To the Waters and the Wild

by S C McGrath

  The old peddler noticed Keelin eyeing the shawl and picked it up, gently placing it around her shoulders. “The colors suit you to perfection with those glorious eyes of yours. Feel the fine silk. There is none to compare with it.”

  The peddler then looked round nervously and stepped back, a small muscle below his left eye twitching spasmodically.

  “Have no fear, the high priestess is not with me today,” said Keelin, knowing the peddler found Nuala unsettling. No doubt because she always knew when he made false claims about his merchandise.

  The peddler relaxed and smiled, showing his yellow, crooked teeth. “And will you buy the shawl, lass? None other than you would do it justice.”

  Keelin ran her hand lightly over the fabric. “Yes, I will. It is indeed lovely.”

  

  With the beautiful shawl resting lightly around her shoulders and a basket in hand, Keelin strolled through the marketplace feeling decidedly happy. She was enjoying her freedom, knowing it would not last much longer. Samhain was drawing near and the festival would mark her entry to The Dagda, however transitory. She was resigned to taking her novitiate vows and doing her part to defeat the Romhanach. In truth, she was excited at the prospect of using her powers of the mind against Eire’s enemy. Moreover, she could not deny the pull of the Otherworld. It promised an escape from the confining boundaries of Eire. In her more fanciful moments, Keelin imagined Otherworld adventures with Brian and Séamus. However, the mere thought of Brian now sobered her. She had not seen him since the night they had danced together, and her father said Brian was leaving tomorrow to train with the Fianna at Tara.

  Keelin was inspecting some dried herbs when she looked up and spotted Brian across the marketplace. He was standing with two unfamiliar young men, one of them partially blocked from her view. Her pulse quickened and she tightened her grip around the basket handle. Brian looked handsome and relaxed, obviously enjoying himself. She dragged her eyes from him and turned her attention to the young men. One was large and bulky—though not in the least fat, an intimidating presence. He laughed rowdily, gesturing to Brian and the other man, who was leaning against a post with his feet crossed in front of him, only his profile visible. She was so busy scrutinizing the big red-headed man that she failed to notice when the other stranger turned and stared straight at her. His gaze staggered her, for he was quite possibly the most handsome, perfect-looking man she had ever seen. Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes. However, she quickly recovered and shot a defiant glance toward him before turning her attention pointedly to the herbs she had been examining.

  When Keelin looked up again, the young men were walking toward her. She watched as they made their way through the throng of people, imagining a cowardly escape. She had admittedly avoided Brian since the night they had danced, as he had seemingly avoided her. She feared the depth of her feelings for Brian. Even more, she feared he did not share those feelings. Why else would he avoid her? Curse him, she thought, angrily, her temper rising. I can make my way very well without him. She stood resolutely, waiting for Brian and the young men to reach her.

  “Keelin, my friends wish most earnestly to make your acquaintance,” said Brian. “Seán, Ruaidhrí, this is Keelin, a healer of renown and the daughter of our chieftain, Conall.”

  “I spied you across the marketplace and was captivated, fair Keelin,” said Seán, bowing.

  “Pleased to meet you, lass,” said Ruaidhrí. “I am indebted to your teacher, the priestess Nuala, who came to my aid at Tara.”

  Nodding a greeting to both men and enjoying Seán’s gallantry, however disingenuous, Keelin looked more closely at the two Fianna. Seán was even more handsome than he appeared at a distance, and his eyes were not blue as she expected but green, with flecks of amber. Ruaidhrí was indeed a giant of a man and she wondered how Nuala had come to his aid. Then she remembered. Addressing him she asked, “Are you the warrior who sustained a blow to the head?”

  “The very same warrior, I must admit,” said Ruaidhrí rather ruefully. “Seán, here, bested me in a contest of pugil sticks.”

  “It was a grand battle,” said Seán.

  “The outcome would be different should we fight again,” said Ruaidhrí.

  Seán shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Keelin could not disagree with Ruaidhrí. There was something menacing about the bigger man that gave Keelin pause. “Well, I wish to witness the next contest if ever it comes to pass,” said Keelin.

  “You are interested in such things?” questioned Seán.

