To the Waters and the Wild

by S C McGrath

  “I thought perhaps she had come to complain about my sorry lack of scholarship. I try her patience far too often,” Keelin admitted, relieved. Almost as an afterthought, she asked, “Did Uncle Déaglán bring news of importance?”

  Saraid smiled, the lines on her brow erased. “I spoke to Nuala only in passing and she made no mention of you. She wished to speak with your father and did not share with me the nature of Déaglán’s news. Undoubtedly we will learn more this evening. Now go wash up before the men return. I don’t know what is keeping them.”

  When Conall and Liam eventually entered the cottage, Keelin was helping her mother serve dinner. As Liam stepped across the threshold, he inhaled deeply and smiled. “Ah, rabbit stew. Thank you, clever Riley. I do appreciate your hunting skills.”

  Saraid, looking up from ladling the stew into a large bowl Keelin held, laughed. “Yes, and this rabbit greatly outweighed him, I assure you.”

  

  CHAPTER two

  

  he large room was warm and dim, lit only by a single lantern and the glow from the fireplace. Conall’s collies and Liam’s wolfhounds lay in front of the stone hearth. Riley was curled up at Conall’s feet. The family ate at a large, rough-hewn oak table and the chairs they sat on were of finely crafted yew wood, adorned with intricately carved designs.

  Keelin had hardly touched her meal. The hunger she had felt earlier was gone, replaced by nervous anticipation. After learning that Nuala’s visit had not been about her failure to master impossibly long history and poetry recitations, Keelin’s curiosity regarding Uncle Déaglán’s news was roused. She remembered her mother’s tense expression and felt a vague, though seemingly irrational, uneasiness. Uncle Déaglán’s rare visits to Eire were always occasions of celebration, and the news he brought of faraway places always captivated Keelin.

  Déaglán was Saraid’s older brother, although Keelin did not think they looked anything alike, except that they were both tall and slender. Whereas her mother was beautiful and graceful, Uncle Déaglán seemed almost nondescript and ordinary. His clothes usually hung loosely on his long, lanky body and his dark brown hair was invariably unkempt looking. Of course, Keelin knew her uncle was anything but ordinary, being a navigator of high repute. He had always loved the sea, and with the death of his young wife, Maeve, and their infant son in childbirth, it was the sea that gave him his only respite from grief. Many believed he was favored by the gods and that they protected him during his long voyages. Keelin thought it more likely that Déaglán’s closest friend and confidant, Fearghus, the powerful High Priest of The Dagda, aided him. Among his many gifts, Fearghus could foresee the coming of storms and fair weather.

  Keelin did not share her uncle’s love of sailing vast oceans. She could not imagine spending lonely and endless days and weeks at sea. No, it was not her uncle’s skill as a navigator that impressed Keelin but his adventures in Eoraip, the continent that lay to the east, far from her island home. She loved his fantastic tales of the mighty Romhanach Empire and its intrigues. She would hang on his every word, wishing she could visit all the wondrous places he described. She could not imagine a more exciting life than that of an adventurer in foreign lands. When Keelin had mentioned as much to Nuala recently, the priestess reminded her that only on Eire did women stand equal to men under the law.

  “You would not be allowed to travel freely as Déaglán does in Roma,” Nuala had cautioned. “A woman is no better than the property of her father, and then of her husband when she marries. Would you wish to rely on trickery and wiles to gain your ends in such a land? I think not, my bold Keelin. No, you belong here in Eire where your gifts are valued, as a Priestess of The Dagda.”

  Keelin did not want to think about her “gifts” tonight and how she often felt as much a prisoner of her fate as those poor women in Roma. Mentally shaking herself, she turned to her father and studied him. He had been unusually quiet tonight, gruffly answering questions and not inviting conversation. His dark moods were not uncommon, but this evening she sensed in him a rare solemnity. Even her Uncle Liam, who loved nothing better than a lively discussion during the evening meal, was oddly subdued. Once, Keelin had started to question her father about Uncle Déaglán’s news, but her mother cautioned silence with a slight shake of her head. Keelin could do nothing except impatiently wait until her mother deemed it time.

  It was not until Conall had finished his meal, pushed back his chair from the table, and absently welcomed Riley as the little dog sprang onto his lap that Saraid spoke.

