To the Waters and the Wild
Page 9
Amazed, Keelin agreed excitedly. “Yes, how do you do that?”
Deirdre smiled, looking very pleased with herself. Again, without speaking aloud or even moving her lips, she added, “I can also communicate in a voice that is not mine or anyone else’s, but instead gives one the impression of one’s own thought.”
Keelin shuddered. “One could wreak havoc on the minds of others with that power.”
“Yes, we could. Perhaps that is why our power is so rare. You and I are the only starlings on Eire. At least the only ones The Dagda is aware of.”
“So how can we use our starling power against the Rom-hanach?”
“Our primary purpose is to spy on them. We must learn their battle plans, their invasion site, and their strength in numbers. Granted, our powers of the mind will be less useful than Nuala’s in this regard. We cannot read Agricola’s thoughts, but we can, shall we say, coerce them.”
When Keelin did not respond, Deirdre continued. “We will use our starling power to convey thoughts of doubt and defeat to Agricola and his officers. We now know Domitian denied Agricola reinforcements, although the emperor did not expressly forbid the invasion. Agricola must win a resounding victory in Eire if he is to maintain his position within the Romhanach military. If he fears defeat—and we will plant within him the seeds of doubt—he may abandon his plan for invasion. We could have even more success in influencing Domitian to order a halt to the invasion. The emperor’s ill will toward Agricola can be easily exploited by us. Domitian has no wish for Agricola to add to his laurels with a victory in Eire. . . .”
Deirdre continued but Keelin stopped listening. She knew nothing of the politics of the Romhanach, and Deirdre’s excited discourse left her mind numb. Her thoughts instead wandered, imagining an arid land with expansive valleys and distant mountain ranges.
“I see you have no interest in the political chess game I describe.”
Keelin shrugged. “I hoped our mission would be . . . different. Also, how will our spying benefit Eire? Nuala has told me The Dagda can only share vague auguries.”
“In this regard we have an ally. Déaglán will convey all we learn to the chieftains. His knowledge of the Romhanach is not questioned, and even his supposed conjectures will be heeded.”
“He knows of our powers?”
“I would say that what he long suspected about The Dagda was recently confirmed.”
Keelin noted that though the young priestess’s clear blue eyes appeared guileless, there was a devilish tilt to her lips.
“And, of course, Déaglán can be trusted,” added Deirdre. “He can also tell us much about Domitian and Agricola. We must understand our enemies if we are to be effective spies for Eire.” The young priestess placed her arm around Keelin’s shoulder. “But enough of that for now. Before we begin our lessons, I wish to know more about you. Tell me of your life.”
“There is little to tell. I have no exciting tales or grand adventures to relate.”
“Your adventures will soon begin, I can assure you.”
Keelin’s brows knit as she contemplated how best to describe her childhood before the boar attack, for everything changed after that. However, once Keelin began she found it refreshingly easy and comforting to share the details of her childhood with Deirdre. Long-forgotten events seemed to crowd her mind, and the words tumbled out as she excitedly told Deirdre of her family and friends, and of Rua, her magnificent stallion. Some of her fondest memories were of the times she spent at her Uncle Eirnín’s and Aunt Meghan’s farm. Keelin remembered the warm summer days she and her cousins spent fishing, swimming, or competing in a variety of games that her uncle would invent.
“After Uncle Eirnín was killed in the last clan battle, some of the joy of visiting my cousins left me,” Keelin admitted. “However, by then I was already spending far less time at their farm because I had begun my studies with Nuala.”
“And what of your gifts as a healer and starling? How did they influence you?”
“I suppose as a healer I have seen more of life and death than others of my age. However, I would not recommend my experiences to the faint-hearted or squeamish, for I have seen sights that can elicit the most fearful nightmares.”
“And what of your starling gift?”
“It has always reminded me of how different I am from everyone else. It seems the gods were not content in singling me out with small stature. There were whispers that I was a fairy changeling, my parents’ real daughter spirited away by evil demons. If my father were not the chieftain, I imagine the gossip and tales would have been worse.”
