Riddle
Amergin clearly sensed Sibrán’s confusion. “When the giant bird set me down,” he explained, “I was terrified. I expected to be torn apart in some treetop aerie, but the creature released me gently on the ground next to Lady Aislinn’s palanquin. My fear ebbed away when the beast transformed. At first I thought I had tumbled into madness, but when she smiled at me I knew the gods had spared my life for a reason.”
Sibrán hadn’t fully considered why he’d chosen the twins to enter the cave with him. Now it became clear the spirits of the ancient kings had welcomed the lads. Two boys he’d been reluctant to bring on the expedition were destined to be as integral a part of the future kingdom of Inisfail as he was. “Fetch your brother. Meet me at the cave,” he commanded.
Amergin hesitated. “What of the army, my prince?”
Choked with grief, Sibrán looked down at the fragile ball of feathers in his hands. His first duty was to his men. They had braved a journey on perilous seas at his behest. The Tuathans preparing to fight alongside them had endured decades of oppression at the hands of the monster who now marched to attack.
But without Aislinn there would be no ultimate victory. He decided to relinquish command of the army to his navigator. “It is fitting Iago lead the men in this final battle to avenge Nith’s death. He is to take charge of our defence in my stead.”
Amergin bowed before hastening away to impart the message.
Sibrán stroked a knuckle over the soft feathers of Aislinn’s breast, then touched her claws. Relief surged when her tiny feet curled onto his finger. He carefully tucked her inside his gambeson next to his heart and set off for the cave, Lop hard on his heels.
When Aislinn awoke in utter darkness she despaired that she was still trapped in the chimney. But there was no smell of smoke and she remembered the gush of relief when her skylark body soared into the skies.
Delicate songbird wings were inadequate for the long nighttime flight to Cualu. Upon catching sight of Sibrán awaiting her atop the mountain at dawn she’d had only enough strength left to herald her arrival with a song. But a dark cloud had overshadowed everything and knocked her to the ground.
However, she wasn’t on the mountain now. She was being carried by someone warm who smelled familiar. A steady thud echoed in her ears. A heartbeat!
She recalled the shock of hitting the hard rock, Lop’s furious barking, the terrifying beaks of other birds, big, black, cawing.
She shivered. Crows!
Her Prince had rescued her and was carrying her away to…
Suddenly, a bright glow penetrated her dark nest. A beloved voice cooed soothing words as she was lifted and passed into another, less familiar hand. “Take her to the light, Ebric,” Sibrán said. “Evidently, I’m not to pass through these pillars until I remove my clothing and weapons again.”
The words made no sense, but she felt life return with the light and the reassuring sound of Sibrán’s voice. She was laid upon soft furs where she summoned the strength to change back to human form.
Sibrán grew exasperated. He had hurriedly stripped down to his chiton, just as before, yet still the pillars refused to allow him entry to the chamber of light. He fretted over Lop’s defiant refusal to enter the cave.
Ebric and Amergin emerged and passed back through the portal without effort. “My Lady Aislinn has recovered,” Ebric whispered. “She awaits you within, by the monolith.”
“We will keep guard with the hound at the entrance,” Amergin assured him.
He watched them disappear into the darkness of the steep path and turned back to the entry, his impatience growing. He wanted to hold Aislinn in his arms and be assured of her return to human form, yet the gods kept him at bay. Was he to be denied the one thing that was most important to him at the very moment their triumph was at hand?
He pressed his fingers to his scalp, clenching fistfuls of hair. The glow from the chamber beyond seemed to be getting brighter, the air warmer. Surely, he could solve this riddle, but he was overheated and his wits had apparently deserted him. Exasperated, he grasped the hem of his chiton and yanked the garment off over his head.
A cool breeze raised gooseflesh across his nape, but it was nothing to the shiver that soared up his spine when the pillars moved apart with a grinding sound and allowed him to step into the golden cavern.