  She took in a deep breath. “Conall, it is time you shared the troubling news Déaglán has brought about the Romhanach and whatever else has been plaguing you since early summer.”

  Conall had been deep in thought and looked blankly at his wife for a moment. Then, after exchanging a brief glance with his brother, Liam, Conall straightened in his chair and squared his shoulders.

  “Déaglán has indeed brought troubling news from Eoraip. Nuala spoke with him yesterday and has told me that there is little doubt the Romhanach are planning an invasion of Eire, possibly as early as next spring. However, I will be better able to assess the Romhanach threat by speaking with Déaglán myself. I will ride to Fhianait tomorrow to see him.”

  “The Romhanach threat?” Keelin looked at her father in disbelief. The Romhanach Empire had always fueled her dreams, had stirred in her a strange reverence. Nuala often referred to Romhanach medicinal treatments and surgeries, and many of the medical manuscripts Keelin studied were penned by Romhanach physicians. It seemed impossible that such an empire could pose any danger to Eire.

  “Indeed, Keelin, the Romhanach threat,” responded Conall. “The Dagda has long cautioned us that it was only a matter of time before the Romhanach turned their covetous eyes toward Eire. Yet, I and my fellow chieftains ignored The Dagda’s admonitions. We have been too preoccupied with battling each other.” In an effort to temper the news, Conall added, “Of course, any number of events may occur to forestall the invasion.”

  Saraid was not deceived. “Conall, I understand that you wish to spare Keelin and me undo worry, but we are not faint-hearted and prefer to know what lies ahead.”

  “Aye, you must know the truth. Déaglán’s news seems only to confirm what we have known since early summer. The Romhanach will invade Eire.” Conall spoke softly, staring into the fireplace. The flames had died back, and now only the glow from burning embers remained. Riley whined faintly and licked Conall’s hand, sensing his master’s distress.

  “Might Uncle Déaglán be mistaken?” questioned Keelin, wishing to break the stifling silence in the dark, warm room. “It may be only one of his fanciful tales, for why should he know of Romhanach intent?”

  Liam spoke then, a wry grin on his face. “Déaglán may be a bit mad, but his tales are anything but fanciful. You see, Keelin, your Uncle Déaglán is a spy for Eire. The Dagda has long cautioned Eire’s chieftains of the threat posed by the Romhanach, but it is Déaglán who has provided the details of their perfidy and evil.”

  Roused, Conall said, “Eire’s only real hope of repulsing an invasion is for our warriors to unite. Nuala has assured me that the priests and priestesses of The Dagda have alerted all of Eire’s chieftains of this imminent threat and have convinced them to meet at Tara in a fortnight. There we must agree to form a united warrior force. Déaglán and I will leave for Tara within the week. Pádraig will remain here, acting as chieftain in my absence.”

  “Surely our warriors are superior to any the Romhanach may have,” proclaimed Keelin, her violet eyes flashing.

  “Eire’s warriors are second to none,” exclaimed Conall, his anger rising. “But how can we defeat the Romhanach when we are divided and always at war with one another? Our warriors’ prowess will mean nothing against the Romhanach legions, with their superior numbers, discipline, and weaponry. Absolutely nothing!” Conall banged his fist on the arm of his chair, startling Riley. “We must stop waging war against each other an
d unite. That is our only hope. Think of the powerful resistance we could muster if the finest warriors from every clan in Eire fought as one!” Stirred by the vision, Conall added, “Many of those warriors will be from our clan, one of the most notable being young Brian.”

  “Yes, Brian has a most vicious temper,” declared Liam with relish, completely unfazed by Conall’s violent outburst. “Did you hear, Conall, that Brian nearly bested Pádraig yesterday with sword and spear? I truly do love that boy’s bloodlust.”

  Saraid frowned and looked at Liam disapprovingly. “Brian may be an admirable warrior, but he is not a brute. One has only to listen to him sing and see how his younger brothers and sister adore him to know of the kindheartedness he keeps so carefully hidden. He has had much to endure.”

  Liam scoffed, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Yes, dear Saraid, Brian does indeed keep that sweet nature of his hidden, very, very deep. Though I do agree he has a most beautiful voice, and it will undoubtedly be of considerable use in rousing the warriors to battle when the time comes.”

