by Caiseal Mor
“What else can we do?” Cecht shrugged. “Let them walk over us?”
“There may be another way,” Fineen replied cautiously. “The Seers have presented a solution which is worth considering.”
“What?” Dalan asked.
“A negotiated peace.”
“Do you mean the Druids advocate relinquishing our claim over the land of Innisfail?” Brocan spat.
“In part,” Fineen conceded. “The Druid Assembly has decided the best path for us to take is a combination of aggression and submission. We will engage the Milesians in a battle to decide who'll take Innisfail as their own. No one expects we'll be victorious, but we'll certainly make enough of an impression on the invaders that they'll accept our terms.”
“What terms?” Brocan asked, full of suspicion.
“The Druid Assembly has decided it is time to make use of the doorway between the worlds,” Fineen explained. “Once the ancient mystical doorway has been breached, our folk will withdraw into the Otherworld. But because we are tied to this island by ancestral longing we will bargain to remain free to travel back and forth to this world at will.”
“No!” Brocan spat. “I'll not give up my land. The Otherworld may be real enough to you Druids, but it's a realm of fear for a warrior who knows little of the ways of the spirit. You speak of opening the mystical doorway as if it were nothing more than opening the door to this hall. I know that's not true. And I won't expose my folk to the potential dangers of such an exercise.”
“Then you and all your people will perish.”
“Rather that than give up our homes.”
“A new life awaits us on the other side,” Fineen reasoned. “A life free from any further threat of invasion. It is our last hope, for these Gaedhals won't be the last adventurers to come sailing around our coast with greed in their eyes.”
“And what of this battle? How many will die putting up a good show?” the Fir-Bolg king snapped. “The cost will be high, I'll wager.”
“No Danaan or Fir-Bolg will perish,” the healer assured him. “The Council of Druid Physicians will provide a healing liquor made from the red berries of the first Quicken Tree which grew long ago in the Islands of the West. To any who drink of it no injury will be fatal, no wound will bleed. To the Gaedhals it will seem as if we are invincible.”
“With such a liquor in our possession we would be invincible,” Brocan pointed out. “A warrior who cannot be killed is a warrior who cannot be defeated. Why relinquish the land if we cannot lose the war?”
“We may drive the Gaedhals off at first, but they will return in time. There will be no end to the fighting until they get what they came for. Also it makes good sense for us to allow them to take over the responsibility for protecting this island. They have the weapons. We have the Draoi. In partnership we will never face a major threat again.”
“But we must keep the secret of the Quicken Brew to ourselves,” Dalan realized. “To share it with the Gaedhals could prove disastrous unless they develop a rule of law which is compatible with the Brehon code.”
“Indeed,” the healer agreed. “The Quicken Brew will only be received by Danaan and Fir-Bolg. In this way our folk will rule Innisfail while the Milesians believe the land to be theirs.”
“Tell us more about the brew,” Brocan interrupted.
“The liquor works quickly the first time it is administered,” Fineen explained. “A deathly wound will heal immediately. After that the potion will prolong life but not necessarily heal all injuries. Those who drink of it in the winter will not begin to age until the next year. They will not become sick. They will not suffer from minor wounds.”
“So the intention is to use this healing effect on the battlefield to impress the invaders?” Cecht asked.
“If they believe we are invincible they will quickly make terms with us and avoid further conflict.” Fineen nodded. “They won't expect us to cede the country to them. So I believe they will accept our conditions readily.”
“It is a good plan,” the Danaan king agreed. “By these means we will have a place to live and our people will not suffer war any longer.”
“Draoi-Craft!” Brocan grunted. “My people will lose their homes and their livelihoods with no guarantee this wild plan will work.”
“They'll lose everything anyway,” Riona rebuked him. “Are you so stupid you can't see that?”
“I can see through you,” her husband laughed harshly. “You'd like nothing better than immortality. Well the Otherworld is not meant for mortals.”
