by S C McGrath
“Yes, she does look well, thanks to the gods and to you, Keelin. She is still very tired by the end of the day, but I think that is only because she now wants to run and play with her brothers and perhaps she overdoes it. Nuala tells me not to fret and to let Caitlin enjoy herself, but I still worry so about her.” Maureen’s voice cracked and her eyes brimmed with tears. Embarrassed by her display of emotion, she averted her face and returned to the cottage.
“I gave Nellie a carrot and put her in a stall with a bucket of water,” said Caitlin as she rejoined Keelin. The little girl took Keelin’s hand and they walked across the sheep pasture to a large rock outcropping that rose above the neighboring farmlands. Nature had carved a smooth and encircling bench into the granite surface of the outcropping, giving it the appearance of a magnificent throne. Keelin knew it had always been Caitlin’s favorite place to play before she had become sick. On sunny days the south-facing bench was warm and protected, and the view from its height spectacular.
When Caitlin was very ill, she had told Keelin of her “stone castle” on the hillside. “I dream I am a princess and all the land I see from my stone throne is my kingdom,” Caitlin had said, drawing slow, torturous breaths. The child had been deathly pale, her joints suffused with blood and her glands swollen. “I sometimes think I will never sit on my throne again, for I am no longer strong enough to visit my beautiful castle.” Caitlin had gasped, coughing up flecks of blood.
“Nonsense,” Keelin had said gently. “As soon as you feel a little better we will visit your castle. Donal will carry you and I will be your maid in waiting, ready to do your bidding, Princess Caitlin.” The little girl giggled as Keelin curtsied with a flourish at Caitlin’s bedside. Two months later on a sunny, breezy day, Caitlin, sitting on Donal’s shoulders, showed Keelin her stone castle.
Today, Caitlin tugged at Keelin’s hand, skipping along, excited to have Keelin all to herself. When they reached the castle, the two girls climbed up onto the throne and surveyed their surroundings. Caitlin sat down and leaned her back against the smooth granite wall, smiling happily. Keelin sat crossed legged facing Caitlin and began to gently massage the little girl’s legs.
“Keelin,” asked Caitlin shyly, “may I hold Rua while we talk?”
“Aye, my lady,” answered Keelin, retrieving a small wooden box from her satchel. Inside the box, on a bed of soft wool, was an exquisitely carved wooden horse, its neck arched and its mane and tail flowing. The artist had captured the spirit of a mighty war horse in intricate detail with nostrils flared and muscles rippling, its powerful legs suspended in an animated trot. On Keelin’s thirteenth birthday, Uncle Liam had presented the carving to her. “Here is your grand Rua,” he said. “May his strength be yours forever. His mighty heart was gentled by your soft hands.”
The carving of Rua became Keelin’s talisman. It seemed to be imbued with magical powers to calm and heal. Keelin believed that as Uncle Liam carved the miniature, his sensitive fingers had been directed by the gods. Nuala had scoffed at the idea. “Whatever enchantment the carving possesses comes not from Uncle Liam but from your belief in it. Never forget your gift, Keelin.”
Now, as Caitlin held Rua in her palm and chattered cheerfully, Keelin examined her with practiced hands and eyes. When Keelin had first visited Caitlin with Nuala those many months ago, she had been perplexed by the disease that plagued the little girl.
“An evil malignancy seems to be everywhere,” Keelin had said, looking at Nuala with questioning eyes. “I can feel it flowing with her very life blood. How can that be?”
Nuala, with her enigmatic smile, responded, “Good, Keelin. The disease is rare but quite deadly and somehow inhibits the blood’s ability to nourish the body. When it occurs in children, there is some hope that it will recede and allow them to reach maturity. However, the disease is only in abeyance and will reappear eventually. I have heard of cases where the disease never returns, but I have never seen such.”
