“Here. Here is the crystal.” Before Cadder could protest, Feich had opened the velvet bag and revealed his prize.
Cadder’s mouth clamped shut and his sweating increased.
“What? What is it?”
“An Osraed would not use that crystal. It is stained.”
“I’m not an Osraed. Can I use it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m warning you; ‘I don’t know’ is beginning to annoy me as much as ‘I can’t.’”
“It’s a blooded crystal, Regent Feich. No Osraed has ever used one with that stain.”
“Does that mean it can’t be used to conjure?”
Cadder’s gaze flew, once again, around the room. “Please, Regent! The Osraed do not conjure. They Weave. There is a great difference.”
“They are words.”
“They are the difference between the Art and Wicke craft. I’m sorry, Regent, I cannot help you with either.”
Impatient, angry, Feich rose. “Damn you, Cadder. I should reveal you to Ladhar this very night.”
The cleirach paled, but did not protest. “If you must.”
“Worm. Haven’t you even the courage to defend yourself? You’re pathetic. It’s no wonder the Meri rejected you.”
Cadder’s eyes, fixed now on the Osmaer crystal, misted. “Yes, Regent. I’m sure that’s true.”
To be confronted with such complete self-abnegation, such unabashed cowering, drove Daimhin Feich to rage.
“Damn you, man! Have you no spine? Have you no dignity?” He moved closer to the quivering cleirach, turning his back on the Osmaer, and lowered his voice to a growl. “You are everything I despise about the religious. Instead of giving you strength, your faith makes you weak and useless. It must give Ladhar great personal pleasure to have you about—someone who will be kicked and cuffed and murmur only ‘thanks’ for the abuse. You are a poor excuse for a Caraidin, Cadder, and a poorer excuse for a man. You make a god of me.”
Cadder’s only reaction to this tirade was a sudden widening of his eyes. His lips, open now, moved without sound. It took Feich an angry moment to realize that the miserable little creature was reacting to something other than his cruelty.
He turned, and was struck with quaking; deep within its translucent facets, the Osmaer Crystal’s heart glowed a deep, ruddy gold.
oOo
Taminy was nearly asleep when she felt it—a glacial wind that caught her tethered loosely to her body, and slapped her back to wakefulness.
Shuddering, she sat up—would have flown from the bed had she wings. It was like nothing she had felt before, that chill-hot kiss of terror. Its touch was unclean, horrific, a finger of pure malice that trailed along her spine and dug at her heart. It told her, wordlessly, what she did not want to know; a connection had been made between Daimhin Feich and the Osmaer Crystal. And in contact with that, he was somehow, hideously, connected with her.
The touch was brief; ambient anger faded swiftly as it was swallowed by surprise. Still, it left Taminy shaking, holding her breath. When it was gone, she dared breathe. Then she reached out shaking hands and called silently for aid. It came in the form of Skeet, who scratched softly at her bedroom door and came to sit upon the foot of her bed. As she looked at him, it seemed an Eibhilin radiance rose from him to embrace her.
“Feich,” she murmured. “Feich has touched the Osmaer Crystal with his aidan. I felt it. It . . . it connected us for a moment. He has the Gift.”
Skeet nodded, shedding boyhood as if it were a costume he wore. “It’s a capricious Gift. Unsettled, disloyal, as treacherous as its master.”
“And just as dangerous.”
“In every age,” said Skeet softly, “there is an Adversary. One who, out of desire for what he does not understand, makes himself an enemy of desire’s Object.”
“I once thought Osraed Ealad-hach was the Enemy,” Taminy whispered.
“He was once. That changed. He changed. In the twinkling of an eye, you changed him. Now, there is a new Enemy, dangerous because he knows no Law above his own.”
Taminy studied the young-old face. “Does that grant him power?”
“It grants him license. He may not accomplish what you can’t, but he can assuredly accomplish what you won’t.”
“I must thwart him. The Stone. He mustn’t get his hands on it.”
Skeet’s brows rippled—a peculiar expression reminiscent of the Osraed Bevol. Such tiny things had given birth to the rumor around Nairne that Skeet was not a boy at all, but a golem created by Bevol to take the place of a lost child.
“Then,” he said, tilting his head so that she must see Bevol in him again, “it must be got into other hands.”