“Many of the old ones in the days of the Islands of the West took that path,” she countered. “And they managed to survive the destruction of that land.”
“This island is not about to sink beneath the waves! The Dagda is asking us to abandon our life and country to walk into the unknown.”
“Coward!” she spat contemptuously.
“Innisfail will not vanish,” Dalan cut in. “But it may as well. It will be beyond our reach unless we negotiate a peace and establish a safe haven for our people where no future invader can strike at us.”
“The Milesians have fine weapons,” Fineen continued. “Their Bards are master poets though not as accomplished as our own. And their musicians are among the most skilled I have ever heard. But they don't have the secret of healing which our people brought from the lands of the west. Nor do they know any more than the basics of the Draoi-Music. They will certainly be impressed by the revival of our warriors before their very eyes and the opening of the doorway to the Otherworld.”
Riona stood up. “As Queen of the Fir-Bolg of the Burren I endorse this plan wholeheartedly. And I ask that Fineen present it to the Council of Chieftains to consider.”
“I'll not take part in this underhanded trick,” Brocan announced. “If there is to be a fight then let it be fair.”
“What's wrong with you?” his wife growled in frustration. “I wish I'd known I was marrying a fool.”
“I don't wish to live behind the veil of the Otherworld,” Brocan told her flatly. “That place holds no appeal for me. I was born on the Burren and I'll die here. Death holds no terror for me. When the time comes I'll go to my fate without flinching, as my ancestors have done before me. I'll not be a party to Druid deceptions which are plainly dishonorable and dangerous.”
“And what if you're attacked by the Milesians?” Cecht inquired. “Who will you turn to for help once the rest of your kinfolk have retreated behind the veil?”
“You are not my kin,” the Fir-Bolg dismissed. “I couldn't rely on you in any case. If my people are attacked I'll raise the Fir-Bolg and defend the Burren. But in truth I don't believe the Milesians will come here. This is a harsh place. It takes great skill to work a living from this rocky land and the seashore around about. There's enough food for my people, but only just and that's hard won. If the invaders come here they'll not flourish.”
“Your wife's right. You are a fool,” Cecht stated flatly. “You'll perish and any of your people who remain with you will be forgotten.”
“If you don't reconsider,” Riona declared, “the Council of the Chieftains will overrule your decision.”
“You would not dare call a council to oppose me!” Brocan shouted. “I was elected to lead the people of the Burren until the next Samhain Eve and I'll continue to make decisions on their behalf. If you wish to see me deposed you will have to wait until the start of winter when the elections are held again.”
“This can't wait for the Samhain elections,” his wife countered. “The war will be over by then and our people scattered to the winds. It must be decided immediately.”
“I'll oppose you.”
“I've already summoned the chieftains,” Riona stated coldly. “I anticipated your hard-headed rebuff of an alliance with the Danaans. Several chieftains from distant duns are yet to arrive. All the leaders of our people will be gathered here by noon tomorrow and it'll be decided then. Fineen, Dalan and Cecht will be invited to present their c
ase and you will abide by the wisdom of the council.”
Brocan took a deep breath, appalled his queen had taken such a step without consulting him. “I always believed we were equals in our rule,” he stuttered in shock.
“If you don't retreat from your position,” she told him sternly, “I will relinquish my title, my duties and my allegiance to you.”
Brocan's eyes narrowed. “You have already given up your loyalty to me,” he observed archly. “The Danaan king has that now, I can plainly see. But don't imagine such a threat will convince me to change my mind. I'm the king. I must put my duty to my people above everything else. Go from this hall tonight to your own house and I'll not speak with you again except in the Council of Chieftains.”
“Very well.”
“You've betrayed me and you've betrayed the Fir-Bolg of the Burren. You would be better to go now and dwell with the Danaans than to stay here where you'll be despised as a traitor.”
