Her face burned with embarrassment or drink, she didn’t know which. The room suddenly grew much warmer. She swallowed, uncertain how to respond.
“Ah, I’ve made you uncomfortable. That won’t do. I’m afraid I’m due for another appointment shortly. Please, may we converse again? Perhaps tomorrow, after Maelan’s lessons? I’d relish another discussion.”
She nodded, unable to speak. To be treated as an equal by such a learned man encouraged her. He helped her to her feet, and she rushed to the entrance to reclaim her cloak.
“Be careful going home, Étaín. The river’s getting higher.”
The hail had turned to sullen rain, but lessened enough for her to peer across the courtyard. Several figures gathered near the entrance, and she hurried to them. Hopefully, Maelan would be done with his lessons and ready to return home.
She gathered Maelan, and they stared at the bridge, deciding they might jump the small rivulet of water before the entrance. The bridge had been built to last. Étaín decided mankind must be inherently arrogant. That’s why everyone assumed people should always win over nature, but seldom succeeded in such ventures.
They’d walked halfway across when the great surge hit.
It began as a deep roar she felt in her bones. The sound confused her, as the steady rain had let up to a light drizzle. However, a glance over her shoulder showed her exactly what came down upon them.
A massive wall of brown, swirling water rushed forward, causing the bridge to screech and roar. Étaín clutched at Maelan, and they both grabbed the sturdy timbers of the bridge while it quaked in the onslaught. Shouts filtered into the madness, but she couldn’t tell if they existed in life or her own imagination. Her entire being focused on holding on to her grandson and the bridge. She could never concentrate enough to bring time back, not in this maelstrom, even if a few seconds would give them enough time to run to shore.
The water pulled with enormous strength, and her hand slipped. Maelan grunted and gripped the bridge with his arm, linking them both around her hand. It helped steady her hold on the square logs.
It may have been moments later, or it may have been hours. Either way, she grew exhausted as the waters finally receded. They still held tight to the bridge, but the bridge floated down the river.
No longer moored to the shore, the massive structure bounced and slid along the water at great speed. If it tipped over, neither of them would survive the dunking. She had no way to prevent that, so she prayed. Étaín prayed to God, the saints, and even the old gods. She didn’t know which, if any, might help. Was this the way she’d finally die? It seemed unfair to include her sweet, silly Maelan in her death.
Her mind drifted as they rolled down the Sionann, buffeted by the flood.
“Grandmother! Look, see the tree overhead?”
They rapidly approached an enormous oak tree with one branch which reached halfway across the water.
“We’ll never reach that, Maelan!”
“I’ll try. We have to try!”
With a deep breath, she nodded. They had little time to argue the matter, as it rushed closer and closer. “On the count of three, we jump. One… two… three!”
She jumped and caught at the rough bark, her hand slipping. Maelan had succeeded in his jump and grabbed at her other hand. The mud made her slick, and his grasp didn’t work the first time. The second time she jumped, he gripped her wrist, and she gripped at his. It kept her from being swept away with the bridge. They dangled on the tree for a moment until she caught her breath, and swung her other hand onto another branch. She gritted her teeth against her burning shoulder and bent at the waist, pulling up her legs to grip the trunk.
Maelan yelled, “Grandmother, don’t move! I’ll pull you up. Just get a good grasp.”
She nodded, too tired to do aught else. She closed her eyes, trying not to think of the rush of the water beneath her. What if the river rushed something past her? Something which swept her from her precarious perch, and down the hungry, angry river.
Maelan took hold of her wrists again. He pulled, but she remained too heavy for his young arms. “Can you inch around to that large branch?”
Étaín looked and gauged the distance. She must try. Little by little, she shifted her body carefully, not letting her hold slip.
A crashing sound made her glance upriver. An enormous branch bobbed along the torrent, straight toward her. Dread clutched her heart. She swallowed the horror and snatched at the thick branch, parallel to the main trunk.