“Were you teased when you were young?”
“Yes, but the boys who teased me paid a dear price.”
Keelin rarely thought of the teasing and bullying anymore. The day it ended was a more vivid memory. She had been eight years old when Brian had come upon a group of village boys taunting her about her diminutive size. She remembered standing there as the boys mocked her and laughed. She was more angry than hurt and waited for an opportunity to strike. Her father had always told her that when facing overwhelming odds in battle, the element of surprise could shift the advantage. Suddenly, she lunged at the leader of the bullies, catching him off balance and knocking him to the ground, her hands punching and gouging. She did not hear the other boys roar in delight as the object of her wrath soon got the better of her. Nor did she immediately hear Brian when he stepped into the clearing and shouted, “Let her go, now!”
The boys looked over and, seeing Brian standing there, stepped back from Keelin. The boy on the ground slowly stood up, his eyes downcast, afraid to look at Brian. Keelin scrambled to her feet and gave the bully a swift kick in the shin, her chin jutting out in defiance as he grimaced in pain.
Brian strode toward the group, his face murderous. “Now, which one of you would like to repeat your taunts to me?”
The boys stood there, shifting from one foot to the other, silent with their heads down.
“No? Is it that you reserve your cruel words only for little girls half your size? Well, I give you fair warning. If you ever accost Keelin again, in any manner whatsoever, you will answer to me. I am sure Séamus and his brothers would also relish a good fight. Am I understood?”
The boys nodded, finally shamed into looking Brian in the eyes.
After the boys left, Brian offered Keelin his hand. “Come now, lass, I will walk you home.”
Keelin refused his hand and brushed past him. After taking several strides away, she stopped and turned back, her head held high. “Thank you for your help but I can take care of myself. Dáire is a bully and the others just follow him. They are of no account.” With her eyes now glistening with unshed tears, she blurted out, “And I am not a little girl! You are as bad as they are!” With that, she turned and ran off, not once looking back.
The memory of that day had always evoked humiliation, with her anger directed at Brian. Today she felt only regret.

CHAPTER ten

eelin, I will be visiting Aunt Meghan and your cousins today. Would you take these to the sacred hill?”
Keelin had been about to leave the cottage, excited to spend another day with Deirdre. Impatiently, she turned and looked at her mother. Saraid held out a small bouquet of flowers, their delicate petals vibrant with color. Keelin at once remembered: these last beauties from her mother’s fading garden were to be placed on Uncle Eirnín’s grave, commemorating the end of the last battle of the clans and her uncle’s death.
“Of course I will take them,” responded Keelin, taking the flowers then kissing her mother’s cheek. Saraid put her arms around her daughter and held her close. Keelin still loved her mother’s comforting embrace, never tiring of that special feeling of safety and calm.
“And if you see Brian at the sacred hill, be kind to him. He seemed distracted last night and left long before dawn this morning.” Saraid’s voice was gentle but Keelin could hear the underlying force of
her mother’s counsel. Keelin nodded, remembering Brian’s brooding hostility and silence at dinner. She had not guessed the reason for his dark mood and now regretted her uncharitable thoughts of the evening.
“Well, be off then,” said Saraid, lightly brushing a kiss on Keelin’s forehead. In spite of the solemnity of the moment, Keelin couldn’t help but reflect on how her mother still had to bend down to plant a kiss. Why did the gods choose to make me so small? she thought with resentment. Her happy mood of the morning was taking a decidedly bleak turn.

Keelin hitched Liam’s bay gelding, Bran, to the cart and was soon approaching the family’s burial ground. It sat atop a small hill covered with closely cropped grass still burdened by heavy dew. Sheep grazed frequently on the hill but today there were none to be seen. Keelin saw only the stone cairns that marked each grave as she walked up the hill, having left Bran below to graze. She made her way to Eirnín’s grave and placed her mother’s flowers on top of the cairn. Then she sat down on the soft grass, heedless of its dampness, and recited a favorite prayer to the gods.
