“Some worry more that the Roman Church has designs on Ireland again. Though if they try, I suppose you could just stand on the shore and ring the Bell at any invading ships.”
“If the high king wants me to do that,” Patrick said with a laugh, “he’d better start paying tithes, large ones. Anyhow, when I carry it, my way along the road from Armagh is never delayed by a loose sod.”
“You know, when I ride through the woods, it only takes half as long as when I take the road,” said Liam with a smile.
“I often think that you, my friend, are more Sidhe than human. It takes me twice as long, even if some playful Sidhe doesn’t cause me to become lost. No matter how much I point out to the Sidhe that the teachings of Christ are similar to their beliefs or how much of our best wine I leave outside our gates for them, they still treat me with little grace.”
“Perhaps if you spoke up for the Sidhe now, they would be friendlier to you in the future.”
“If it had been any clan other than the Skeaghshee. I can’t support them. Not since Kellach became their king. He is fomenting so much unrest, I worry that our land may soon be engulfed in another Sidhe war, without the Morrígna to preside over the races.”
“They’re great at annoyances and dangerous in small skirmishes, particularly for those who underestimate them,” Liam said, nodding toward the Vikings. “But most in the Middle Kingdom have no wish to abandon their pleasures for the rigors and risks of all-out war. They value their long lives, which aren’t hard to end with a sharpened edge of iron.”
After a fruitless hour, the Viking contingent stormed unsatisfied from the meeting. At a sign from King Turlough, servants entered and began moving long tables from against the walls and into the center of the hall. The royal platform was vacated, and the ceremonial seats were replaced with a table and chairs better suited to dining. In the thick of the bustle stood the steward, seating chart in hand, directing the pages as they guided guests to their appointed places. Liam watched the steward make delicate adjustments in the seating arrangement to accommodate for the departure of the Vikings and for the arrival of unexpected guests, such as himself. Hospitality was a trait essential to those wishing to advance politically, and a skilled steward was highly prized and generously compensated.
Then Liam saw Brigid, as beautiful as ever, standing in the doorway. So the time has come, he thought.
3
At first He created her [Lilith] for him [Adam]
and he saw her full of discharge and blood; thereupon
He removed her from him and re-created her a second time [Eve].
Hence it is said: This time she is bone of my bone.
—The Genesis Rabba (circa CE 250)
And Demons shall meet with monsters,
and one hairy one shall cry out to another;
there Lilith has lain down and found rest for herself.
—Isaiah 34:14 (circa CE 382), Latin translation of the Bible by St. Jerome
Trim Castle, Ireland
The Same Evening
Brigid moved across the crowded meeting chamber, dodging pages as they guided guests to their assigned seats, and joined Liam.
“Was it you or the Morrígna who called me?” Liam asked softly.
“The Morrígna.” Brigid’s lips brushed against Liam’s ear, stirring memories of an earlier time. “I was called as well.”
“When will it begin?” Liam asked.
“Soon,” said Brigid. “Quinn in particular is struggling. It will take all the courage he and Una possess to subject their twins to the Test.”
“Brigid, so good to see you,” Patrick broke in, taking both her hands in his. “How is that vow of celibacy going?”
“So far, so good, my dear friend,” replied Brigid.
“Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know.”
“You’d be the fifth man I tell,” she replied, extracting herself from his grip.
“That’s better than the last, I suppose,” Patrick said, “unless that is the last.”
Brigid leaned into Liam and whispered, “You’d be the first.”
“Patrick,” King Turlough interrupted. “Come sit at my table.”
The steward frowned and scribbled a quick note on his chart.
Liam and Brigid were directed to what would have been the Vikings’ table. Large platters piled with steaming beef, cabbage, carrots, and roasted hazelnuts were carried into the room, along with jugs of ale and red wine. Cups were quickly drained and filled again as talk returned to the problem on everyone’s mind: that Kellach was inciting unrest not just among the Skeaghshee but within other Sidhe clans as well. “How do we maintain the Treaty of Tailltiu without the presence of the Morrígna?” asked the Meath judge from the high table.