  Keelin heard both surprise and skepticism in Seán’s tone and she bristled slightly.

  Brian nodded. “Keelin is a bloodthirsty lass, for all that she is a practiced healer. When we were young, Eirnín had his sons and me box and wrestle, long before we started training with Pádraig. It was all Eirnín could do to keep Keelin from jumping into the fray. As it was, she would stand on the sidelines and shadow box, yelling both words of encouragement and taunts to the contestants. I might add that the taunts were usually directed at me.”

  Keelin frowned slightly and then laughed, conceding the truth of Brian’s words.

  “I do enjoy such matches. I have never been a very good spectator. Instead, I wish to be part of a good fight. Uncle Eirnín always let me join in on all other competitions of agility and strength, although Aunt Meghan frowned on it all, saying that it was ‘frightful, shocking, to allow such a young lass and poor Saraid’s only child, to join the lads in such rough and tumble sports! Truly shocking!’” Keelin had placed her hands on her hips, mimicking Aunt Meghan perfectly.

  Both Brian and Seán laughed heartily, but Ruaidhrí had not been listening and was instead staring across the marketplace where a group of men stood.

  “Who do you see?” asked Brian as they all followed Ruaidhrí’s gaze.

  “A man I thought I saw at Tara several times,” said Ruaidhrí. “I believe he belongs to one of the midland clans.”

  “Why would he be here?” asked Seán. “Let us go question him.”

  “No, I was wrong. He is not the same man, though very similar in stature and carriage to the other at Tara. Besides, he has already departed and I see no reason to search for him,” said Ruaidhrí, dismissing his friend’s suggestion. “Instead, I wish to find Moira.” Looking down at Keelin, he said, “Do you know where your cousin might be selling her cheeses? I promised her I would come visit.”

  Keelin had been about to question Ruaidhrí about the stranger, a prickly sensation running along her spine. At his mention of Moira, however, the stranger vanished from her thoughts. Moira was Uncle Eirnín and Aunt Meagan’s oldest daughter and looked like her mother. But the similarity ended there, the girl being sweet, shy, and obliging. Keelin had shamelessly bossed Moira around when they were little, even though her cousin was two years her senior. Of late, Keelin had come to respect the unassuming Moira. Now it seemed the intimidating Ruaidhrí had taken a fancy to her.

  “Moira’s booth is at the other end of the marketplace,” said Keelin. “I would be happy to show you, but first there are several booths I must visit—”

  “Do not be bothering yourself, Keelin,” responded Ruaidhrí. “No doubt I will find her with little trouble.” With a nod to Keelin, he turned and left them, striding purposefully away.

  “Last night it was clear Ruaidhrí was enchanted by both Moira and the wonderful meal she prepared,” said Seán. “I only hope his intentions are honorable, for I have no doubt her fierce mother would gladly cut out his heart while he sleeps if they are not.” Seán smiled, his eyes twinkling, but Keelin could hear the concern in his voice. She turned to Brian, her eyes questioning.

  “Ruaidhrí seems genuinely taken with Moira. But do not worry too much about your cousin. I believe she possesses the iron will of her mother without the fearful temper. Moira is well able to take care of herself.”

  “Yes, I believe she is,” said Keelin, smiling up at Brian. He smiled back and seemed about to say something before th
inking better of it.

  “Well, I for one much prefer your company, Keelin, to that of the besotted Ruaidhrí,” said Seán, bowing with a flourish and offering Keelin his arm. “Let Brian and me escort you through the marketplace.”

  Keelin nodded and, shifting the basket to her left hand, took Seán’s offered arm. Brian stepped around to her other side and the three set off.

  

  Keelin enjoyed strolling from booth to booth flanked by Seán and Brian. The two young men were quick-witted and their conversation was amusing. Keelin joined in occasionally but for the most part simply savored these carefree moments. She was surprised how easy it was to show only friendly affection for Brian. She caught him studying her once but he had quickly looked away, his veiled eyes telling her nothing of his thoughts.

