The Meeting of the Waters

by Caiseal Mor

  “What can we do against such weaponry?” Brocan exclaimed as he handed the blade to Cecht.

  The Danaan king swung the sword around his head and sliced it through the air. “It's magnificent!” he declared.

  The Danaan king caught Riona's admiring glance, her eyes sparkling in the firelight. He smiled in her direction, but the queen turned her head away demurely, though Isleen nodded to him. Cecht bowed slightly to acknowledge the Seer and she smiled broadly.

  “I don't believe we can defeat the Milesians in war,” the Brehon repeated. “Nevertheless the Druid Assembly has decided we must do everything in our power to prevent the foreigners landing on our shores. Nine Ollamh-Harpers are about to commence conjuring a tempest the like of which has never been seen before over Innisfail. It is our hope the storm will sweep the strangers' ships away from our shores, if it doesn't destroy them.”

  “Such a storm-calling has not been attempted since the ancient days,” Cecht cut in. “It takes great expertise. Even Balor of the Evil Eye didn't dare make use of this knowledge. Remember the old tales? Do you recall what became of the Islands of the West when the ancient Druids called on the forces of wind and water?”

  “It is true that Druids of the Blessed Isles abused their talents,” Dalan countered. “That is why the old homeland was destroyed by the sea. But those who survived the upheavals learned much from these mistakes. The Draoi-Craft has been passed down to us. And the Ollamh-Harpers will not let the storms get out of their control.”

  “You Druids can use the harp to bring a tempest into being?” Fergus inquired.

  “That is true.”

  “Then why was this Draoi-Craft not used to drive Balor out of his island fortress in the days of our forefathers?”

  “The resulting tumult is so terrible and so devastating that if it were not strictly kept in check it could sweep Innisfail away forever,” the Brehon explained. “You must also remember that Balor was very powerful. His eyes were everywhere. And he had the nine Watchers to do his bidding.”

  At the mention of the Watchers everyone hummed, hoping to hear the tale. Lochie caught Isleen's eye and they shared a private moment of amusement. King Cecht, noticing the Seer looking intensely into the crowd, followed her gaze. He saw Lochie sitting among the warriors and realized this man was her husband. He'd heard a rumor she was married. Now he saw the man he found himself disappointed. The Bard didn't seem to be remarkable in any way. Indeed he was an ordinary-looking man who might easily be lost in a crowd.

  “So we can only wait to witness the outcome of this tempest?” Brocan was asking.

  “We must all work together,” the Brehon declared. “Danaan and Fir-Bolg must prepare for the great storm to come which will certainly flood parts of the country, mostly the east. But the tempest could do great damage to life and property. And if it does not drive the invaders away, we must be ready for war. In the case of that eventuality the Druid Assembly has proposed another solution which will keep war at bay. But I am not permitted to speak of it yet.”

  “What other news is there?” the Danaan king inquired. “You did not travel from the other side of the island just to present these tidings. You are an important Brehon who may one day hold the office of Dagda. Any messenger could have brought this news.”

  “The Druid Assembly has commanded me to deliver a valuable prize,” Dalan stated. For the first time in many seasons the Brehon felt his voice weaken with apprehension. He coughed to clear his throat, then signaled to the servant. The man nodded and disappeared into the darkness.

  “What prize?” Cecht demanded to know.

  “I bear an honor boon which accompanies a command to cease the trial by contest between your peoples,” the Brehon explained. “Unfortunately I did not arrive in time to prevent blood from being spilled. But acceptance of the prize is to be taken as a sign that all hostilities between Brocan and Cecht will cease immediately.”

  The servant returned carrying a great bronze cauldron which he set on the Victory Stone for all to see. The vessel was a beautifully cast piece of work covered in designs depicting the animals of the forest and the fish of the rivers and seas. In the center of these creatures sat a man with the horns of a stag and the eyes of a fox.