Lord Maolan rose to his feet. As the largest landowner in Meath—property inherited from his parents ten years earlier, when he was nineteen—and with growing estates in Leinster and Ulster, Maolan was well known to harbor ambition for nothing less than the Celtic high-kingship. Liam noticed that Maolan had been demoted from King Turlough’s table, likely as a result of his licensing trees to the Vikings in direct opposition to Turlough’s unofficial but evident wishes.
“The Morrígna has been absent for more than eighty years.” Maolan’s sharp, thin voice fit his face. “Her time is past. We no longer need a Goddess. You know that in your hearts. We need to take control of our land from all the Sidhe, not only those tree-loving Skeaghshee. Who here is not fed up with having to constantly deal with their meddling ways? Who is happy having to get Sidhe approval on where to build a house? Or having to leave gifts before tilling a field, or being told to whom we can sell our trees?” Scattered supporters raised their cups in agreement. “I say no more negotiating with the Sidhe, no more gifts. We need a high king who can drive them into their underground lair and keep them there, or destroy them altogether.”
“And that high king would be you?” Liam spat out, ridicule in his tone.
“You crossbreeds are all spies. As high king I would deal with your kind as well as eliminate the Sidhe from our world.”
“How do you propose to do that?” asked the Tara judge. “Have you forgotten the harsh lessons of our history? Forgotten the Battle of Tailltiu, where at least one Celt fell for every Sidhe? Few would have survived if the high kings did not finally see the wisdom of forging a treaty. We must continue to work with our Middle Kingdom brothers.”
“We’re more powerful now,” replied Maolan. “Our druids have learned the ways of the Sidhe. The Vikings will join the fight, as will the Gallowglass. This time we’ll achieve complete victory.”
“There’s no price for which the Gallowglass will fight against my mother’s people.” Liam was now standing, a dagger in his hand.
“Lords,” Turlough broke in. “Ladies. Guild masters. Friends. This matter will be brought before my fellow kings and queens, and the high king, during the coming hurling games at Tara. For now, however, let’s not spoil the taste of this fine wine, surely the best in all of Ireland, brought from Siena in Europe as a gift by our gracious Viking petitioners. Given their untimely departure, there will be enough for the rest of you to cover a grand story.”
Liam sheathed his knife and sat back down as the room cheered the arrival of fresh jugs of wine.
Turlough made a flourish of filling a large silver mether, a square tankard with a handle on each side. Taking a sip from one corner, he held it forward. “To Ireland: Her Earth, Her Sun, Her Moon, and all Her Peoples who worship them, even the Christians.” He passed the tankard to Patrick, who took the next handle and sipped from the next corner. A mether was always passed and the next handle taken in the direction a shadow moves on a sundial.
“Tell us, Patrick, do your holy books speak of the origin of the Sidhe?” asked Turlough.
Patrick stood and passed the mether to a woman on his left, where it began its circuit of the room, now hushed in respect for the promise of a lively tale. It was a combative s
ort of hush, for if there was one thing that the Celts loved as much as a good story, it was ridiculing a storyteller who stumbled.
“Of course they do,” said Patrick. “God created everything, even the Nephilim, which is what we call your Sidhe.” He withdrew two substantial books from his satchel, the Irish Christian Bible and the Jewish Zohar, and placed them on the table.
“It’s all here in our Irish Bible,” he said, placing a hand upon the larger of the books in front of him. “In both the Book of Jubilees and the Book of Enoch, from which Christ himself quoted. The Roman Church, in its desire to hide the existence of the Middle Kingdom, struck both books from its Bible three hundred years after the death of Christ. Our Jewish brothers retain some parts in the Zohar.” Patrick indicated the other book.
“Get on with it!” called the head of the blacksmiths’ guild, dressed in five colors. “Just tell us the story of the Sidhe! And make it good!”
Patrick raised a hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll like this one. It’s full of sex, incest, violence, and revenge.” Having captured their attention, he continued, “It all started when Lilith refused to lie with Adam. They had been created at the same time from the same clay, so they each demanded to be on top.” Trickles of laughter played across the gathering.