  

  The next morning Saraid stood alone in the cottage yard, watching Conall ride away. She sighed and glanced down at Riley, who sat at her feet. “Come Riley, we had best get on with the day. Let us go see if any rabbits have invaded my vegetable garden while we slept.” As soon as Saraid said the word “rabbits,” Riley pricked his ears and was off, running toward the garden as fast as his short legs would carry him. Saraid had just started toward the garden when Keelin burst out the front door. She wore a plain linen skirt and blouse, both slightly wrinkled and worn, and her hair hung loosely about her shoulders.

  “You look as though you are being pursued by demons,” said Saraid.

  Keelin abruptly stopped her mad dash the moment she noticed her father riding away on Rua, the two now far beyond the cottage yard. She had had a restless night, finally falling into a nightmare-filled sleep in the early morning hours and not waking until after sunrise. She had missed saying goodbye to her father and Rua, but at the moment she had more worrisome concerns.

  “I completely forgot that I was to meet Nuala at dawn this morning,” said Keelin breathlessly as she walked toward her mother. “I am already horribly late.” Keelin braided her auburn hair as she spoke, her fingers quickly weaving the thick locks into a long plait. Frowning, she asked, “Do you believe the Romhanach will invade?”

  “I believe they will.”

  “We will slay them all and spill every last drop of their cursed blood,” declared Keelin, purposely not meeting her mother’s eyes, knowing they would be filled with reproof. Rising up on her tiptoes, Keelin kissed her mother’s cheek, and then turned and ran toward the barn. “I should be home by sundown,” she called over her shoulder. Though perhaps not, thought Keelin, knowing Nuala all too well. She will probably torture me with some odious task late into the evening to punish me for my lack of “punctuality and dedication.”

  As Keelin hurriedly completed her morning chores, she concocted an excellent excuse for her tardiness. She actually enjoyed inventing elaborate excuses to present to Nuala. It was a challenge of the mind, and Keelin’s skill at protecting her thoughts from the priestess was increasing. Initially, Nuala’s austere manner and unrelenting demands had overwhelmed Keelin, making her feel unworthy. She was awed by the priestess’s vast knowledge, not only in the art of healing, but in every discipline imaginable. Nuala had only to look at Keelin with those piercing, perceptive eyes to make her feel oddly vulnerable and ill at ease, the priestess being the only person who had ever truly intimidated her. However, Keelin’s irrepressible nature could not be stifled for long, even by the formidable Nuala. Keelin soon learned that Nuala’s power to read her thoughts was not absolute. She could sometimes fool the Priestess and that was all the inspiration Keelin needed. Though never disrespectful, she took a certain wicked pleasure in testing her increasing power, secretly delighting in the effects of her mischief on Nuala.

  Keelin was soon running across the fields, hoping she would catch up with Nuala before the priestess reached the village. At first heedless of the wet grasses, she quickly found it increasingly difficult to run, her damp skirt clinging to her thighs and grabbing her ankles with every stride.

  “Curse it!” she muttered, lifting the hem of her skirt to her knees as she continued to run. Keelin thought long skirts and dresses very silly and quite impractical for almost everything and had said as much to Nuala, indignant that women could not wear trousers. To her surprise, Nuala had not been in the least shocked, smiling in amusement before raising an eyebrow in censure.

  Having shed her shoes some distance back to cross a narrow creek, Keelin soon reached the main road, the only hurdle left being the stone wall. Shoving her shoes into her satchel, Keelin nimbly climbed the wall, threw one leg over the top, and then dropped down to the other side. In spite of the cool morning, Keelin was sweating from her run. She had just brushed back errant strands of hair that were plastered against her face and neck when she was startled by an unexpected greeting.

  “Good morning to you, Keelin,” said her cousin, Séamus, cheerfully. “I believe the fox went that way.”

  Keelin looked up to see Séamus and Brian, both on horseback, smiling down at her. Also looking at her with concern rather than amusement was Sinéad, a village girl Keelin’s age and the miller’s daughter. Sinéad was sitting aboard an open wagon filled with sacks of corn meal, a large gray draft horse harnessed to it.

  “Very good, Séamus,” responded Keelin sweetly. “I see that being dropped on your head as an infant affected your wit only modestly.”

