THE PROPHECIES
Manigan looked around to see if he had everyone’s attention. Fin was gazing back at him, and Kino had his head tilted to one side. He was not drinking, Rian noticed. Was the ceremonial killing somehow sufficient for him? Badger was busy with the meat, but looking around, as if watching for something. Rian saw Manigan note this, and a little smile flitted into his face. Then he turned to her and his smile broadened.
‘Go on,’ she said.
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and spoke, as if only to her. ‘The first prophecy comes from the Sage. Because he had been waiting so long inside the stone, he was impatient to make it as soon as possible after Red had chipped him a mouth to speak with.’
‘What’s red?’ Fin asked.
‘That’s the name of the smith who was one of the Bear clan; I don’t know her real name, so I call her Red. Yes, she was a smith like your father. She’d discovered how to make iron. This was way back, and the king of the Bear clan, King Ban, asked the Merlin what was to be done with it. The Merlin gave Red this round stone, the size of a head and told her to take it to her forge and listen to it until it spoke to her and whatever it said would be the right thing.’
‘She wasn’t much of a sculptor, young Red. She mostly made blades. The odd bit of jewellery, delicate things, you know. And here was this muckle stone. What was she supposed to do with it? I’ve told this story so many times before. Rian, you tell it.’
She chuckled. ‘No.’
‘Aye, go on. The one about Red carving the three faces on the stone.’
So, Rian began to tell the tale of Red the Smith, who had discovered iron, and was following the Merlin’s instruction to carve the stone to find out what to do with the new metal. Rian spoke of how Red found herself carving the three faces, the first of which was the Master. It was easier than she expected to tell this story. She was surprised at how well she remembered it.
Manigan pointed the Master’s face out to Fin. ‘There, see this face. You tell it well, my love. Aye, the Master.’
‘He looks like you,’ said Fin.
‘I’ve heard him described as many things: fierce, evil-looking, knowing, but never that, you cheeky little runt. Carry on, Rian.’
She described how the second face to appear was the Boy.
Fin pointed to the Sage and Manigan turned the stone. ‘No, it’s this one.’
‘Not dissimilar to Fin,’ said Kino.
‘Aye. True enough, same little pudgy nose and piggy eyes.’
Fin kicked him.
‘Ow! Listen.’
Rian told how the third face to emerge was the Sage, mouth first, which moaned and howled with every cut until the rest of its face was carved. ‘And that’s as much of the story as I know’, she said.
Manigan turned the stone again. ‘Here he is, the Sage.’
‘You mentioned prophecies,’ said Rian.
Fin reached for the stone. ‘Shall I pack it back up?’
‘No, leave it here, if you will. The prophecies deserve to be told in the stone’s presence. Each face holds one of them.’
Fin sat down.
Manigan looked around. ‘This was the first prophecy given to Red by the Sage. As soon as Red had cut the three faces into the stone, she said to it, “I was told to make you so I would understand what to do with this new metal. It is hard and strong and easy to shape, and I call it iron.”
Manigan stroked the cheek of the old face carved on the stone. ‘But the Sage said, “Bury it back in the ground where you found, it, for it will bring only trouble.”
‘“I made it in the fire,” said Red.
‘“But the ore came from the earth. Bury it there and the knowledge with it.”
‘“Why?” asked Red. “It will take such a brilliant sharp edge and the King has asked me to make him a sword from it. I could make all kinds of tools with it. It could be useful.”
‘“No. The wielding of weapons made from it will bring more knowledge than a head can contain, more love than a heart can hold, more sadness than a body can bear. Tell that to your King.”
‘You can imagine Red wasn’t very impressed by this advice, but she was more than a bit scared of the stone full of faces, so she did as the Sage ordered and took the stone to the King to tell him what it had said.
‘Now, on the journey back to King Ban’s broch the stone made two other prophecies. Do you want to hear them now, or shall I go on with the story of the first one?’
Rian chuckled. ‘Finish this, then go on with the others. You need that bit of string again.’