“Uncle Eirnín, we all miss you,” Keelin said. She lowered her head so that her cheek was resting on one of the cold, smooth stones of the cairn. “I can’t hear you anymore. You have passed to your new life and have left us behind. It should be thus but we still grieve.” Then her mind slipped back in time to the day of Eirnín’s death. It had been five years, but Keelin remembered every detail as though it were yesterday.
A truce had been called to allow both clans to treat their wounded and carry away their dead. The battle that morning had been brutal and the slaughter great, each side suffering fearful losses. To put an end to the bloodshed, her father had challenged the chieftain of the enemy clan to single combat, and that contest was to take place the next morning.
Keelin had been studying the healing arts with Nuala for almost two years and accompanied the priestess to the battlefield. The sights that awaited her would be seared into her memory forever. The ground was littered with the abandoned weapons of war and everywhere there was blood, its slippery wetness already congealing and its metallic stench filling Keelin’s nostrils. The dead were scattered amongst the living, their bodies lying in grotesque positions, their white skin waxy, covered with rivulets of blood and flies. Moans and cries of pain punctuated an otherwise eerily quiet scene.
Keelin followed Nuala as they made their way from one downed warrior to the next, the Priestess assessing the damage and ministering to the living. Eventually, men began collecting the shields, spears, and swords of the fallen warriors and piled them at the edge of the battlefield to be claimed later by grieving families. Keelin quietly assisted Nuala, cleaning wounds, applying bandages, and carrying her satchel of medicines. Many of the wounded were carried from the field to be treated elsewhere. The more grievously wounded often required immediate attention, and Keelin’s hands were surprisingly sure and her mind focused as she and Nuala worked desperately to save lives.
Keelin was standing next to Nuala as the priestess tended to yet another warrior when she glanced to her right and saw her uncle Eirnín. He lay flat on his back, his eyes mercifully closed. His shield lay upon his chest, covering much of his body and, undoubtedly, the wound that had killed him, for his face, arms, and legs looked unscathed. His sword had been driven into the ground next to him in quiet and stark tribute to his heroic death. Keelin suddenly felt an overwhelming sensation of nausea and weakness, the gruesome sights of the morning not affecting her nearly as much as the silent repose of her beloved uncle.
“Keelin! Do you hear me?” Nuala’s voice entered her consciousness and she tore her eyes from her uncle.
“Keelin, please return to camp and tell one of the men to bring a wagon transport for this man. Then stay in camp and prepare beds and more bandages and supplies for surgery. I will return soon and no longer need your assistance here.”
Nuala held Keelin’s eyes and gently motioned her to leave, willing the girl not to look upon her uncle again. Stricken, Keelin stumbled back to camp where she hid behind a cluster of trees and retched until she felt empty and exhausted. She then smoothed her hair and quietly and mechanically began folding bandages and readying beds for more wounded.

“Dear Uncle Eirnín,” said Keelin quietly as she straightened back up to a sitting position next to Eirnín’s grave. She sat there quietly and then let her mind relive all of the wonderful times she had had with her uncle and his family. She was actually laughing silently when she felt someone’s presence and turned to see Brian standing there. Their eyes met, hers soft with happy memories, his guarded and dark. Brian walked up beside her and knelt down on one knee, his hands clenched atop his left thigh, his eyes fixed on her mother’s flowers.
“I thought I might see you here this morning,” Keelin said. “I was just remembering how much Uncle Eirnín loved a good contest of speed and agility. He was forever designing the most difficult obstacle courses, and I would get so angry because I would never win.”
“You were tough, though, even if you always finished last.”
“I beat Séamus once,” Keelin retorted.
“That was only because he cracked his head open when he fell and couldn’t finish the contest. Don’t you remember, he was swinging from one giant oak to the next when the rope broke and down he went.”
“Well, perhaps,” Keelin said, reluctantly conceding.
