible for their deaths—whom Tristan referred to merely as the Bastard—deserved to die a slow painful death, at best.

  And he would, in due time.

  Tristan's first duty and his word of honor, however, belonged to his laird. The time will come, though. Soon. Aye, He will pay dearly. Tristan sighed, then waited as the warriors directed their horses into a straight line, with two men flanking him on either side.

  “What be the plan, Tristan?” Colin asked.

  Tristan remained silent, his eyes trained straight ahead.

  “Aye, how are we to find the magic stone?” Zeth asked.

  “There be no such stone,” Tristan said.

  “Our laird believes there is. He's also quite certain you will find it,” Gareth said.

  “Gareth be right, Tristan,” Greum, the last man, said. “Our laird has great faith in the belief of mysticism, and in you as well."

  “Aye.” Tristan gazed at Greum. “But, as you well know, ‘tis foolish to believe in sorcery and magic charms."

  “'Tis true enough,” Colin said. “Yet we ride this night. What be your plan, Tristan?"

  Tristan returned his gaze to the land before him, his eyes locking on the horizon. “We will travel to Eire as our laird so wishes. To ease his mind. When we complete our mission and confirm that no such stone exists, he will see that his beliefs in such things are foolhardy."

  “Mayhap, but he will na’ be pleased,” Zeth's young voice cracked with uncertainty.

  “Aye.” Greum, Colin, and Gareth voiced their agreement.

  “'Tis most likely he will na’ be pleased.” Tristan said. He urged his mount forward and his men followed. “But, he will finally see that his blind faith in such notions as love, family bonds, and magic are foolish.” Tristan fell silent as he and his men approached the rise.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Six months later

  County Kerry, Ireland (Eire)

  The inn, like many of the Celtic ring-forts throughout Ireland, was built mainly of stone. Oak ceiling beams supported the thatched roof, and hardwood shutters secured two small portals lining the dining hall. A narrow stairwell led to the small chamber in the loft where Seerah slept.

  Standing in the dining hall, surveying the damage, she had to admit that the homey structure was sturdy and quite spacious. It also offered protection from the elements. However, having lived in the forests her entire life, she still thought it lacking in a confining sort of way.

  After setting right a chair that had been knocked on its side, Seerah turned toward the bar. “Shall I tally the profits now, Aunt Lilybet?"

  Though her height and build were dwarf-like at best, Lilybet O'Shea stood as strong and proud as any Irish woman God had ever created. Silver streaks highlighted her tightly coiled, auburn hair, and wrinkles creased her freckled face, adding a certain look of distinction to her modest appearance. She was a stout woman who could hold her own with the more rancorous scoundrels who frequented the inn. “There'll be time enough for counting profits later, Seerah. We best see to the cleanin’ first. Faith, such a mess!” Lilybet chuckled.

  Seerah wrinkled her nose at the stale, lingering odor of spilled ale and unwashed bodies that mingled with the aroma of peat smoke. Next, Seerah observed the empty trenchers and tankards cluttering the oak dining tables. Scraps of discarded food littered the cobbled floor and a mud-crusted trail of footprints led from the front doors to storeroom. “A fine mess, indeed."

  “Aye.” Lilybet smiled and climbed into the seat of a nearby chair. “But your Uncle Marcus will be in fine spirits this night. Thank God for hungry travelers,” she said as she began wiping down the bar.

  “Well coined ones at that,” Seerah said.

  Lilybet chuckled again. “Tis so, indeed. And, I see Cosmo has na’ been up to his usual mischief tonight. We've been blessed, indeed."

  Seerah Grimaced. “I would na’ speak so soon. Why Gran thought he'd make a good companion is beyond me. He's more master than pet, I'm afraid."

  “Perhaps, but Cosmo does keep us on our toes.” Lilybet winked at Seerah.

  A loud crash came from the direction of the storeroom. The clamor was followed by the distinct screech of a small, startled animal.

  Seerah cringed. “And his timing is uncanny."

  “Seerah!” Lilybet's husband yelled. “Get this ... this rodent out of me storeroom before I ... I—Och!"

  “Yes, Uncle Marcus. Cosmo, come!” Seerah shouted.

  Within moments, Seerah's pet ferret scurried from the storeroom. In a brownish-gray blur of motion, the animal scampered across the dining area toward Seerah, where he scrambled up the faded skirts of her saffron ove
r-tunic and cuddled into a ball in her arms.

  “Cosmo, why must you always provoke Uncle Marcus so?” Seerah chastised.

  Cosmo simply curled into a ball in her arms, closing his eyes just as Marcus exited the storeroom.