Riona rose from her seat without a word of reply, bowed to Dalan, Fineen and last of all to Cecht. As she bowed her head respectfully the Danaan king spoke the words of farewell which were customary among his people, but there was a deeper meaning behind them now. And their eyes betrayed it to all who saw them. “There's always mead in my house, for whenever a friend should visit. Love is also a golden liquor tasting of honey. I'll keep a good store of it in case you come by.”
Riona smiled and turned away quickly. As she passed Sárán she touched his hand in greeting. She left the hall with all eyes on her and most of them were admiring.
The queen was so dignified and proud as she departed that Brocan began to regret his words immediately, realizing she was well loved by the people. In his heart he knew there was a strong possibility she was right. But their partnership had deteriorated to the point where his pride would not let him agree with her.
“I can see there's nothing more to be achieved here tonight,” the Danaan king announced after Riona had departed. “I'll retire and await the decision of the council tomorrow.”
As Cecht stood up Brocan addressed him. “It's only because I am hospitable that I allow you to remain here as my guest,” the Fir-Bolg king told him. “You've poisoned my wife against me and seduced my people into fighting your war. But you've not deluded me. I can clearly see what you are after. If it is my queen, then take her, you are welcome to her. If it is my wealth and cattle, you will find some way to wrest them from my grasp in time. But you will never have my allegiance, no matter how clever your arguments or how many of my own kinfolk you win over.”
“Good night,” the Danaan king replied formally but Brocan sat in stony-faced silence until Cecht was gone.
“Dalan of the Deception you shall be called,” the Fir-Bolg king hissed under his breath but still loud enough he could be heard by those close to the fire. “You've deserted your own folk for the ways of the Danaan Druids. Drink deep and eat your fill this night. You will not be welcome under this roof again.”
“I hope by the morning you regret those words,” the Brehon sighed. “If you have I will forgive you. I am not a traitor to my people. I am a Druid. I must follow the wisdom of the Dagda in all things.” Dalan bowed, finished his mead and rose from his seat to leave.
“You go with him, Fineen,” Brocan demanded. “I'll not have a Danaan at my fire again.”
Then he looked at Sárán whose eyes were directed at the floor. “And take that worthless son of the half-breed Fir-Bolg queen with you. He too has become a Danaan and I'll not have him here.”
Sárán looked up at his father and his eyes were full of hurt, but the king did not show any sign of remorse.
“Can't you see you are standing alone?” Sárán asked, glancing over at his brother now who was clearly taken aback by their father's bitterness.
“Get out!” the Fir-Bolg king yelled. “I would rather see this hall burned to the ground than suffer to have you sit under its roof again.”
Sárán bowed his head in respect, though in that instant he felt none. By the time he reached the door the young man had resolved to do everything in his power to oppose his father.
Dalan and Fineen followed after. As soon as they were all gone Brocan stood up.
“Enjoy your meal, daughter,” he told Aoife. “And the idle conversation of Mahon, son of Cecht. He'll be leaving tomorrow and will not be returning to this hillfort again. If you choose his company over mine you'll go with him.”
“I follow my teacher, Dalan the Brehon,” she answered sharply.
“That's your decision. Don't expect me to regard you as my offspring if you do.”
Brocan tossed the last mouthful of his mead into the fire and it flared up to the rooftree with light and sparks. And then the King of the Fir-Bolg of the Burren was gone into the night.
Chapter 16
CECHT WAS WALKING TOWARD THE RAMPARTS OF THE hillfort when he noticed a commotion at the gate. He quickly looked around, hoping to find Riona, but there was no sign of her nearby. So he shrugged his shoulders and decided to find out what had attracted the sentries' attention.
The Danaan king had not walked more than ten paces when he heard a voice he recognized but one he had hardly expected to hear.
“My name is Isleen the Seer,” the woman was insisting, “and this is my husband, Lochie. Surely you know us well enough. We have just been down to the spring to wash and were returning.”