He stuck his finger out so she could retie it.
Then he went on. ‘So, Red the Smith urged the King to bury the iron and forget all about it. But King Ban had seen the cutting edge of an iron axe head and he’d not hear of any such thing.
‘He put the stone above his fireplace with the Boy’s face outwards and the Master and the Sage facing the wooden beams at the side, and he ordered Red to make him a fine iron sword with the sharpest blade edge she could, or else he’d take a hammer to her kneecaps and she’d never walk again. And so Red went back off home and worked at the new metal until she had perfected the sword. King Ban was most pleased. It was the sharpest sword he had ever had.
‘Now, the King had a son called Geevor and he was a spoilt boy. He was their only son and both Ban and the Queen gave him anything he asked for. Ban, as you can tell, had a greedy streak in him, and Geevor acquired it and grew up even greedier still.
‘One day, when Geevor was a young man, Ban caught him doing a secret deal with a traveling trader, selling a string of pearls that he had stolen from his mother. The pearls had been a special gift from the King.
‘Well, Ban completely lost his temper and in his fury, he cut off his son’s head with the new iron sword.
‘So then he knew the self knowledge a mind cannot contain, the love for his dead son he couldn’t hold in his heart, and more grief than his body could stand. The prophecy of the Stone had come true.
‘Ever since then, in the land of the Bear tribe, no weapons are made of iron, and it is only used for practical and peaceful functions like farming and cooking. And Red the Smith gave the Stone to the druids for safekeeping, to guard it from generation to generation and to listen to its whisperings.’
They all sat back and gazed into the fire, thinking.
‘That’s a powerful tale,’ said Rian.
‘You liked it?’
‘Oh yes, even more than the first one.’
‘That was a good telling,’ Badger said.
‘Thank you. I just told it how I learned it, how my grandfather told it to me.’
‘Do you ever tell stories to the old gentlemen?’ Fin asked.
‘Yes, I told one of them once. There was one who was reluctant to die, way up north, a long time ago. He was a long-toothed old gentleman, he taught me why I am the Mutterer. I had to mutter away to him for hours before I could cut him away from his life. I think he took all my stories to a good place. He was a lovely old creature, smelly and farty and warty, and he lay there on the beach flapping his flippers and twitching his whiskers at everything I said. I’ll bet your old man Gruach never had a more appreciative audience at his forge, and I can tell you he drew more than his fair share of eager crowds. Isn’t that right?’
Fin grinned broadly.
‘Of course, you saw him in action, plenty, I am sure. And you saw him at his tricks as well, didn’t you Rian?’
She nodded.
‘My wonderful woman has seen everything that matters in this world, I’ll have you know. She’s a marvel.’
‘Ach shut up!’
‘I will not shut up. Not a bit of it. I’m going to tell you the story that made me handfast with you all those years ago and has kept me fascinated with you ever since. If I’ve never told you, and I might not have done, it was because I’ve never wanted to call a jinx on what we have.’
‘What’s that then?’
‘
What we have is love, my love. That’s a rare and precious thing to keep for so many years. So, which is it to be, my love, another prophecy or the story that made you mine?’
‘Another prophecy. Don’t get sidetracked.’
‘All right, I’ll leave the string on for the other one. Red the Smith was on her way to Ban to deliver the first of the prophecies. She had come down from her home in the high woods to the shore, where she hoped to find someone in a boat sailing south to Ban’s broch, to save her the long walk across the land, which she believed to be infested with dragons and serpents and marshes and what have you. She was a sensible woman, she wanted to go by boat. Let the wind do the work. Why walk when you can sail? Aye, she wasn’t stupid.
‘While she was waiting at the shore, she found a cave to live in. She walked south and north, letting people know that if a boat should be passing, heading south, she would like to go with them. She spent a lot of time in this cave burning driftwood to keep warm. One night Red sat feeding sticks into the fire, watching the rain spattering down at the entrance of the cave, when there was a dreadful coughing from the bag with the stone. She got it out and saw that it was the Master making the noise.’ He turned the stone so the Master faced the fire.