In an instant the boy was back, grinning at her. “Sleep well for the rest of the night. It seems the enemy is gone, for now.”
“For now,” Taminy echoed. “But not for long.”
Chapter 9
Anything, no matter how wonderful, no matter how good, can be misdirected and abused. A lamp in the hands of the blind will more likely burn its bearer than light his way. To the sighted and wise, the lamp is a guide, to the blind and ignorant it is a danger.
—Utterances of the Osraed Ochan #19
The Jura were a House of poets and musicians, scholars and storytellers. They’d produced a good many Prentices and Osraed over the centuries, but few great warriors. The bright-eyed Osraed Tynedale was a Jura—historian and philosopher, Osraed and Taminist. Mystics, all of them, and therefore incomprehensible to Saefren Claeg.
That they accepted Taminy’s “talisman” did not surprise him, though he was a bit taken aback by the amount of celebrating it engendered. The fiery scroll was immediately affixed to a standard and paraded through the Jura holt, collecting a parade of curious and jubilant folk who followed the new icon from village to manse. There, in a great, walled court, a bonfire was set and the Jura Chieftain, Mortain, his young heir at his side, recited the story of Taminy’s escape from Mertuile and how the Eibhilin scroll and sacred Shard (which he now wore in a small bag dangling from a cord about his neck) had come to be among them.
The Jura were impressed with their Chieftain’s Tell. He was, Saefren had to admit, an impressive figure—a young man with gleaming red-gold hair and large, pale green eyes that made the recipient of their gaze feel as if they had just been read, mind, heart and soul. Many of his people came forth, both men and women, young and not-so-young, and pledged themselves to travel with him to Creiddylad to impress their petition upon the Feich Regent. The celebration of their journey, intermixed with preparation for it, lasted the night.
After a night of feasting and fest, Saefren felt barely able to drag himself out of the fine bed The Jura had put him in for his meager hours of sleep. Yet, not long after sunrise, he found himself on the road, headed for the Graegam holdings by way of Claeg, where Uncle Iobert expected to take on more men.
That the Jura contingent was made up of both men and women was a source of bemusement to the Claeg kinsmen, but put the annoyingly clear-eyed Aine in a high mood. She spent the traveling day chattering with the Jura cailin and flirting outrageously with the Jura youth.
Saefren was tired, hungry and in a foul mood when they stopped to make their evening camp. He fully intended to retire early to the tent he shared with his uncle, but the Jura Elders, seemingly none the worse for the wear of the previous night, set up a great, roaring fire in the midst of their colorful tents and settled down for a round of tales.
As Aine-mac-Lorimer was the guest of honor at these proceedings (the Jura even called her Alraed Aine, according her a station on a par with the Osraed), Mortain Jura asked her to settle on a Tell. She diplomatically chose the story of Bearach Malcuim and the Jura ancestor, Osraed Gartain. Obviously pleased, The Jura launched into the Tell while Saefren sullenly chewed at his stew.
oOo
It was during the reign of Kieran the Dark (said the Storyteller), son of Niall Cleirach, grandson of Bitan-ig, called t
he Preserver. Kieran was a much weaker Cyne than his father and owed much to the solid framework his grandfather had built and his father built upon. Alas, his weakness did not go unnoticed by those who watched for such things. These bided their time and, upon the death of Bitan-ig’s old advisor, the Osraed Abhainn, the rebellious House Claeg arose to establish control over the Throne.
(Looks were passed here between Claeg and Jura, and Saefren thought his uncle’s face darkened, though he said nothing. There was nothing to be said to the truth.)
In a handful of years (continued The Jura) the Claeg had reduced Kieran to a mere puppet, through the agency of a sooth-sayer named Suardalin-a-Troddan, for Kieran was a superstitious man, easily led when it came to protecting his timid self.
In those days, it was the custom for the Cyne to be married at Halig-liath. But Suardalin prophesied that if Kieran was wed in the Holy Fortress, the roof of the Sanctuary would fall in upon the guests. Kieran consulted the Osraed, who protested that they’d been given no such aislinn message, but so fearful was he of Suardalin, that he rejected the Osraed counsel and had a chapel hastily built at Creiddylad in which he and his betrothed, Ailis Graegam, were married.