  The three had not yet reached Moira’s booth when Brigid approached them. Keelin noticed that both Brian and Seán watched her expectantly, and in spite of her best intentions, she felt her combative instincts surface. She quite unconsciously dropped her hand from Seán’s arm. The joy of the afternoon vanished in an instant and she dreaded the thought of politely tolerating Brigid’s presence.

  Seán was the first to speak as Brigid reached them. “What a pleasure it is to see you again so soon, Brigid. We are on our way to Moira’s booth. Would you care to join us?”

  “I can think of nothing that would please me more.” Brigid smiled at both young men and, stepping between Keelin and Brian, possessively took his arm.

  Brigid turned to Seán and said, “You undoubtedly met Moira last night and sampled her superb cooking. The cheeses she sells at the market are delicious, though I am afraid she consumes far too much of her own merchandise. She is looking more like her mother with each passing day and it worries me so.” Brigid sighed, her lovely brow etched with concern. “Moira is such a dear, sweet girl, but far too shy and timid, finding comfort only in food. It breaks my heart to think of her alone, but I am afraid that might very well happen.”

  “I would not worry any further about Moira,” Seán assured Brigid, “for my friend Ruaidhrí is determined to keep her company.”

  “Is that so? How perfectly wonderful.” Dismissing the topic of Moira and Ruaidhrí with the toss of her long blonde hair, Brigid gazed up at Brian and squeezed his arm. With conspiratorial delight, she proclaimed, “You will never guess my exciting news! Mother’s people have invited us to Tara for Samhain. Pádraig was kind enough to offer mother and me escort when he heard of our proposed journey. In fact, Pádraig was especially eager to do so now that my brother Cillian will be riding his young stallion in the horse race there.” She then acknowledged Keelin’s presence for the first time. “What a pity, you will miss the celebration at Tara. Pádraig has told me that all of the Fianna warriors will be there this year, including our handsome companions.” Brigid squeezed Brian’s arm again while casting an alluring eye at Seán.

  “But I will be traveling to Tara,” Keelin said, enjoying the effect her words had on Brigid.

  “Whoever will you be journeying with? I understood your father is to remain here, readying our warriors for the supposed invasion.” Brigid did not try to hide her annoyance at such a thought.

  “I am to accompany the priestesses Nuala and Deirdre,” said Keelin. “We will leave in a week.”

  “For what purpose?” questioned Brian sharply, his abruptness startling both Keelin and Brigid.

  “I am to participate in Samhain’s ordination ceremony and will be recognized as a novice of The Dagda.”

  “You are too young to be a novice. One must be eighteen and you just turned seventeen.” Brian looked down at Keelin, disbelieving.

  “The threat of invasion has prompted even The Dagda to ease their strict rules. I am needed, my . . . gifts being useful.” Keelin glanced at Brian, but he was now staring straight ahead and made no response. She wished she had kept silent.

  “Well, it seems I am in exalted company today—dear little Keelin nearly a priestess and two brave Fianna warriors.” Brigid sighed and then her expression brightened. “Here we are at Moira’s booth. It appears she still has some of her cheeses left.”

  Keelin took their arrival at the booth as an opportunity to take her leave. After greeting Moira, she said, “I must go now. I have patients to visit at outlying farms.”

  With uncharacteristic boldness, Moira urged, “Please stay, Keelin. And you must come for dinner tonight. Mother has been asking after you and wondering why you have not visited in so long.”

  “Please send your mother my regrets and tell her I will see her soon. Now I really must be off.” Keelin turned and hurried toward the animal pens where her horse and cart waited. She paid no attention to several greetings along the way, intent only on escaping the marketplace. She had been very close to losing her temper and wreaking havoc on Brigid’s mind with her starling powers. She imagined the most fearful and delightful mind torments to inflict and could not help smiling to herself rather malevolently. Reaching Bran, she patted him on the neck, gave him a carrot, and quickly hitched him to the cart. She was heading out of town, her anger simmering, when she heard a horse approaching from behind. Turning, she saw Brian cantering Rónán toward her. She halted Bran and loosened her grip on the reins.

  When Brian reached her, she said, “Did you not wish to stay with the lovely Brigid? Such a kind heart she has.”