  Running his pudgy hand through the stray red hairs on his balding head, Marcus waddled across the floor toward Seerah. “Cursed I am, I say! I swear that animal has it in for me. A whole sack of grain was almost ruined, and all because that pampered rodent insists making his bed in it.” He stopped near a bar stool and climbed upon it, awkwardly maneuvering his short, pudgy body into a comfortable position on the seat. The way he sat there, red-faced, with his stubby, little legs dangling above the ground, Seerah couldn't help thinking that he looked like an angry wood-sprite instead of a full grown man.

  She tried to look innocent by smiling and batting her eyelashes at him.

  He glared back at her. “Who ever heard of keeping a rat as a pet anyway?"

  Lilybet threw her rag down on the bar. “He's a ferret, Marcus!"

  “Is there a difference?” Marcus pounded the bar with his open palm.

  “Aye, there is,” Lilybet said. “And you and your grain might fare better if you would accept Cosmo.” She nodded, then swiped at a strand of hair which came loose about her forehead.

  “Humph.” Marcus leaned one elbow on the bar and took a swig of ale from the tankard Lilybet had set out for him.

  “I'm sorry, Uncle,” Seerah said, “Grandmother was very adamant about Cosmo."

  “Aye, I know.” Marcus wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Izebeth O'Leary can be quite an evil witc..."

  “Marcus Ryan O'Shea!” Lilybet placed her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  Marcus scowled back. “What? Her pagan ways make me as uneasy as that animal does, I tell you."

  “Izebeth has been a dear friend to me ever since we were wee gels living in Tralee. And she explained how Seerah must have something ... familiar with her."

  “You mustn't keep reminding me. Talismans, charms and potions. Bah! ‘Tis nothin’ more than superstitious nonsense, if you ask me.

  “Nobody did,” Lilybet said. “Izebeth's ways are exactly that. And, her wishes concerning Seerah were specific. We agreed to honor them. Seerah, be sure the door is latched and the shutters be secured. Your uncle's tongue runs away from him, as usual."

  “Humph.” Marcus tugged the waist of his pants, but his thick paunch prevented them from moving.

  “Humph yourself. You know better than to speak so. Izebeth explained the dangers.” Lilybet glanced at Seerah. “Have you been practicing your lessons in the attic, lass?"

  “I have.” Seerah secured the wood shutters, then latched the door. “And, very careful I've been, but...” She winced. “A tapestry was ruined, I'm sorry to say. It ... it caught fire.” She shrugged.

  “Not to worry.” Lilybet took up her task of wiping the bar.

  “Not to worry! Between that creature's mischief and the way she tampers with...” Marcus glanced about the room as if he expected the roof to fall in. “Why, me profits go out the window before they're made. And you say not to worry. Bah!” He took another drink of ale and slammed the mug on the bar. Shifting his portly frame about, he climbed down from the stool and headed back toward the storeroom.

  “Do stop complaining, Marcus,” Lilybet said. “Izebeth sent what little coin she had with the lass. We should be honored she entrusted us with her granddaughter's care."

  Marcus was about to enter the storeroom when he turned on his heel. “Honored? Ever since the gel turned up at our door, six moons ago, with that ... that God-forsaken creature, we've had nothing but mischief about us."

  “Accept her presence as the blessing ‘tis, Marcus. We've no idea how long she'll be with us. And seeing that we were na’ blessed with any children of our own, I can only feel as though God has dearly smiled on us."

  “The devil you say!” Marcus slapped his hand against his forehead. “'Tis more likely that the good Lord will smite us because of her and her heathen ways."

  “Her beliefs are na’ heathen. Why, they're an ancient and sacred part of your own culture. Besides, we're obligated to do what we can for Seerah."

  “By keeping her hidden?"

  “'Tis her destiny."

  “What? To be a spinster?"

  “Hush you, Marcus.” Frowning, Lilybet glanced at Seerah.

  “I will na’ hush! Three and twenty she'll soon be. Well past her prime, I might add. Yet she remains unmarried. Though ‘tis no surprise to me.” He snorted. “Faith! The way you make her up to look like some homely serf, ‘tis no wonder why nary a man looks at her twice—when they notice her a'tall, that is. Not that her own look is much better."

  Lifting his hands above his head, Marcus waved them about as if churning the air. “Dark black hair, barely a splash of freckles, and tall as a tree, she is. Then there's those spooky eyes of hers. One minute they're as gray and colorless as a soulless corpse's. The next, they're the loveliest shade of lavender I've ever seen. And, there've been times when they practically glow with green fire. ‘Tis na right for an Irish lass, I tell you."