They sat there quietly for a moment and then Brian let out a ragged breath and whispered, “He was a grand man. I think of him every day and will miss him always, till I die.”
Keelin heard the pain and hurt in Brian’s voice, his customary veil of nonchalant bravado gone completely. She studied his profile—his head slightly bent, a strand of his black hair hiding his eyes. On impulse, Keelin stood up and kissed Brian’s forehead, much as her mother had kissed hers earlier. She immediately regretted her action, certain Brian would direct some cutting remark at her spontaneous display of compassion. Instead, he remained silent and still, the only visible sign of a reaction seen in his hands, his tensely clenched fists relaxing and his fingers spreading out to rest quietly on his thigh.
Finally, he spoke, his eyes still downcast. “Thank you lass, now go. It is best I am alone.”
Keelin turned from Brian and made her way down the hill then climbed up onto the cart. She picked up the reins and guided Bran to the road. There she stopped and glanced back at Brian. He still knelt at Eirnín’s grave, silent and stark against a brilliant sky. Keelin sighed and lightly flicked the reins on Bran’s rump, sending him trotting off down the road.

It was late afternoon by the time Keelin and Deirdre left what was no better than a bumpy cow path and steered Bran onto a wide country road. Deirdre heaved a sigh of relief when the cart rolled smoothly over the hard-packed rock and clay. They had just visited a remote farm where Keelin was treating a farmer’s young wife who had suffered yet another miscarriage. The mournful pall that enveloped the household, combined with the rough jarring of the cart, had left both women’s nerves frayed.
As was always the case, Deirdre recovered quickly. “I feel sure that young Saoirse’s next child will be born healthy and strong. A boy, I believe.”
Keelin, somewhat annoyed with Deirdre’s optimism and not ready to abandon her dark mood, replied, “It that so? Are you a soothsayer as well as a starling?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. I do not see the future but often I have feelings or visions, and sometimes dreams that foretell, or at least hint at, what might come. Admittedly, not all my visions come to pass. Still, I have learned never to regard them as mere flights of fancy.”
Deirdre’s words struck a chord with Keelin, unsettling and almost frightening her. Sometimes, when she successfully controlled her emotions, she could hear, feel, and sense things that were not real.
“Is it . . . possible,” asked Keelin haltingly, “that I might see things as well?” They wer
e now passing the crags of Loich’s Gap and the sandstone cliff cast a dark shadow along the road.
“Undoubtedly. You are a starling and, as I have said, we are harbingers of fate, or at least of things that might be. I believe fate is not absolute. There is an ability within all of us to alter life’s course. But tell me, have you already had such visions?”
Keelin was about to answer Deirdre when a falcon swooped low in front of them. Then the beautiful raptor banked, soaring up along the sheer face of the crag, finally alighting on the branch of an aspen high above.
Keelin halted Bran and exclaimed, “That is Bronach, my Uncle Eirnín’s prized falcon!” Without hesitation, Keelin handed Deirdre the reins, jumped from the cart, and ran toward the crag’s base.
“The bird is hopelessly out of reach, Keelin!” Deirdre called after her. “What is your purpose?”
Laughing, almost crying, Keelin shouted over her shoulder, “I am going to climb!” She did not have time to explain to Deirdre that Uncle Eirnín had taught her, along with his sons and Brian, how to climb these crags many years ago. It was great sport and Keelin loved it because her small size proved an advantage, and only Brian could consistently beat her to the top.
At the moment all she could think of was Bronach, her uncle’s pride and joy who had flown off shortly after his death. Keelin and Brian had kept a tally of the times they had each spotted the falcon over the years. Often the sightings were near where Eirnín had taken Bronach to hunt, both man and bird reveling in the aerial chase. Keelin could not help but wonder if some divine instinct had brought Bronach here, five years to the day of Eirnín’s death. She quickly reached the crag and tied her skirt up into makeshift trousers. Then she leapt up onto a low ledge and began climbing, her hands clawing the rocky holds and her feet digging into crevices as she pushed and pulled her way up the steep cliff.