He walked slowly towards the warm glow of the monolith and understood immediately why he’d been required to leave every shred of clothing outside this sacred place. Aislinn lay on the furs Ebric had brought. She smiled at him and held out her hand as he raked his thirsty gaze over her naked beauty.
Regal Splendor
Luxuriating in a bed of warm furs, Aislinn was uncertain as to how she’d been freed of her soiled raiment and cleansed of all traces of her ordeal. It was as if she’d been purified by a strange bright light. Desire for the bronzed warrior who stood naked before her ripened and heated as spasms of pleasure rippled into private places.
He braced his long legs, the muscles of his thighs flexed. She’d seen him unclothed before, but now he glowed with regal splendor, a magnificent male transformed into a golden god.
She came up on her knees and bowed her head. She had knelt before Moqorr in the same way, trembling with fear. Now she was filled with genuine awe. “I pledge my whole being to you, my king,” she avowed reverently.
He placed his hands on her head. The power of his love flowed down her spine all the way to her toes. “A king is nothing without a strong queen, Aislinn. You are the magical spirit of this land, the true ruler of Inisfail.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head to look up at him. “I should be kneeling at your feet.”
She held her breath, unable to tear her gaze from his proud male lance. She knew what was to come. Her body and heart craved a union with him, but she was afraid. “I am only a simple maid, sire,” she said softly.
He took her hands and pulled her into his embrace. The powerful thickness of his arousal pressed against her belly.
“Do not be afraid,” he whispered into her hair. “I am a big man, but the gods have smiled on our union. They will help you bear the fleeting pain and then we will soar to the heights of pleasure together.”
“I do not fear pain,” she replied truthfully. “And I long to surrender my body to you.”
He eased away and raised an eyebrow. “Yet there is hesitation in your voice.”
He had sensed her true fear. She gazed into the blue depths of his eyes and saw only love there. “The gods have decreed we become one in this sacred place and I accept it is their wish I lose my powers once we join. I will gladly sacrifice them…”
He kissed her forehead. “I understand, but you will gain others.”
The truth of his promise surged like liquid fire through her veins as he cupped her breast and bent his head to draw her nipple into his mouth.
The need to possess Aislinn thrummed through Sibrán’s body. She was his destiny, and joining with her would also ensure the freedom of Inisfail. His mind filled with an image of his manhood plunging into her virginal sheath.
But he reined in his rampant desire. This momentous joining had to bring them both to the brink of ecstasy and beyond but her nervousness might impede her journey.
He scooped her up and laid her on the furs, stretching out beside her. Supporting his head on one hand, he rolled the hard nipple he’d suckled between his thumb and finger, teasing it to an even more rigid peak.
She whimpered but never took her green eyes from his.
“You like that,” he said, revelling in the shape and swell of her perfect breasts.
She nodded.
He continued his teasing, bending his head to suckle the other rosebud.
She lifted her hips and her legs fell open.
He sifted his fingertips through the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. “Your body is telling you something,” he whispered.
She whimpered again and opened her legs wider. He knelt be
tween them and gazed at the glistening opening the gods had created for him. “You are perfection,” he rasped.
He placed his thumbs on her secret nether-lips and carefully opened them to reveal the diamond of her desire, nestled in its warm hiding place. He leaned forward and swirled his tongue over the swollen nub, feasting on the honeyed taste of her female juices like a thirsty man delivered from the desert. She was all woman, nothing but woman.
She called his name over and over as he licked and suckled and satisfied his hunger. He sensed she was nearing the point of no return. The anticipation of her imminent tumble into an abyss of bliss hardened his arousal. “Come for me,” he growled, wrapping his arms around her quivering thighs.
“I…I…,” she stammered, but then she fell strangely silent, seemingly transfixed. He watched in reverent awe as his queen’s body trembled and flushed with the force of her glorious flight into euphoria.
He could wait no longer. He nestled his manhood into her opening and thrust into the warm, pulsating sheath. She twined her legs around his hips as he rode with her into the realm of rapture. In the depths of her green eyes he saw his future, his sons and daughters, a lifetime filled with love and purpose. He feared his heart might burst with humble joy when his seed erupted from his deliriously happy body. He alone had been granted the right to transform the magical Aislinn from a maiden into a woman.