Étaín dug her fingers into the trunk, but the wood had become wet and slick. The bark had sloughed off, and the wood remained too smooth to get much purchase. Still, she scrabbled until she got both hands around it and yank her body up, just as the huge branch swept underneath the tree. It scraped the bottom of the trunk with a horrifying sound. The tree trembled with a sickening, rasping jolt that almost made her lose her grip.
Once it passed, she calmed her breathing once again and climbed over the trunk to sit astride.
That’s when the pain of a thousand cuts intruded on her body, past the panic and fear. Her entire body ached, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She panted and closed her eyes, terrified of what might have happened to either of them.
Maelan crawled to her and hugged her awkwardly, their sodden clothing clinging to them both. Her grandson quaked with tears, trembling in her arms. Unashamed of their tears, she let them drip with no care. She might have lost everything she loved in one terrible moment.
Shouting intruded upon her relief, and she twisted around to glimpse a dozen men gather on the far side of the river. They noticed her and Maelan on the trunk and pointed, yelling something lost in the clamor. She glanced upriver again, thinking they tried to warn her against danger, but she saw nothing.
Then the trunk shifted.
With wild eyes, Étaín watched as the tree tipped further into the river, pulling up at the massive roots. Any sense of momentary safety fled and her already chilled skin grew colder. While the tree had previously had a firm grip on the riverbank, the flood had loosened dirt and clay to where the tree would give at any moment.
Maelan must have seen as well, and with one mind and one body, they both scrambled to the base of the tree. She had another moment of dread before she made the massive leap from the trunk to safer ground, over the now-exposed network of roots. Maelan had jumped to safety.
“Jump, Grandmother! The tree is about to go! I’ll catch you if you stumble, I promise!”
For a horrible moment, she considered staying. Maelan stood safe, and she could escape her life with Airtre, one way or another. However, Maelan still needed her. She closed her eyes and sent another prayer to God, then knelt and jumped, hoping her soaked léine didn’t tangle with the thousands of roots grabbing as she passed. While a few snags ripped holes, it didn’t tear enough to hamper her efforts. She rolled on the ground and into Maelan’s arms.
They lie on the solid earth, reveling in the shelter and security of the bank. Men shouted and cheered from the other side, having witnessed their escape.
The tree lurched and tilted, the final roots giving up their grip on the ground. Showers of dirt and rock fell on Étaín and Maelan. They covered their heads and scrambled further away from the old oak as it tipped and fell into the rushing water. It turned almost leisurely, twisting around in a graceful, lazy circle as it finally swept away.
Étaín gave in to more tears. She and Maelan both lived, and she’d been more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. Mobs with torches, intent upon burning her as a witch, held less horror for her at this moment. She shook and cried, holding Maelan tight in her arms. He didn’t try to escape the smothering embrace, but held her just as firmly.
She had no idea how long they sat there. The men on the other side had disappeared.
Maelan roused her from her numbness. “Grandmother, it’ll be dark soon. We must go home and get warm. You’re shivering. Here, let me help you up. Grandmother? Your hair
looks brown. You must have some mud in it.”
Her hair? She touched her head, but felt no mud. With horror, Étaín realized that in all the panic, her magic must have slipped. Frantically calling on the brooch’s power, she funneled energy back to her disguise of gray hair and wrinkles.
The effort cost dearly, as she had no strength remaining. Her bones hurt and she shivered with both chill and shock. They slowly made their way along upriver, keeping well back from the bank itself in case the water caused more edges to erode. They didn’t walk too deeply in the woods for fear of losing the path.
When they arrived at the roundhouse, she found it cold and empty. The hearth fire had burnt to sullen coals. She spent precious energy to build it up again, the aroma of burning peat infusing the roundhouse with renewed warmth and welcome.
Maelan returned from his alcove, having changed into dry clothing. “Why are you still wearing those wet things? Grandmother, did you hit your head on the tree? This isn’t like you.”
Étaín shook her head, but the fuzzy numbness didn’t dispel. Perhaps she had injured herself. She had no control over her body. Her skin felt like someone else’s, pasted over her own. She sat in front of the hearth without a word.