  Everyone knew what it was without the need for explanation. A Cauldron of Plenty was only bestowed as a personal gift from the Dagda in recognition of the wise rule of a generous leader. These vessels were exact copies of the original cauldron which had been fashioned in the Islands of the West in ancient days. The Dagda now held that vessel in his keeping and it was said to have several properties about it. First, any food the owner could imagine would be instantly produced by the cauldron. Second, it never ran out of food, so a host could be fed from it easily. Third, any corpse dipped into the sacred vessel would be miraculously restored to life for a period.

  This vessel had none of these properties. But it inferred a reputation for open-handedness, skilled husbandry of resources and hence the respect of the Druid Assembly.

  “I present to this gathering,” Dalan announced, “the Cauldron of Plenty.”

  There was a sigh of wonder from every soul gathered there by the fire. Even Lochie sat forward to have a better look at the precious vessel.

  “It's a gift of friendship and honor,” the Brehon explained.

  “Which of us is to receive it?” the Danaan king asked with suspicion.

  “The Dagda awards this vessel to Brocan, King of the Fir-Bolg of the Burren,” Dalan declared, disguising his trepidation. “And with it goes a dowry of forty cows. These animals remain in the trust of the Dagda but all their offspring will be delivered to Dun Burren as they become old enough.”

  “Treachery walked on this field today!” Cecht bellowed, losing his temper. “Brocan's own sons would have attempted to kill me while their father was speaking of peace.”

  “I have heard several reports of the fight this morning,” Dalan cut in. “I don't believe there was ever any risk of you being struck down by either of those un-blooded youths. Your personal guards were at your side throughout. But I don't begrudge you your outrage. Sárán and Lom acted with no regard for the law.”

  “And this is how that treachery is to be rewarded?” Cecht spat. “With a high honor, calves and praise from the Dagda no less.”

  “This gifting was decided before the events of this morning unfolded,” the Brehon noted dryly. “I don't have the authority to disobey the Dagda's instructions. He commanded me to bring the cauldron here and present it to Brocan as a peace offering. I had no idea the peace would already be broken before I arrived.”

  “You may not be able to remedy the injustice done on this field today,” Cecht retorted. “But you must render your judgment now before all this assembly. The sons of Brocan attempted to murder me during a negotiation for peace. I demand a verdict against them to recompense my honor.”

  “Fergus and myself stopped the boys before they were close enough to do you any harm,” Brocan cut in. “Those two headstrong lads could not have reached you unless I had wished it.”

  “How do I know you did not wish it?” the Danaan king shot back.

  “Because I gave you my word we would speak under truce.”

  “The word of a Fir-Bolg! I'd rather trust my soul into the hands of the Watchers!” Cecht scoffed, then noticed Isleen smiling broadly at some private joke shared with her husband.

  “It is time I ended this dispute,” Dalan rebuked them both. “Before either of you speak words you will regret you must accept that the old feud must end.”

  The Brehon pointed to Brocan's children.

  “Those young ones acted the way they did because they did not know or understand the law,” Dalan declared. “The duty to teach them such customs and regulations is their father's. But Brocan has not had time to educate his offspring. The King of the Fir-Bolg has been obsessed all his life with defending his lands against his traditional enemies, the Danaans.”

  “The incident was
a mistake, a misunderstanding,” Brocan sighed with a wave of his hand. “There is no use in me contesting guilt. It is true I should have kept a closer eye on my children. I submit to be fined and I will accept your verdict, Dalan. And with my submission I accept the Cauldron of Plenty and an end to the war between our peoples.”

  “I tried to reason with my husband,” Riona interrupted, “but he would not listen to me. Contrary to custom he does not regard my opinion as important.”

  “Those are unworthy words,” Brocan spat. “ Whenever I make a decision you take the opposite standpoint. And often you berate me in front of the chieftains of our people. I know you only wish to see me embarrassed. You think that will sway me to your views. When I stand firm against your tricks it only aggravates your anger.”

  “I am your equal!” she replied. “You have not listened to a word I've said since young Fearna was found in the snow. The chieftains mutter behind your back, the warriors talk openly of treachery in your hall, and the women marvel that I ever consented to be your queen.”