Aislinn’s former powers paled in comparison to the potent magic she and Sibrán had shared to bring euphoric joy to each other. It no longer mattered she would never again transform into a creature from the animal kingdom. Lying beneath Sibrán’s weight, tracing circles in the sheen on his broad back, she trembled with the sure knowledge it was she who had borne him to rapture. His heart thudded against her ribs. Their joining had brought him obvious fulfillment.
As his body slowly left hers, she acknowledged that trust lay at the root of her happiness. He’d been right. The pain had been fleeting, the ecstasy indescribable. He had filled her heart as well as her body.
The orange glow behind her eyes as she tumbled into bliss had eclipsed even the golden light of the strange cavern she was slowly becoming aware of. She curled a finger in his damp hair and chuckled. “We’re in a cave.”
He stirred and lifted off her. They lay side by side, staring up at the pointed formations hanging from the ceiling. “I believe this is the resting place of the ancient kings of Inisfail,” he whispered, taking hold of her hand. “A sacred place for a sacred joining.”
Her heart rejoiced. Sibrán worshipped her as she worshipped him. “I love you,” she murmured.
He brought her hand to his lips. “As I will love you. Forever.”
She snuggled into his side. “It must be getting dark outside. The light is fading.”
He sat up abruptly. “Find your clothing, Aislinn. We must leave the cave.”
She clutched the furs to her breast, distraught she’d had no premonition of impending danger. “Why?”
He stood. “It’s a signal. Evil has set foot on Cualu.”
Confrontation
Aislinn located her chiton and shrugged it on quickly, then followed Sibrán through a narrow opening between two pointed rock formations. “I have no memory of entering this cavern,” she admitted as she helped him hastily don his clothing and weapons.
“Ebric had to carry you,” he explained with a half smile. “The gods wouldn’t let me pass until I had divested myself of all my clothing.”
She didn’t understand his words, since he had just exited easily, but he was right. Moqorr had come to the mountains and time was of the essence.
The dark pathway was a terrifying reminder of the chimney, but Aislinn drew strength from Sibrán’s hand as he led her out of the cave.
She shielded her eyes against the bright sun, alarmed as a group of men came toward them, but breathed again when Lop barked a greeting and she heard Iago’s voice. “Our enemy is advancing up the slopes, my prince,” he shouted, bowing when he reached the mouth of the cave, seemingly not surprised to see them both. He had obviously known she and Sibrán were together in the cave, and Ebric’s arrival a moment or two later provided the explanation.
If the old warrior inferred from the heat she felt in her face they had been intimate, his weathered features gave no sign of it.
Sibrán took charge. “Iago, remain here to guard my most precious possession.”
Aislinn shook her head. “No. I am your queen, my lord. It is my duty to be at your side when you face Moqorr.”
He placed her hand over his heart. “And you will be. The gods have revealed to me I will be king and Moqorr will die a threefold death.”
Ebric and Amergin both bent the knee before her. “We too heard the prophecy,” they proudly confirmed.
Iago scratched his head. “How can a man die thrice?”
Gooseflesh marched across Aislinn’s nape. She closed her eyes, trembling with apprehension and joy. Perhaps she still had the gift of foresight. “A deadly illness already has him in its grip.”
When she opened her eyes the men stared at her, grim-faced, apparently disappointed in a pronouncement that still didn’t explain the threefold death. She felt foolish. “I saw him in Tara. He has a wasting disease.”
Sibrán kissed her on the lips. “Stay here. Iago and the twins will keep you safe. I’ll take Lop with me.”
His navigator bowed to her. “I will defend you with my life.”
Ebric and Amergin puffed out their chests.
The familiar chill crept up her spine as she watched Sibrán and her hound climb the slope. A vision was coming, she was sure of it.