Patrick went on to explain that when God realized they were never going to produce children for his new human race, he created Eve, a submissive wife for Adam. Lilith, furious that a new man had not also been made for her, fled the Garden and began cavorting with fallen angels, quickly becoming the favorite of the Archdemon Samael. Lilith and Samael devised a plan of revenge. Samael, disguised as a serpent, slipped into the Garden and was easily able to seduce a passive Eve, impregnating her with Cain. God saw that Eve and Adam were not the perfect beings he desired and evicted them from the Garden into the world we know. There Adam fathered his son with Eve, Abel. However, half-demonic Cain killed Abel in a jealous rage over one of their sisters, and he was banished from Adam’s new land.
“Lilith, seeing in the young Cain both the humanity she craved to return to and the devilness she desired in her bed, left the demon Samael and took the half-blood Cain. Together they had many children, though all were cursed by both God and Samael.”
“So these are the Sidhe?” a woman’s voice from the back asked.
“Almost. Lilith’s children were malevolent creatures, but the females could take on human forms of great seductive beauty. There is another piece to the Sidhe bloodline.”
Patrick described how while Lilith and Cain were procreating, Adam had a replacement son of his own, Seth. Famously venturesome, Seth began to explore beyond their homeland, even though Adam warned him that God would not protect him out there. Seth was dubious about God’s protection. He had seen supposedly holy angels, their cocks erect for the first time—all angels had been created male—sneaking out of heaven into his sisters’ huts, discovering the excitement a woman could spark in their previously chaste lives. Seth feared that soon there would be more angels seeking sex than sisters to provide it, and he worried about the consequences.
“So he journeyed through the wild lands toward the sea. One hot, clear day, a sound like sharp thunder opened up a tear in the sky. Stars glittered in the slash of black through an expanse of blue. Seth threw himself behind a sand dune. Peeking out, he saw specks darting about the opening, and lightning flashed in shades of gold, green, and orange—a battle of angels. He hid for a time, until the sounds of distant fighting were replaced with nearby laughter. Crawling to the top of the dune, he spied three daughters of Lilith sunning themselves naked next to the sea. One had raven-black hair, one nut-brown, and one flaming red. Their names were Banbha, Fódla, and Ériu.
“Aroused—perhaps bewitched—Seth left his hiding place and was immediately embraced by the women. Hungry for mortal touch, they held Seth in rapture, competing with one another to see who could lie with him the most.”
“I bet the redhead won that battle. They always do,” declared a man dressed in only three colors, who had evidently enjoyed plenty of wine.
“It’s obvious that Seth was the real winner,” remarked Patrick. “However, after six days all four were exhausted. Seeing a number of logs washed up on the beach, they decided to make a raft to float in the sun upon the crystal sea. But God had witnessed this unholy union, and, waiting until Banbha, Fódla, and Ériu had climbed onto the raft, he rose up a great wind to blow it away before Seth could join them.
“God would have drowned the three sisters but sensed in each of them that the seed of Seth was already set. Showing mercy, if not actual favor, God drove the raft to the shores of this great island, where they each delivered twins, two boys and four girls. These children, bearing the magical bloodline of Lilith’s daughters and the human bloodline of Seth, were the first Sidhe. Flourishing, they grew strong and eventually were able to conquer the native Fomorians.”
“Thank the Gods for that,” the noblewoman sitting next to Turlough said with a snort. “And where do your books say the Fomorians came from?”
“Those daughters of Eve who lay with a group of fallen angels led by Azâzêl produced hybrid offspring called the Elioud, of which Fomorians are one type. But that’s another story for another feast.
“Once the Sidhe controlled the entire island, they named it to honor the last surviving one of their three mothers, Ériu Land.”
The room erupted in appreciative cheers, the hammering of knives on tables, and the stomping of feet on the wooden floor. Liam had to admit that he’d always liked that story more than the one his Sidhe mother had told him, about ships arriving in the mist bearing the survivors of Atlantis. He turned to ask Brigid her opinion and saw that she was swiftly crossing the room.