  “I have heard enough from you!” the king retorted. “I am the one who will bear the brunt of this lawsuit. I will have to find a way to pay the fine for Fearna. You do not need to worry yourself about such matters. You should be grateful I have relieved you of the responsibility.”

  “You are speaking over the top of your betters again. Dalan was about to deliver his verdict.”

  “Hear my judgment!” the Brehon exclaimed, hoping to quiet both of them. “In the old days, in the time of Balor, the Danaans and the Fir-Bolg formed an alliance to defeat the Evil Eye. They forged this pact out of desperation and guaranteed it with hostages.”

  The Danaan king's jaw dropped open in surprise as he guessed what Dalan was about to say. “No child of mine is ever going to live among these vicious folk again!” he declared. “I've lost one boy to that savage. I won't sacrifice another.”

  “You will accept my judgment. I'm a Brehon empowered by the Druid Assembly to bring peace between you both. You are the last of your peoples to maintain hostility toward one another.”

  Dalan breathed deeply, filling his lungs to settle his nerves a little before going on.

  “Since the lack of a proper education in law caused this strife, two of Brocan's children will take holy orders. Sárán and Aoife are bound from this day to the Druid Path. Since it would be unjust to take all three children from their father, Lom will stay at Dun Burren. He will train to become a warrior so that he may one day rule the Fir-Bolg with wisdom.”

  All three children looked stunned by the harshness of the decision, but none of them dared speak lest Dalan impose a further penalty on them.

  “It seems to me that Aoife and Sárán are particularly at fault in that they spurred each other on to foolish acts. Lom, I believe, was simply caught up in the repercussions. For that reason I have decided he is only in need of guidance. That I leave to his father to provide.”

  “May he find the wisdom to perform that duty well, even if he can't fulfill any of his other obligations,” Riona quipped.

  The Brehon paused until she had finished. He wanted to make sure everyone present was listening. “Aoife will remain with Lom in the house of their father until she recovers from her injury. Then she will become my personal student. Sárán will travel to the court of the Danaan king with Fineen when the healer has regained his strength.”

  Sárán's face paled. He held his hands over his eyes as the full meaning of the sentence dawned on him.

  “Since Fineen very nearly perished at your hand,” the Brehon concluded, “it is only just that you serve him as his student and learn everything he can teach you. From this day Sárán will be a son to King Cecht. Mahon mac Cecht will go to the court of King Brocan and be as a son to him. This way each will have his own blood in the court of the other ruler. It may give you both a fresh view of the differences which have arisen in the past.”

  “You are not serious!” the Danaan king protested. “Sárán would have murdered me and you want me to foster him?”

  “He will learn to respect you and so will think twice about taking issue with you in the future. In time the young man will realize he owes you a debt of gratitude. He will be loyal to you if he is taught honor.”

  “Honor I can teach him. Gratitude can be bought. But respect is another thing. Respect is more difficult. That I cannot bestow upon him. That should have been learned at his father's knee.”

  “Let that be your challenge then.” Dalan smiled. “Now you have a son to raise in place of Fearna who died so prematurely.”

  “The last son I gave into Brocan's care died a terrible death alone in the snow,” Cecht hissed. “All because of Brocan's neglect. How many sons must I give up to the Fir-Bolg before they offer the hand of peace with sincerity?”

  “Mahon is older,” the Brehon noted, “and somewhat wiser. He will flourish in the Fir-Bolg court. Sárán is your son now. You must learn to forgive him as you would your own flesh and blood. Think of him not as taking Fearna's place, but as walking hand in hand with the spirit of your youngest son.”

  “Fearna would have liked that, I think,” Mahon observed. “He was a great friend of Sárán, I believe.”

  “If only that were true,” Brocan cut in and then felt all eyes upon him. “The facts of the matter are difficult to believe, and harder still for me to relate. But now it is time for the truth.”

  “What truth?” Cecht hissed, searching the other man's eyes.

  “Fearna drank heavily on the night of his death because my son Sárán and my daughter Aoife goaded him on to it. Then when he was completely lost to reason they enticed him onto a horse. This they perhaps considered quite entertaining. I am sure they had no idea of the dangers.”