In this way, the Claeg began to drive the wedge of distrust between the Throne and the Osraed. A further prophecy that Kieran would fall from the battlements of the Holy Fortress when he next ventured there, kept him from ever again entering its sacred precincts. Thereafter, he presided over Farewellings from Nairne’s village green.
The Claeg Chieftain, Buchan by name, saw to it that the Cyne was surrounded at court by Claeg advisors and, using the soothsayer, Buchan had himself put in a position to defend the Cyne’s gates against all others. Kieran Malcuim was quick to make Buchan his Durweard at Suardalin-a-Troddan’s say-so.
Yet even timid Kieran had his limits. Realizing how he’d been led, galled by his own cowardice, he at last sought counsel from the Osraed at Ochanshrine. With their strength, he was able to stand up for himself. He sent his family away into hiding, then attempted to throw off the yoke of Claeg domination by ejecting Buchan Claeg from his position as Durweard and barring all Claeg kinsman from Mertuile.
Alas, his efforts ended in failure and humiliation. While Kieran worshipped in his little chapel among loyal subjects, Buchan Claeg rode up to the altar on a fully armored war horse and snatched the royal Circlet from the Cyne’s head.
He then dragged Kieran from the chapel by the hair and staged a mock coronation in which he had the Circlet placed upon his own brow. In further retaliation for his resistance, The Claeg appropriated the Graegam family estates and laid waste to the village of Ailis Graegam’s birth, slaughtering hundreds of innocent men, women and children and leaving their bodies lying out for all to see.
(Saefren laid aside his stew, finding it suddenly unappetizing.)
Other Chiefs and Eiric that The Claeg considered possible adversaries, Buchan had brought to the village by force so they might view the carnage. He then imprisoned the Cyne beneath his own castle and ruled openly from Creiddylad as Regent, proclaiming the Cyne mentally unfit to sit upon the Throne.
Kieran’s son, Bearach Malcuim, was now seventeen years old. Outraged by the actions of the Claeg, the young Riagan left his hiding place in the village of Storm and moved about the countryside in disguise, rallying the lesser Houses, nobles and commoners who were now chafing to be rid of the brutal Claeg.
(I should leave, Saefren thought. I should get up and go to my tent. But he didn’t leave; he stayed and listened further to the Storyteller.)
Most of all did the Osraed want the Claeg usurper gone, for in his rage at their support of Bearach, he had placed Halig-liath under virtual siege. But Bearach infiltrated the Holy Fortress and found the Osraed willing allies. They had already been using the Divine Art on his behalf, and were gratified when he turned to them for aid.
His foremost champion among the Osraed was Gartain Jura, whom he made his Durweard. The two became as brothers—never apart, always of one mind and heart. Together they brought the people of Caraid-land to revolt and challenged the Claeg at every pass.
Buchan Claeg had grown tired of keeping Cyne Kieran as pet and now, enraged by the bold actions of Bearach and Gartain, he let it be known that he had every intention of setting himself before the Stone of Ochan in a real coronation.
This was the rallying point Bearach and Gartain had been waiting for. Moving swiftly, they visited Ochanshrine just long enough to remove the Osmaer crystal. When The Claeg rushed in, seeking to lay hands on it, it was gone.
Buchan Claeg demanded it be handed over to him so he might be set before it, but Bearach, now called Spearman for this bold thrust at his enemy, rejected Buchan’s demand, knowing that once the Stone was in The Claeg’s hands, his father’s life would be forfeit. Alas, it was lost anyway, for the treacherous Claeg, in retaliation for Bearach’s effrontery, tortured and killed the Cyne.
Bearach was mad with grief. At once, he launched an attack on the Claeg forces. Passion driving him, bolstered by the Art of the Osraed, he routed the enemy from Creiddylad, but in the battle to take Mertuile, Osraed Gartain was captured and carried away to the Claeg capitol.
Hoping to save his beloved friend’s life, Bearach Malcuim went into the Cave of Ochan and brought out a crystal all but identical in size and color to the Osmaer. He offered this false Stone to The Claeg in exchange for Gartain’s life.
The counterfeit nearly fooled The Claeg, but even as the hostage Gartain was on his way to Creiddylad to be released, the cautious Chieftain took the stone and presented it to a Hillwild woman of his household. The woman tested the crystal and found it to be false.