Maelan brought over three woolen blankets and bundled her tight. “If you won’t change, I’ll at least make sure you stay warm.”
He moved to the pantry. She wanted to protest he didn’t know her kitchen, but had no will or power to speak. A few crashes and curses came from behind her as her grandson rifled through her pots, but he emerged shortly. The child carried her good pot, filled with water so high it sloshed over the sides, he grunted as he placed it on the tripod over the fire.
He’d filled the pot too full, and it would boil over. She tried to say so, but Maelan turned to her.
“Grandmother, did you say something? Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll tend you. You’ve tended me often enough.”
Such a thoughtful young lad. Étaín closed her eyes remembering his father. Lorcáin had been sweet, always caring for those younger or smaller than him. She missed him so much it hurt.
“Grandmother? Grandmother, you can’t sleep, not yet. You always told me not to let someone sleep if they hit their head.”
She hadn’t hit her head, had she? She couldn’t remember. Étaín shook her head to test for pain, but she grew dizzy, and Maelan grabbed her.
“Don’t fall over! Here, lean against this.” He shoved a bench behind her. It helped.
The water in the cauldron boiled over, spilling and hissing onto the peat. Maelan looked at it and grabbed a bowl, scooping water out and into a mug before handing the latter to her.
“Now, let the tea steep for a few minutes before drinking it. In the meantime, hold this. It will heat your hands, at least.”
It radiated warmth, blessed, beautiful warmth. Étaín couldn’t remember anything as deliciously cozy before in her life. The heat seeped into her icy hands and fought against the waterlogged skin to invade her blood. The heat hurt and healed at the same time.
Her face grew flushed. Suddenly, she felt suffocated under the three blankets and tried to shrug them off her shoulders.
“No! No, don’t do that. You must thaw out. Will you at least let me put you in dry clothes now?” She nodded. “Good. Wait here, and I’ll bring a fresh léine.
Étaín didn’t think he should rummage around in her alcove. He shouldn’t find something, something secret and precious, but she couldn’t remember what. Maelan grunted, and when he returned, he had a brown léine in one hand, and a small object nestled in white silk in the other.
“What’s this, Grandmother? I’ve never seen you wear it. It feels strange, and it’s warm.”
He held the brooch, the magical brooch of her family’s legacy. The brooch that gave her the power of long life, the ability to bend time and give herself wrinkles. She could even, with great effort, turn time back a couple of minutes. She rarely did that, however, as she seldom had enough time to matter.
She had to gather her energy to speak. “It’s something I had from my mother, Maelan. Please put it back.”
He frowned. “It looks odd, Grandmother. Sort of glowing.”
She shook her head again. This time her thoughts grew clearer, less wooly. “It is not glowing, child. Don’t be daft. Put it back. Now. Give me my léine. I’ll dress.”
She stood and reached for the clothing. Or at least, she attempted to stand. Instead, she got to her feet and stumbled backwards over the bench she’d been leaning against.
Maelan caught her before she fell to the flagstones, his small form stumbling under her weight. Frantic fear rose again, making it difficult to breathe. She finally got it under control and regained her balance.
“Thank you, Maelan. Now, take the cauldron off the fire. It’s about to boil over again. I’ll be back in a moment.” She retrieved both the brooch and the léine from the floor where he had dropped them to catch her. The stooping made her dizzy again, but not as much as earlier.
Étaín gripped the brooch so tightly the edges bit into her hand. With a sharp pull on the magic, she regained her balance and strength. She’d pay for her magic later, but for now, she could once again function as she expected.
When she emerged from her alcove, hair brushed and in a clean outfit, Airtre’s horse neighed outside.
“Stones and crows! Your grandfather’s home and I’ve barely made a start on the meal! Maelan, quickly now, go help him stable the beast. He’s sure to be in a foul mood with this weather, so tread carefully. Don’t mention your lessons yet. I’ve not had a chance to speak to him about them, and I’ll need to tell him at the right time. Now go!”