“The guard has just changed,” one of the sentries explained. “I did not see you go out.”
“And you were not expected,” Cecht cut in as he approached the gate. “Indeed I am surprised to see you here. We did not believe Aoife when she said she had spoken with you.”
“We have been following a Milesian scout,” Lochie explained. “He joined his ship not far from here and they sailed south. My wife and I thought we had better report this to Brocan.”
“You'll find him in his hall,” the king told them. “But don't expect him to be in good humor. He has all but declared eternal war on the Danaan people and turned his own folk against him at the same time. He may not be king for long if he does not relent.”
“It is good to see you again,” Isleen greeted, a coldness in her voice which indicated she was merely being polite.
“There was a time when you spent a great deal of time at my fortress,” Cecht said quietly to her. “Is Dun Gur not to your taste anymore?”
“I am a Seer. I go where the Druid Assembly sends me. What are you doing here?”
“At present I am looking for Riona, the Queen of the Fir-Bolg. She and her husband have had a falling-out and I would like to comfort her.”
“I am sure you would.” Isleen hummed. “The queen has gone down to the sea. We passed her on the way up here. She was not in a very welcoming mood.”
“You must forgive her,” Cecht begged. “She's had a very difficult time with Brocan.”
“I hope she's not expecting you to heal her hurt,” the Seer retorted.
The king looked to the ground, avoiding her eyes. “I'd heard a rumor that you were married,” he said, “though I have not had the opportunity to meet your husband properly.”
“It was a very recent occurrence,” Isleen informed him. Then she looked to her companion. “Lochie, this is Cecht, King of the Tuatha De Danaan of the south and west. Cecht, this is my husband Lochie. Now you've been introduced.”
“Greetings,” the Danaan replied. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed.
“And you,” Lochie answered cheerfully.
“Well, I won't keep you from delivering your news to Brocan,” Cecht sighed. “If anyone is looking for me I'll be with Queen Riona.”
And with that Cecht pushed past, acknowledged the sentries and was soon beyond the circle of torchlight and heading down to the seashore.
Lochie smiled at his companion as they made their way to the king's hall. “I'm so sorry for intruding,” he began insincerely. “I had no idea you were setting the King of the Danaans in your sights. I was u
nder the impression it was his son you were chasing.”
“You should learn to keep your place,” she hissed. As she spoke they saw Brocan leaving his hall, his son Lom at his side.
“We have tidings for you!” Lochie called out. “ Important news concerning the arrival of the Milesian fleet.”
Reluctantly the Fir-Bolg king waited for them to approach, listened to their story and then begged to be excused. “My son and I are tired. He's off to bed and I wish to go somewhere warm and quiet to rest. There is a spare hut opposite the gate. Come to me after everyone else has gone to bed and we will talk then.”
They waited until the king had gone and then Isleen spoke to her companion.
“So do you think Mahon will wed with Aoife? Her father doesn't seem too impressed with the Danaans at present.”
“This is a temporary affliction he is suffering from,” Lochie laughed. “I've no doubt that with or without her father's permission Aoife will find the young Danaan prince irresistible. Indeed he may become more alluring to her if her father disapproves.”
“Perhaps,” Isleen conceded, a wicked gleam in her eye. “But let us wait and see what the invaders bring.”
“We have a busy night ahead of us,” Lochie sighed.
At that moment Mahon emerged from the hall and made his way to the young warriors' hut where he slept. Lochie and Isleen were careful to slip into the shadows so he wouldn't see them. When the Danaan had disappeared Isleen observed under her breath, “He has gone to his bed alone this night.”
“Shall we take some food and drink before we visit the Fir-Bolg king?” Lochie asked. “I would dearly love to sit with the Poets for a while.”
His partner nodded and they went to the king's hall in search of the Druids. But when the pair arrived at the fireside there was no sign of Fineen or Dalan. They were welcomed by Aoife into the hall and the Welcome Cup was passed into their hands.