  Séamus laughed good-naturedly. “Yes, luckily I have a very thick skull. But in all earnestness, Keelin, whatever possessed you to run across the fields this early in the morning? You are soaked from the dew.”

  “I am late. I was to meet Nuala earlier, but I suppose it is of no great consequence,” said Keelin with as much nonchalance as she could summon. She was now painfully aware of her appearance, from her muddy feet and wet skirt to the strands of damp hair hanging about her face.

  “You are in luck, then,” responded Séamus, “for Brian and I saw Nuala not ten minutes ago on her way to visit Pádraig. She said that if we saw you, we were to tell you to begin your patient visits without her, that she will join you later this afternoon.”

  “Ah, that’s grand,” said Keelin, relieved.

  “Nuala seemed irritated with you,” commented Brian with a teasing, though not unkind, smile. “Tardy again?”

  Keelin pointedly ignored Brian, her chin held high. She looked at Sinéad, who smiled back rather vaguely. Sinéad was a kind, sensible young woman and had all the makings of a good farmer’s wife. Keelin found her painfully uninteresting. Still, Sinéad had calmly and skillfully assisted Keelin when she had set the badly fractured leg of Declan, Sinéad’s younger brother. Their mother had fainted straight away at the sight of her son’s mangled leg, but Sinéad had kept her wits about her. Sinéad’s skill would be needed if the Romhanach do invade, thought Keelin, anger welling up in her, remembering the fearful wounds and death that all battles wrought, no matter the victor. She suddenly hated the Romhanach and their devouring ambitions, truly wishing to slay them all. How could she have ever admired them?

  “Did you see . . .” Keelin hesitated, glancing first at Séamus and then at Brian, “my father this morning?” She was loathe to say more, not knowing whether news of the Romhanach had spread to the villagers yet.

  “Séamus, I know you wish to escort Sinéad as far as the south road,” said Brian. He and Séamus exchanged a brief look, Séamus’s habitually cheerful expression sobering slightly. “I will meet you there shortly.”

  “I can think of nothing I would enjoy more,” responded Séamus gallantly, smiling down at the deeply blushing though obviously pleased Sinéad.

  Brian waited until the two were beyond earshot then turned to Keelin. “We did not see your father. Pádraig called for a warriors’ assembly at dawn th
is morning and so we have just learned of Déaglán’s news. Of course, Nuala has warned us of the Romhanach intentions for months, but not even your father paid her heed. Undoubtedly you have known for some time, being Nuala’s favorite pupil and minion.”

  Keelin ignored Brian’s jab and merely nodded, not wanting to admit that Nuala had shared nothing of the Romhanach threat with her.

  “I hope they do not invade,” Keelin blurted out, her anger and careless bravado of the morning replaced by apprehension.

  “You cannot possibly fear the Romhanach! You would gladly cut the heart out of anyone who threatened Eire and suffer no qualms.” Brian looked at Keelin with disappointment. “I expected you to be as eager as I for the battle and victory.”

  “Of course you are eager for battle!” said Keelin, frustrated by her own ambivalence. “You are a warrior. You will slay Eire’s enemies, will drive the invader from our shores. I long to defend Eire as you will. You will battle the Romhanach and save Eire, whereas I . . .” Keelin could not continue. She stood glaring at Brian, mute.

  “Must battle to save the wounded and dying,” finished Brian, his tone softening. “I should not have forgotten your part in the last clan battle.”

  “Worse yet—” Keelin stopped before admitting she would be compelled to ease the suffering of wounded Romhanach soldiers on the battlefield. She would only be a hindrance to Eire’s cause, such was her powerful instinct to heal.

  “I shall magnanimously overlook your reluctance for battle, understanding its source,” said Brian with a smile and broad sweep of his arm. “You may still accompany Séamus and me on our grand adventures after our victory over the Romhanach. In honesty, we would miss our dogged little shadow should you not be stalking us.”

  “Your adventures would be decidedly uninspired,” responded Keelin, her lips twitching slightly, a crooked smile touching them. “For it was I who always imagined the most exciting and dangerous ones when we were children. Besides, I have no wish to accompany the two of you anywhere. I have dreams of my own after Eire’s victory.”