‘“Now that I’ve got your attention,” the Master said, “I’ve something to say. Our core power is to kill. See the dimple in the top of our head. It’s for blood. You will find as long as you keep us, that you must hunt for us. If you do not kill at all, we will be hungry, and you will suffer terrible pangs. If you can stay within necessity, kill moderately, for good, in rhythm with the seasons and with honour and due ceremony, we will be docile. If you step beyond and take more than you need, then we will corrode your soul. So beware. You must find the balance. To say ‘enough’ is everything. This is my prophecy.”
‘Needless to say, poor Red was very frightened by this, but right afterwards, there came a little voice saying, “Let me speak, please.” It was the Boy. So Red turns the stone around, and gives the Boy her attention, and he makes the third of the prophecies.’ Manigan reached to swivel the stone.
Badger was suddenly on his feet. ‘Bear!’
Sure enough, a polar bear was heading their way. There was a mad scramble of building up the fire, lugging the meat, skin, tusks, and other body parts to the boat, and in the melee, the story hung, unfinished. Rian would have watched the bear, fascinated – after all this was the source of Ussa’s coat, and she was amazed by its size, its great loping stride, its impossibly hairy feet. She wanted to linger, but the others pushed and chivvied her into the boat.
The bear found Manigan’s offerings on the rock, and in the delay this provided them, they set off again, southward, close-hauled into a stiff breeze. The sea state was lumpy and both Rian and Fin were soon seasick. The story remained unfinished and forgotten.
NORTH
The trip was nearing its end. They were in the Seal Isles and the weather was calm, with no wind worth attempting to sail in. Manigan had taken on board a girl called Brue with dark hair and dark eyes who knew all of the tidal streams, and by means of these alone, and a bit of rowing, they were making a passage from the east to the west side of the archipelago.
Bradan was drifting sedately along, the current more help than the breeze, a green land gliding past on each side of the channel and everything quiet on board. Rian was sitting next to Manigan at the helm. He had his free arm around her shoulders. She was gazing around with an expression of rapt contentment on her face. This is what she had dreamed about for years: to be sailing these islands as a free woman with Manigan.
Badger and Kino were snoozing, backs to the mast. Fin was supposed to be whipping sinew around the end of the main halyard, but he’d been struggling to get it tight and eventually Manigan’s jibes had subsided. It lay half-finished on his lap while he looked around.
The channel narrowed and the tidal stream was remarkably strong.
‘Keep to the left of this skerry,’ Brue said.
‘It’s awful narrow,’ Manigan said.
‘Yes, the other side looks better, but don’t be fooled. Believe me this is the only safe way through.’
On the island to the north, an impressive broch came into view on a rocky outcrop. ‘Mid Howe,’ Brue said, after noticing that they were all looking at it.
‘How far north did your father build the brochs?’ Fin asked Rian.
She jerked her head away from the view to look at him. ‘My father?’ Her voice was sharp. His link to Ussa still made it hard for her to trust him. ‘How do you know about him?’
‘He built brochs, didn’t he?’
‘Did you tell him?’ She elbowed Manigan.
He shook his head. ‘What do you mean?’
Fin picked up the rope from his lap and said, uncertainly, ‘Did I say something I shouldn’t have?’
Brue, as if sensing that the peaceful mood had broken, or perhaps just to monitor the tide, moved to the bow.
Rian shook Manigan’s arm off her shoulder and crossed her ankles, glaring at Fin. ‘I asked you a simple question. Who told you?’
‘Buia. Is that her name? The grey-haired woman who lives in the hut beside your broch.’
Rian leaned forward. ‘Buia told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What else did she tell you?’ Her eyes drilled into him.
‘Um. That your grandmother was a great healer. The best. She said she thinks Soyea will be too.’
‘What else?’
‘That you took after your grandmother. Your hair, your eyes. That you never looked anything like your mother.’ He paused.
Rian’s mouth was open.