Caitlin had now been well for three months, yet Keelin could detect some evil that still lurked in the little girl’s body, fearing she had only been granted a reprieve and not a cure, just as Nuala had warned. Keelin had fought Caitlin’s disease with an intensity of emotion that Nuala thought unwise. She had lectured Keelin sternly but not without empathy. “Many of your patients will die and Caitlin is likely to be one of them. If you give so much to one patient, you will invariably neglect others. Moreover, you must remember that you are a healer and not a god. Who can say why some live and others die, no matter our efforts. Don’t let your soul die piece by piece with each patient you cannot save.”
“You know I never neglect any of my patients,” Keelin had retorted. “And my soul would surely die if I didn’t do everything in my power to save Caitlin.” The priestess’s pessimism was infuriating. Keelin had refused to accept the possibility of sweet Caitlin’s death. It was too dark a reality to bear.
Today, as Keelin’s fingers felt the soft glands of Caitlin’s throat and massaged her legs, she found no sign of the disease. Keelin’s heart quickened as she continued to examine her. No, she was not mistaken; the evil was gone, completely and forever. I cannot wait to tell Nuala, thought Keelin with joy and relief. Keelin laughed and hugged Caitlin impulsively, leaving the child nonplussed, since the story Caitlin had been relating was not particularly funny.
“Keelin, you were not listening to me,” said Caitlin, somewhat offended.
“I am sorry, my lady, but I received the most wonderful news today and am somewhat distracted. We must hurry back now so you can travel with Donal to the village. We have left him waiting quite long enough.” With that, Keelin stood up and jumped off the granite throne. Caitlin followed and the two ran down the hill laughing, both girls filled with a healthy exuberance.

Keelin was just about to turn Nellie from a narrow path onto the village road when she saw a wagon approaching. Hidden by a large thicket, Keelin abruptly reined in Nellie and watched, the lessons of stealth taught by Nuala occasionally having some effect. A young man and woman sat side by side, and from the set of his shoulders and his wavy black hair, Keelin recognized Brian. He held the reins with one hand and the other was gesticulating with comical antics. The young woman’s body pressed close to his as she broke into laughter. Brian then leaned down and kissed his companion soundly on the lips.
Keelin hastily clucked Nellie forward onto the road as the wagon pulled up alongside of her. Brian’s companion was Brigid, arguably the most beautiful girl of the clan. She had exquisite features, big blue eyes, and golden blonde hair. And her figure, thought Keelin enviously, was that of a goddess.
“Keelin, how nice it is to see you,” Brigid exclaimed disingenuously. “You won’t believe my good fortune today. The axle of my wagon became fouled by a large rock. I was stranded just outside the village when who should happen along but Brian.” Brigid smiled up at Brian and encircled her arm in the bend of his elbow.
“Yes, how convenient that your wagon should break down at such an opportune moment and this being the day and time Brian always travels home on the village road from his training with Pádraig,” Keelin said, smiling sweetly.
Brian shot Keelin a wicked glance and pressed Brigid’s arm against his side. “I cannot imagine a more pleasurable task than rescuing a damsel in distress. I had the miscreant rock dispatched in no time at all and now have the honor of accompanying the fair maiden home.”
“Such is the life of a mighty warrior,” Keelin sighed mockingly, annoyed that Brian was so eagerly playing along with Brigid’s ruse. “It is fortunate that the rock offered no defense or the outcome might have been different.”
“Indeed, I must improve my feint and weave techniques so as to better avoid all barbs that are thrown my way,” countered Brian, smiling broadly. “But now we must be off if I am to deliver Brigid safely home before dusk. I will see you tonight, Keelin.”
“Whatever for?” asked Keelin, irritated afresh. She was sure Brian had spoken his last
words with reluctance.
“I promised your father that while he was away I would help your Uncle Liam with the farm. I am easily spared at home.”
“Where is your father, Keelin?” asked Brigid, only slightly interested.
Ignoring Brigid’s question, Keelin asked, “When did you see my father?” Brian’s words had brought the Romhanach invasion as well as her foreboding dream crashing back into Keelin’s consciousness. She had managed to quell the apprehension she felt when her father left for Tara at daybreak, and her happy visit with Caitlin had banished the worrisome thoughts completely.
“This morning at Pádraig’s, just before he started his journey to Tara. Your father expects to be gone at least a fortnight, far too long for Liam to get by without help.”