  “But she's not merely Irish.” Lilybet said. “Galynne be of Irish and Welsh decent. Kendahl's Scottish through and through. Then of course, there's Izebeth's Shee blood. So you see—"

  “Shee blood? For the love of ... A Celtic mongrel she is, I say!” Marcus nodded and stuffed his hands deep in his pockets. “She is a result of what happens when people refuse to stick with their own kind. The mixed blood in her veins is the reason she can na’ land a man. She does na’ belong here, I say. And I grant you this, no self-respecting Irishman will ever wed her—with or without her ridiculous disguise. Why, we'll be feeding her and her rat for the rest of our days, and I'll likely die with nothing but lint in me pocket.” Marcus fixed Lilybet with a hard stare.

  “I'm sorry, Uncle Marcus.” Bowing her head low, Seerah gently stroked Cosmo's fur. “Though I rather enjoy the guise Aunt Lilybet has provided me, as it allows me to go about unobserved by the laddies, you should know that me strong-will has always kept them at bay. Na’ that I've ever had much desire to wed.” She shrugged. “As for me gifts, if you will, they seem to be more of a curse than a blessing to me as well. No matter how I try, I can na’ seem to master them. Why, sometimes, I wish I was na’ gifted at all."

  Cosmo screeched, then leapt from Seerah's arms to the floor and scurried away.

  Seerah grimaced. “Cosmo!"

  “He best stay away from me grain or I'll—"

  “See here, now, all of you!” Still clutching her cleaning rag, Lilybet shook her fist at the thatched roof where Cosmo had settled on an oak rafter. “You behave yourself, Cosmo, or you'll be answering to my wrath.” Turning to face Seerah, Lilybet wagged her head from side to side. “My dear, gel. You must never think such a thing, much less speak it. And you, Marcus!” She glared at her husband. “Stop being such an old grump. The poor lass feels enough of a burden to you as it is. All this talk only serves to make her feel more so."

  “I never meant...” Marcus shifted his feet. “I just feel..."

  “I know quite well how you feel,” Lilybet said. “We all do, for that matter. Why, you tell us every chance you get. And, though I can't claim to understand any of this any better than you, I trust Izebeth with every fiber of me being. Now, go on with your grouchy self and tend your precious grain. For all that's holy, you've caused more mischief than Cosmo this night.” Lilybet dismissed Marcus with a turn of her head and a wave of her rag.

  “I...” Marcus glanced at Seerah. “You do know, I meant no harm?"

  Seerah nodded and offered a wan smile in reply.

  Climbing down from her chair, Lilybet walked around to the front of the bar and shook her index at Seerah. “You should know better than to pay mind to your uncle's ramblings, Seerah.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she continued, “Why, he enjoys carrying tales and complaining almost as much as he enjoys counting his
blessed coins. But his negative energy is harmful to your spirit. Why, you should cherish your legacy."

  “You sound just like Gran."

  “Thank you.” Lilybet smiled.

  Marcus snorted. “That was no compliment, Lily, me dear."

  “It was to me.” Lilybet glared over her shoulder at Marcus, then turned back to Seerah. “Now, Seerah..."

  “I'm sorry, Aunt Lilybet. I know how important all of this is to Gran, but ... I fear that I can na’ live up to her expectations. I've no control over me so-called powers. Why, just when I think I'm getting the hang of it, something always goes awry. Like the tapestry. It caught fire of its own will, I tell you. I haven't the faintest idea why. And, such queer occurrences be most unsettling. I believe Gran is wrong about me, and about the prophecy."

  “Powers and prophecies,” Marcus muttered.

  “Don't your bags of grain need tending?” Lilybet fixed Marcus with a threatening stare.

  “Humph.” Marcus turned and entered the storeroom.

  Lilybet removed her apron, laid it on the bar and ambled towards the hearth. “Do na’ fash yourself, Seerah. Come, sit with me, by the fire."

  Seerah hesitated. “The coins need to be counted."

  “The coins can wait.” Lilybet settled herself in the straw seat of a small, hardwood chair by the fireplace and wrinkled her nose at the smell of burning peat. “Come along, lass. Sit beside me, on the creepie."

  Seerah reluctantly advanced and sat on the three-legged, wooden stool.

  Cosmo crept down from his perch in the rafters and climbed up her skirts to her lap.

  Lilybet said, “Fulfilling a prophecy ‘tis indeed a heavy burden for one so young."

  Seerah nodded. “Aye. And I do na’ see how it can be, that I'm to rescue me own mother. All me life I've been told that she was a supreme sorceress. I'm also to believe she's been held captive these many years?” Lightly stroking Cosmo's fur, Seerah stared into the crackling fire. “Me powers continue to elude me. Me visions are unclear, and me spells remain fruitless. At best, I'm incompetent. Yet, according to me grandmother's dream ... this prophecy ... I'm a force to be reckoned with?” Seerah shook her head dismally. “Na’ only am I expected to become an accomplished sorceress—in a very short time—I must also charm some strange man into escorting me on a journey, find me father, rescue me mother, and ... bring down the forces of evil?” She took a deep ragged breath.