‘And she said…’ He looked at Manigan who was staring at him as well. He let his eyes fall to the rope. ‘She said she was glad your mother didn’t drown you. Which I thought was pretty weird.’
‘What else?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘She knew my mother?’
‘I guess so. Did you not know?’ He met her eyes.
She gave a little shake of her head. ‘No.’
There was an awkward silence. Then Rian said, ‘Why did she tell you that?’
‘I don’t know. I asked about Soyea. Whether she reminded her of you when you lived there.’
Rian took Manigan’s hand. ‘I have to go back to Assynt. I never thought to ask Buia. I didn’t know she knew.’ She gazed into his face with dazed incredulity.
‘We’d better go then.’ He lifted their joined hands, and kissed her fingers. ‘All we need is a little bit of wind. Brue!’ The woman at the bow turned her head. ‘We’re going to need to head southwest. Any chance you can whistle up a breeze?’
KILN
It was a long, slow sail in agonisingly light winds. But eventually the Assynt mountains were lined up again, Rubha Stoer behind them and the split rock ahead.
There was smoke belching from behind the broch as Bradan approached. No one came to welcome them except a small boy who ran for a rope that Manigan threw him and then danced away to where a group of people were gathered beside the blaze.
Rian left the men to make the boat secure and marched up to the broch. A kiln was lit and people had gathered from the village to watch the fire being fed. Bottles were circulating and there was almost a festive air about the place. But Rian could sense there was something missing, something wrong.
Soyea saw her coming and ran towards her, arms wide. ‘Mother!’
It was enough to make her want to cry, but she needed to be focused. She had been trying to be patient ever since Fin had spoken about Buia.
Soyea was tugging her arm. ‘You’re back! Come and see Donnag’s kiln.’
Rian held her daughter close. ‘It’s lovely to see you. You smell like a bouquet of flowers.’
Soyea laughed. ‘Everything has happened since you left. I’ve been initiated!’
‘You clever thing! How wonderful.’ Rian
looked her new, confident daughter up and down with a smile. Then she took in the crowd. Donnag was at the centre of the activity, stoking her fire from a big stack of birchwood. Rian barely recognised her, she was so transformed from the dour wretch of spring. And there was Buia, sitting close to the blaze, mouth slack, watching the flames with a bovine, glaikit expression. ‘Where’s Danuta?’
Soyea slumped. ‘Oh Mother, we wished you were here. She went peacefully. This is a kind of farewell for her.’
‘She’s dead?’
Soyea nodded. ‘A week and a day ago. On the new moon.’
Tears welled up in Rian’s eyes. It was unbearable. The mother she had only just regained, taken away so soon. What had she been thinking, to go off with Manigan like that when Danuta needed her, sailing away from Buia without even asking what she knew? She had missed everything. Her daughter was transformed by her summer. She had never seen her so glowing. ‘You’re initiated, you said? Into the Sisterhood?’
A smile lit up on Soyea’s face. ‘Yes, The Wren was here. It was wonderful.’
Rian tried to put a brave smile on. ‘That’s…well I’m proud of you. So much to tell me about. Have we missed Danuta’s funeral?’
‘We buried her three days back. Up by the dragon tooth wall. Eilidh led the ceremony. Buia helped. We all helped. Buia’s very sad.’
‘I’d better see her.’
The loss of Danuta billowed up in her. Crying, she let Soyea guide her in towards the kiln. There were nods and greetings and condolences from people as she passed, but she hardly registered them. She sat down next to Buia, who turned a red-eyed gaze on her and leaned her head sideways until it rested on Rian’s shoulder, looking into the fire.
‘Mother Danu’s gone west.’
Rian blew her nose, mopped up her tears. ‘I’m glad I saw her before she died.’
Donnag was standing before her. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Rian,’ she said, with a gravity that Rian found strangely soothing.
‘Thank you.’ She held Donnag’s gaze for a moment.
‘I must tend the fire,’ the thin woman said. ‘It is in Danuta’s honour.’
The Lyre Dancers Page 14