  “Your children led my son to his death?” the Danaan shrieked, barely able to withhold his rage and shock.

  “And most shameful of all, after he was thrown to his death they left his body unguarded in the winter forest and spoke nothing of their part in the misadventure.”

  Cecht stared intently at the son of the Fir-Bolg king as if he were searching the man's soul. Then tears began to well up in the Danaan's eyes. “You, Sárán?” the King of the Danaans whispered, lost for words to express his grief and despair. “You murdered my son?”

  Sárán did not move but the guilt on his face was clear to everyone. Cecht turned to Aoife. She was already nodding with her eyes shut tight, trying not to sob.

  “I am to raise this youth as if he were my own blood?” Cecht asked again incredulously. “As my own dearest offspring? You cannot be serious.”

  “I am. That is my judgment.” Dalan nodded. “You may not think my verdict very wise. You might consider the penalty against the lad unjust to yourself. But you must accept my decision.”

  “I accept it,” the Danaan hastened, not wishing to seem to be defying the Brehon. “Just don't expect me to be dancing around the fire for joy. And what about the eric-fine for Fearna? Considering the circumstances, I believe the claim against Brocan should surely increase.”

  “I agree with you,” Dalan assured him. “I have already had time to consider this because Brocan came to me this afternoon with the full tale. In all fairness he only learned the truth himself this morning. That was why he asked for a truce with you on the field.”

  The Danaan king frowned.

  “The fine was originally set at one hundred cows,” Dalan went on. “That is obviously not enough considering the involvement of Brocan's son and daughter.”

  The King of the Fir-Bolg held his head high as he silently prayed to his ancestors that the penalty would not be too great.

  “I don't want to cause hardship to the Fir-Bolg but I cannot appear too lenient either,” the Brehon informed his listeners. “This has been a difficult settlement to judge.”

  He paused as everyone fell perfectly quiet.

  “Three hundred and ninety cows,” Dalan announced sternly.

  “Three hundred and ninety!�
�� Brocan coughed with disbelief. “My kinfolk will starve!”

  “To be paid in installments,” the Brehon went on. “Ten cows per cycle of the seasons for the next thirty-nine cycles. Until all the cows plus their subsequent offspring total three hundred and ninety.”

  Brocan's gloom lifted a little. He realized Dalan was suggesting the cows should be in calving when handed over to the Danaans. This would mean a crossbreeding of the Fir-Bolg stock with Danaan cattle. The Fir-Bolg possessed a breed that were longhaired, stocky, red-brown and fierce. Danaan cattle were wet-eyed and gentle, large and slow. Dalan's plan was simple. A successful crossbreeding would mean careful and patient work guaranteeing survival of the bloodstock. Each side would certainly benefit from the help of the other. Such cooperation would help create and seal new friendship.

  “The difference between the Fir-Bolg cattle,” Dalan began, “and the Danaan breed is the only major distinction between our peoples. Since the defeat of Balor and the Fomorian hordes the two races have come closer to each other. We share a common language, a common music, a common law and lore. If it were not for the obvious evidence of the cows, a stranger might not be able to say who was Danaan or who was not.”

  Brocan smiled.

  “We are the only two kings still fighting with each other,” Cecht conceded. “All the others began working together generations ago.”

  “It is time we put an end to the quarrel,” Brocan agreed reluctantly, seeing he had no real choice in the matter. “Adding the offspring of the cows to the tally will ease the burden, but three hundred and ninety cows is a high price to pay for peace.”

  “As high as the cost of the loss of my son was to me?” Cecht asked. “And the cost to my pride if I must treat Sárán of the Treacherous Intent as my son?”

  “The judgment is fair,” the Fir-Bolg king admitted.

  Cecht turned to Dalan. “I have my reservations but it seems we both agree with the spirit of your wisdom.”

  “Then let us feast,” the Brehon declared, relieved matters had been settled so easily. “Now we must begin to plan the defense of the western shore against this menace from across the seas. While we celebrate this new alliance with food and drink I will tell the story of the Milesians in full for I had it from their Chief Bard and it is a good tale.”