“How pleasant your company will be. I only hope my father is not delayed in his return,” said Keelin sarcastically. With that she touched Nellie’s side, sending the mare trotting off toward the village.
Curse it, thought Keelin as she rode toward the village. She felt oddly disheartened. For all her beauty, Brigid was calculating and devious. How could Brian be so deceived by her? Keelin was not sure she could tolerate his casual disregard should he dine with them each evening. On the other hand, at least her mother would be pleased. She mentioned just the other day how she missed seeing Brian. Keelin wished she could be more like her mother who faced life’s troubles with equanimity and steadfast strength. But she was nothing like her mother. Keelin was different—arguably a little witch as Brian so often called her.

CHAPTER six

eelin sat on a bench in front of Nuala’s cottage working on her Dagda cloak. She had always found sewing and mending tedious work offering little satisfaction. Creating her Dagda cloak was the one exception. As she painstakingly embroidered beautiful images with silver and gold thread on the fine wool cloak of deep purple, she let her imagination wander. She dreamt of performing heroic feats in strange lands, saving kingdoms from dreaded epidemics, and soaring through the heavens. She saw herself wearing her magnificent cloak, looking regal with her petite frame transformed by the cloak’s enchanting powers. She also imagined the dream. She would finally stand before the man on the footpath and see his face.
It had rained throughout the night and into the morning. Keelin had spent the early hours of the day in Nuala’s apothecary, which was connected to her cottage by a covered breezeway. The apothecary was a wondrous place to Keelin. Its stout door opened into a large room that was both Nuala’s surgery and study. In the center of the room was an oak table, its smooth flat surface burnished and immaculate. Overhead hung oil lamps suspended from the rafters of the thatch roof. Bundles of herbs hung drying from hooks along the western wall and three windows dotted the south side of the building, shuttered today to keep out the rain but open during fine weather to let in fresh air and light. The opposite wall was lined with shelves that held pots and jars filled with tonics and medicinal herbs, each identified by name and purpose in Nuala’s distinctive script. Other shelves held manuscripts detailing human anatomy and physiology, surgeries, medicinal formulas, and diseases. Many of the manuscripts were written in foreign languages with strange characters, while others were penned by Nuala. Most of the foreign manuscripts were Romhanach, and when Keelin asked Nuala how she had acquired them, the priestess replied, “When you are ready I will tell you.” It was one of Nuala’s many cryptic and illogical responses that infuriated Keelin.
Just before noon the rain stopped and the sky cleared. Keelin opened the apothecary windows and went to the cottage. After eating cheese and bread she had brought with her, Keelin retrieved her Dagda cloak from a large oak chest and went outside to finish her embroidery work. In the midst of a particularly fine fantasy, Keelin happened to look up and see Nuala striding toward her.
No one could help but be impressed with the priestess. Nuala was tall, standing nearly at eye level with the clan’s most imposing warriors. Her frame, however, was not large, merely elongated, and she was thin almost to the point of emaciation. She had thick, dark brown hair that she partially swept up with a silver clasp; the rest tumbled down her back, glossy and reed straight. Her face was angular, like her body, with a straight, thin nose, prominent cheekbones, and a high forehead too austere for beauty. Nuala’s skin was pale, almost translucent, and her piercing gray-blue eyes were those of a zealot. It would have been a chillingly ascetic face had it not been for her mouth with its full, beautifully formed lips. Perhaps, not surprisingly, few took notice of Nuala’s individual features, such was the powerful, phantasmal aura that she presented.
Keelin was about to spring from the bench when Nuala called, “Stay as you are. I am pleased to see you are finishing your cloak, all the while dreaming of glorious deeds and grand victories, I might add.” Nuala raised an eyebrow and smiled.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” retorted Keelin, thinking how disconcerting Nuala could be. “I have been working in the apothecary all morning and thought I would put the finishing touches on my cloak this afternoon. It’s beautiful, is it not?”