Furious, The Claeg raced to Creiddylad, reaching the release point in the court of Kieran’s Chapel as Gartain began his walk to freedom and reunion. In full sight of Bearach Malcuim and the people of Creiddylad, Buchan Claeg took up a crossbow and shot the young Osraed in the back. The heroic Gartain fell dead into the arms of his young Cyneric.
Grief doubled and driven by vengeance, Bearach entered into a pact with the Chief of the House Feich, knowing that with the forces of this mighty family, he might hope to trample the Claeg once and for all. They might have done this if The Feich had not played traitor and run straight to Buchan Claeg with the news that Bearach Spearman was planning a massed attack on the Claeg estates.
Learning of his ally’s treachery, Bearach confronted the Feich Chief in the Cirke at Storm. There he reviled him for his disloyalty and then, when The Feich drew sword, he slew him, saying, “I, Bearach Spearman, make certain.”
Ah, but the murder lay heavy on his conscience, so he hastened to Ochanshrine to beg forgiveness of the Osraed, bringing with him the Osmaer crystal.
The Osraed rejoiced in the return of the sacred relic. The Osraed assured Bearach that his forgiveness was in the hands of God. They bid him take the Great Crystal up to Halig-liath where he might safely be set before it.
At Halig-liath, one week before Solstice, Cyneric Bearach Malcuim was set before the Stone by the Osraed at Apex, Affric. The Malcuim Circlet, however, was still in the hands of The Claeg.
Bearach remained at Halig-liath only long enough to preside over the Farewelling within its walls. While he did this, Buchan Claeg dallied outside, trying to get in. It was his opinion that the right to oversee the leave-taking belonged to him and he presented the false Osmaer as proof. The Osraed, who now possessed the true Stone, challenged him and cleverly kept him at bay. When Farewelling was over and the Pilgrims at last departed the fortress before the eyes of Claeg’s men, Bearach Malcuim was among them.
Now, while Bearach hid in and about Caraid-land, aided by loyal commoners and lesser nobles and Chiefs, his family dispersed to the four winds. But it was to no avail. The Claeg got his hands on them and treated them all shamefully, humiliating and imprisoning them all—men women and children.
Bearach, meanwhile, fled into the Gyldan-baenn and threw himself on the mercy of Garmorgan, Renec of the H
illwild clan of Mor. She kept him safe in her stronghold at Moidart, while his countrymen rallied to his aid. He was close to losing faith during this time, when one night he was visited by a vision of his beloved Gartain. In the aislinn, the Osraed showed Bearach a spider patiently weaving its web in the lee of a window embrasure and bid him perceive how the tiny creature persevered regardless of how many times the strong winds about Moidart blew its silken home away. Bearach was cheered by this lesson and began to plan his return to Mertuile.
As for Garmorgan, she became Bearach’s fast friend and when, in the dead of winter of the Year of Pilgrimage 168, Bearach led his troops down out of the Gyldans, she rode beside him.
By now, The Claeg had set up court at Mertuile, openly flying the banner of his House over its ramparts. Bearach Malcuim, accordingly, seized the Claeg estates and stronghold and raised his own standard there. He allowed the “escape” of the House Steward who carried the tale of Claeg’s capture to his master in Creiddylad.
The Claeg at once assembled his troops for battle, but on the eve of their departure for Claeg, Buchan fell ill. In a matter of days, he was dead of the mysterious malady, but not before he extracted a harrowing promise from his heir—that he would retake the Claeg lands, boil the dead Chief’s flesh from his bones and bury those relics in the retaken soil.
The son, Gery, made the grisly pact, then violated it as soon as his father’s spirit fled its body. He carried his father’s corpse to Ochanshrine, where it was prayed over by the Osraed and buried in the wood overlooking that sacred place. The new Claeg Chieftain then went straight to Bearach, relinquished Mertuile in return for his own lands, and made a pledge of fealty to the House Malcuim.
The Claeg kinsman were furious with their young leader and attempted to continue the struggle against the Throne, but Bearach had the will of the people, the forces Garmorgan, and the spiritual strength of the Osraed. With those he could only be victorious. He brought his family out of captivity, restored the Osmaer crystal to Ochanshrine and began a long and glorious reign. The Malcuim were back in Mertuile to stay.
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