Sibrán hurriedly followed the trail round the mountain to the side facing Tara. The sounds of the enemy on an uphill march reached his ears before he arrived at his camp. Leather squeaked on leather, donkeys brayed, weapons clattered. Yet there arose barely a sound from the mouths of the Tuathan host advancing towards them. No grunting, no sounds of exertion. He assumed the strange querulous voice barking commands from time to time belonged to the High King.
He was pleased when he came upon his and Aislinn’s men lined up on the crest of the plateau in formation, armed and ready to meet the enemy. “Iago might know a thing or two about military tactics after all,” he told Lop.
Accompanied by Glas, he and the dog descended to a wide ledge and peered down the slope. The opposing force easily outnumbered his army, but he had no doubts. “They’ll be upon us soon, but no one is to make a move without my command.”
Glas ran back to spread the word.
Sibrán stood his ground, one foot braced on a rock, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and waited with Lop for Moqorr’s arrival.
Before long the High King appeared, riding a donkey that looked like it might drop from exhaustion at any second. The hound growled low in his throat. Sibrán recognized Moqorr from his nightmare, but it was evident Aislinn had spoken true. He lingered at death’s door, his face pale and wizened, his hands skeletal. He spat into the dirt when he espied Sibrán and wobbled on shaky legs after sliding from the donkey’s back with some difficulty. They stared at each other across the ledge as the army from Tara slowly formed ranks behind their commander. He was reminded of the trance-like state Aislinn’s men had existed in before Moqorr’s yoke had been broken, and he suddenly realized he had another potent weapon at his disposal.
“You have come for vengeance,” Moqorr hissed, “but you have had a wasted journey.”
A fleeting notion occurred to Sibrán. A strong wind might whisk the sickly monarch away, but it was never wise to underestimate an opponent. “I will have vengeance for Nith,” he shouted back, “but the journey has been fruitful in many ways.” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the valley of Tara below. “The gods have seen fit to grant me this kingdom.”
Moqorr snarled and reached for the support of the saddle. “Inisfail is mine.” He cocked his head towards the troops massed behind him. “And I will defend it.”
“Deat
h stalks you, Moqorr.”
The High King shook his head vehemently. “Aislinn’s power will heal me.”
Pride swelled in Sibrán’s heart. “Aislinn is my queen.”
Moqorr sniggered. “She is in Tara. You will never see her again.”
Sibrán’s memory filled with the scent of his beloved. “We have already bonded, in the cave where the ancient kings lie buried.”
Snarling, Moqorr stared at him for long silent minutes.
“Do you not wonder why your malady persists? If she was still your prisoner, your slave, you would be healed by now.”
Moqorr suddenly pulled at the neck of his gambeson, making a strange choking sound. He gradually crumpled to his knees and fell over. A puff of dust rose from the rocky path.
Lop looked up at Sibrán but made no sound.
Strangely, the tyrant’s collapse evoked no reaction from his soldiers, but the manner of his first death became apparent. Sibrán had only to leave him lying in the dirt and life would drain away.
However, his demise might not solve the problem of the army of enslaved giants. There was no way of knowing what would happen once their oppressor was dead. Though they didn’t occupy the high ground, many of them might die trying to take it.
The stricken king gave no signal Sibrán could see, but the Tuathans began their slow, measured advance, lances and shields raised.
There was only one thing to do to avoid a massacre.
Sibrán took a deep breath and started to sing at the top of his lungs. Lop soon joined in, howling joyfully.
On the other side of the mountain, Aislinn heard the inspiring sound of men’s voices raised in song.
Iago, Ebric and Amergin came to a sudden halt and listened with mouths agape.
“Don’t be concerned,” Aislinn told them. “Tuathans aren’t permitted to sing.”
Iago drew his sword. “Something is amiss.”
She evidently hadn’t explained things properly. “Your Gaelicians and the guards of my escort are singing the song they’ve shared on the journey.”
Ebric spoke up. “Lady Aislinn’s men were at first reluctant to sing, but then they joined in, though I don’t think they understood the words.”
Lords of Ireland II Page 71