Nuala nodded in agreement. Nuala’s own cloak was of the darkest pine, vivid and rich, with a beautiful scene of the stars, moon, and sun. The stars and moon were woven with precious strands of silver and the sun shone with threads of gold. Each cloak was reversible, the unadorned side always a muted brown. Normally, Nuala wore the unadorned side out. Today, the silver and gold threads on the deep green wool shimmered in the sunlight.
“But how is it that you have returned so soon from Tara?” Keelin asked. “Has my father returned also?”
“Your father has not returned. He will likely be gone longer than he first thought, perhaps as long as a full cycle of the moon.”
“Is there trouble?” Keelin asked with alarm. “Have the chieftains rejected the call to unite?”
“Your father has yet to address the chieftains. However, he has a strong ally in Fionn, undoubtedly Eire’s greatest warrior. Both men have like minds and together will argue for unification. They will face strong resistance but I believe they will prevail.”
“And what of the Romhanach? Have we learned more of their intentions?”
“No. Some argue that we will not know whether an invasion is imminent until early spring. That, of course, is nonsense. Agricola has grand ambitions. The only questions remaining are when and where his legions will invade. It is now up to The Dagda to seek the answers.”
Keelin had been about to pepper Nuala with a flurry of her own questions but stopped short. “The Dagda?” she blurted.
“Yes, The Dagda. The high priest Fearghus has divined a means to aid Eire. Those of us with powers of the mind will gather details of the invasion so that Eire’s warriors may prepare more effectively for the assault. Further, we have been given license to use our powers to coerce and confuse the Romhanach.”
“How can we possibly aid our warriors on the battlefield using only powers of the mind?”
“Keelin, you are not listening, nor using your knowledge. We cannot aid our warriors on the battlefield. That is forbidden. We will, instead, become spies for Eire and manipulators of the mind. We may be able to influence Agricola. I, for one, am skeptical. But there are those of The Dagda who believe it possible. We shall see.”
Keelin felt a rush of excitement course through her, intense and galvanizing. “Tell me all now!”
“You will learn all very soon. Now, however, I want to hear of our patients. Tell me what has happened here during my absence. I wish first to hear how the treatments of young Eoin are progressing.”
Keelin regarded Nuala with frustration. “How can I calmly speak of our patients when you dangle such news before me? I cannot endure it!”
Nuala gave Keelin a sharp and reproving look but said nothing. She then turned and started toward the path that led away from her cottage.
Keelin could do nothing but follow her.

“A priestess will arrive this afternoon who will become your teacher for the foreseeable future,” said Nuala casually. Keelin had finished telling the priestess of the events of the past week and the two had walked down to the creek that flowed near Nuala’s cottage. They stood on large rocks that bordered the creek, watching the fast-moving water as it cascaded down from the mountain pass. Nuala had chosen the location to build her cottage well. It sat at the base of a sizable mountain range. The leeward face of the range and an oak grove afforded protection from strong winds and weather, and the creek provided fresh, clear water. There were no farms nearby and the lone cottage sat as a picturesque sentinel guarding the mountain pass.
“Another teacher? Your knowledge in the art of healing is without equal,” responded Keelin with alarm. “I wish to study only with you.” These last words escaped Keelin’s lips unbidden.
“Do not fret, Keelin,” said Nuala, sounding impatient. “You need not abandon your skills as a healer to develop your powers of the mind. Both will be needed in our defense of Eire. I have the power to read the thoughts of others. You have the ability to invade another’s mind with your own thoughts. The priestess Deirdre has powers very similar to yours and can teach you far more than I can. You will begin studying with her at once.” Nuala continued to gaze at the rushing water.
Her temper flaring, Keelin blurted out, “I am forever in the dark! You plot the course of my life as you please, never allowing me a voice. Now it seems I am to use my powers of the mind for the defense of Eire and yet I still know nothing. You did not even tell me of the Romhanach threat . . . I feel I have earned the right to your secrets.”
Nuala was unmoved. “I will decide what secrets you will know and when you will know them. You must earn the privilege to stand as my equal.”
“I have never betrayed your confidences nor revealed the powers the gods bestowed upon me.”