  Brian cursed and shook his head. Keelin could feel her hackles rise and sat up in the cart a little straighter.

  “Did you think I would not challenge your asinine decision more vehemently? You are a fool, Keelin. You are no more suited a priestess than I a farmer. It will be torture for you.”

  “Do not presume to know what I am or am not suited for,” retorted Keelin, picking up the reins in preparation to depart. “And, though it is none of your concern, I have no intention of becoming a priestess like Nuala.”

  “But what of your gift as a healer? Is that not your passion to the exclusion of all else?” Brian’s voice was rough with emotion. “Long ago, Eirnín told me to protect you because the gods had singled you out for a higher purpose. I have tried. When we were young it was easy. Now . . . it is not.”

  “And what of Brigid and all the other lasses you court?” Keelin asked, unwilling to concede his selflessness. “I am a healer but I am also a woman, and seeing you kiss the detestable Brigid is not easy for me.”

  Brian looked at her hard, his scrutiny intense, but she glared right back. After several seconds, he abruptly smiled, his eyes at once friendly. “Well then, I will see you at Tara?”

  “I will be busy and have no time for the likes of you,” said Keelin, still angry.

  Brian chuckled and reined his horse back around. “Nonetheless, I will see you there, lass.”

  

  It was dusk and dark shadows hid the rider from view, his horse standing amongst a stand of trees just off the main road. The man heard something behind him and turned quickly toward the sound but could see nothing. Impatient and tense, he rolled his shoulders and neck, trying to ease the tightness of his muscles. Then, almost as a ghost, another rider was beside him.

  “You would do well not to surprise me like that again.” He spoke cordially enough but the threat was evident.

  “Your advice is taken,” said the second man.

  “You sneak around in the dark but foolishly showed yourself in the marketplace today. Are you mad or just simple?”

  “You know I am neither. The marketplace held no danger. Strangers from parts near and far were present. I was but one more. Now tell me what more you have learned about Fionn’s plans for the defense of Eire. I have no doubt Agricola is impatiently awaiting my dispatch.”

  

  CHAPTER twenty-two

  

  eelin was hovering at the edge of sleep and consciousness. The drone of discordant chanting at first stole into her dream and then jarred her awake. She opened her eyes to darkness and cursed under her breath as she list
ened to the familiar prayer recitations of Saoirse, a particularly devout novitiate who seemed to pray endlessly.

  “Cease your incessant praying and let me sleep!” hissed Keelin. Her eyes swept the darkness and she could detect no movement. All the other novitiates are sound asleep, she thought with disgust. Saoirse’s praying actually soothed them, such was their unwavering devotion. Keelin shuddered, thinking of what life would be like with these dreary souls.

  When Saoirse paid her no heed, Keelin spoke soundlessly. “The gods are not pleased.”

  Saoirse stopped abruptly, startled by a voice she did not recognize. She then started up again with increased fervor. Keelin could only imagine the girl believed the gods were scolding her lack of enthusiasm.

  Now fully awake, Keelin got up, threw a woolen shawl round her shoulders, and crept outside. Patches of ground fog scattered the campsite and thick clouds hovered overhead. She could see the dark shapes of priests and priestesses already moving about and several campfires were being set. No one seemed to notice her as she left the camp and headed toward the hill of Tara.

  Keelin had been at Tara for more than a week and could feel herself being drawn inexorably into the web of The Dagda. Since the moment she arrived, the tomb of passage had beckoned her, alluringly mystical and promising. This morning in the dark, she walked with sure steps toward the sacred site atop the hill, never faltering or losing her way. The tomb granted the souls of the dead passage to their new lives and Keelin sensed it held the key to her fate. She also felt tantalizingly close to the Otherworld when near the tomb. Deirdre had told her that to enter the Otherworld, the soul must transcend the body. It was necessary to clear the mind of everything but its spiritual essence. Only then could the body’s substance fade, allowing the soul to move freely from one world to the next. Keelin, not being particularly spiritual, thought such a feat would be impossible for her. Yet standing at the tomb’s entrance, she could almost feel her soul reach out for the Otherworld. In those moments she felt disembodied, more a specter than a flesh and bones woman.