She shooed the child outdoors and stumbled into the cooking alcove, quickly retrieving the fish she’d left soaking earlier. She poured the salty water into a storage jug and placed it into the boiling water over the fire, dumping in the barley.
Her head pounded, and she stopped to massage her temple. With a curse, she chopped the rest of the additives—the sorrel, the betony, leeks, cabbage, two cloves of garlic. While the chowder cooked, she hastily straightened the bench and blankets to where they ought to be. Her temples throbbed by the time Maelan and Airtre entered the roundhouse, but the gratifying aroma permeated the room.
Cadhla trailed after her husband and grandson. She nodded to the healer and smiled. While she hadn’t expected a guest, she had plenty of food. Étaín wanted to tell them about their near-disastrous adventure today, but if Airtre didn’t ask, she daren’t bring it up.
Every bone, every muscle in her body must have been stretched, pounded or yanked during her misadventure. Every move she made became agonizing.
Étaín knew how to push through the pain. Her foster-father had taught her pain at a very early age. She’d been no older than eight when he’d decided she acted lazily. He’d beaten her whenever she couldn’t work as hard as the older children, all boys, had at her age. A few winters later, he’d hurt her in other ways.
She shook her head. She mustn’t revisit her painful past now. She must prepare her husband’s meal, so he didn’t injure her further.
Maelan became particularly solicitous of her during the final preparations, jumping to help her carry the bowls or offering to fetch more cheese.
Airtre scowled at his grandson. “You aren’t a woman, Maelan. Stop doing woman’s work. You will be a warrior and have women to serve you.”
Maelan ducked his head, and said, “I thought our Christian duty demanded we help others, Grandfather?”
Cadhla roared at the rejoinder, clapping the boy on the shoulder so hard he stumbled. Airtre growled but didn’t argue the point. Instead, he asked, “What did you do today, boy? I heard you only had two hours in the practice yard.”
Maelan, evidently mindful of Étaín’s earlier admonition, glanced at his grandmother. She placed a bowl of the chowder in front of Cadhla. She sent a prayer for his presence, as it offered excellent protection for her news. “He had his f
irst lessons with a tutor this morning.”
With an appreciative sniff at the chowder, Cadhla smiled. “It smells delightful, Étaín! Thank you for this. A tutor, eh? Who’s teaching the lad?”
She glanced at Airtre, but he looked at the bowl she’d placed in front of him. With a deep breath, she answered. “The abbot recommended a monk named Odhar.”
Airtre had been reaching for the bread, but his hand stopped halfway there. His face grew red, and he scowled. “Odhar? That upstart from Dubhlinn?”
Cadhla laughed again, smacking the older priest on the shoulder. “He’s perfectly capable of teaching a child, Airtre. You don’t want your grandchild taught by a dullard or a tottering old priest who can barely remember his own name, do you?”
Airtre grabbed the bread, and mumbled something under his breath, tearing a chunk off and dipping it in his bowl. He stuffed the dripping chunk into his mouth, wiping the crumbs from his beard.
Still cheerful, Cadhla took a chunk of bread for himself. “Odhar’s a good lad. Young, but sharp. Your grandson deserves a sharp teacher. Doesn’t he, Airtre?”
It wasn’t a question. His tone sounded light, but implacable. Étaín daren’t say a word as Airtre grumbled a vague assent. She breathed again, relieved Cadhla had taken her side. Étaín thanked God Cadhla ate with them tonight. She could well imagine what Airtre’s reaction would have been without Cadhla’s cajoling.
PART II
Chapter 4
Cluain Mhic Nóis, late spring, 1055AD
Étaín brought Maelan in for his lessons each day, and Odhar set the child to an assignment while he chatted with her. Sometimes they only had a few minutes of discussion on the weather or events of the day. Other times, they enjoyed long, drawn-out discussions which often involved Maelan.
Less than a moon later, during a warm day, Odhar asked her to come back later that day. “I have an afternoon free after Maelan finishes his lessons. I need to work out a particularly thorny puzzle and would value your input. Would you come just after the Sext bell rings? We can talk here, as no one else uses the room.”
Misfortune of Time Page 6