The door swung open and banged against the wall, catching the attention of the guests. Through it strode Una, carrying twelve-day-old Aisling, followed by Quinn carrying Anya. A wave of silence followed them toward the high table. Liam rose and joined Brigid, who was walking behind Quinn. With her free hand, Una swept away an assortment of dishes from in front of Turlough and laid a peaceful but alert Aisling on the table.
Quinn bent and spoke softly to Una, though he might as well have shouted in the now still chamber. “Are you truly sure?”
Una’s legs sagged, and she grabbed the table for support. Liam moved closer in case she collapsed, but Una straightened, met her husband’s eyes, and nodded.
Quinn placed Anya on the table and stepped back, where Liam put a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll be all right.”
Quinn glared at his old friend.
“I promise, they will be all right,” Liam repeated. “This is what called me here.”
Una announced unsteadily, “Sire, I present the Morrígna twins and request the Test to prove their return and right to rule.”
Turlough rose from his seat with outstretched hands to quiet the now buzzing room. The whispers transformed into the scrape of benches being pushed back as everyone stood. Then, again, silence.
No one in the room had been present at the last Test of the Morrígna twins, nor would any of them have been able to recite the rigidly prescribed ritual if asked the day before. Yet today the entire assembly knew what was about to happen, and all understood their role in it.
“Who else speaks for the Test and puts forth their bond?” recited Turlough.
Brigid stepped forward. “I, Brigid, rightful and undisputed high priestess of the Order of Macha, call for the Test. I have heard the Goddess’s command in my dreams and will forfeit my life should the Test fail.”
“Then let it proceed.”
Una carefully unwrapped the white linen encasing each girl, leaving them bare on the table, exploring the air with their freed arms and legs, a dash of red hair crowning their heads. Turning to the assembly, she demanded, “Give me a blade of ordinary iron, nothing with a spell on it.”
The seven people closest to her pulled their daggers and offered them to Una. She studied each one,
then chose a delicate knife with an ivory handle from a woman she did not know. Una turned back to the baby Aisling, raised the dagger, and paused, the tip of the blade hovering above her daughter’s chest. The room held its breath. A tear slid down Una’s cheek, followed by another. She gave a small sigh, then pushed the blade through the skin into the tiny heart.
Aisling did not cry, she simply stared back at her mother with large gray eyes that were turning vivid green. Then she yawned and looked over at her sister, whose eyes had undergone a similar transformation.
Una released the handle and stepped back into Quinn’s arms, their intense gaze not leaving their children.
“Who will remove the blade?” asked Brigid.
“I shall,” Liam declared.
Brigid smiled at the man who had long ago been her first lover and replied, “No.”
Liam nodded and moved to stand in front of the table next to the twins, where Aisling was happily cooing while seemingly indifferent to the dagger protruding from her chest. The symbolic first offer, always declined, indicated his unquestioned belief in the Morrígna’s return and the dedication of his life to protect the twins. The Test turned to acceptance of their right to rule. In the Celtic way, a challenger was needed.
Brigid looked across the audience and to no one’s surprise called, “Lord Maolan, will you remove the blade?”
“Maolan! Maolan!” the audience shouted its consent.
Satisfied that everyone had joined the chant, Brigid waved Maolan forward.
Head held high, Maolan scowled as he approached the twins. He looked down into Aisling’s green eyes—which signaled her unity with her sister and with Anann in the spirit realm to form the Morrígna—and yanked out the dagger. A small spurt of blood caught his hand. He stared at the half-inch pink line on Aisling’s chest where the knife had stood, then studied the blood on its blade and his hand.
Turning to face the audience, Lord Maolan held out the dagger, a drop of blood falling from its tip. As required, he wrapped his other hand around the sharp blade and broke it away from the handle to confirm to all that it was not enchanted, in the process cutting his own flesh to the bone. The resulting scar was intended to proclaim for the rest of the challenger’s life his acknowledgment of the dominion of the reborn Aisling and Anya.
The Last Days of Magic: A Novel Page 5