Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma

by Brian O'Sullivan

  She grunted as she swung her legs off the sleeping platform. Grimacing in anticipation, she stood and placed her full weight on them but felt little more than a twinge in her knees. Her thigh and lower leg muscles were stiff but the swelling in the joints had subsided dramatically and she could move freely.

  Bodhmhall’s magic hands.

  Rolling her neck from side to side, Liath Luachra felt the tensed-up muscle crunch and crackle like twisted gristle. She looked down at the sleeping platform with its mound of twisted furs. The bandraoi was no longer there, of course, but the memory of her company left a pleasing emotional aftertaste.

  Bodhmhall’s earlier presence was also evident in the thoughtful arrangements of the roundhouse’s interior. It was pleasantly warm for the fire had recently been banked up with a fresh supply of wood. A fresh woollen tunic and breeches lay beside the sleeping platform and a bowl of warm water sat in the ashes. Liath Luachra used this to wash her face then wiped herself dry with an old piece of cloth. As she pulled on the fresh clothing, she felt altogether more human.

  It was only then that she heard the cry of the infant and stood, head cocked at an angle as she tried to work out what it was. After a moment, she snorted.

  Muirne’s brat.

  Despite herself, Liath Luachra couldn’t resist pausing to listen again. She was probably feeling oversensitive, she realised, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this sound, so alien to Glenn Ceoch, heralded some monumental change for Ráth Bládhma.

  With a sigh, she settled herself by the fire, sitting on the solid slab of polished wood that Cairbre often mockingly referred to as his ‘throne’. She had a hazy memory of the old man and one or two of his sons coming into the roundhouse to settle themselves on the other sleeping platforms at some point during the night. Too tired to do more than simply register their presence, she’d drifted back to sleep immediately and hadn’t heard them when they rose to leave again that morning.

  Rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes, she stared at the fire and nibbled on a hard oatmeal cake. When the entrance flap brushed aside, a draught of cold air flushed through the interior and even with her back to the opening, Liath Luachra recognised Bearach’s distinctive step.

  ‘What is it, Bearach?’

  There was a startled silence and she smiled to herself, knowing that she had surprised the boy.

  ‘It’s Bodhmhall, Liath Luachra. She wants you to join her and Fiacail mac Codhna. To discuss the defence of the ráth.’

  The warrior woman turned with heavy eyes to consider the boy.

  ‘These are the words she used? She “wants me” to come.’

  The boy shuffled uncomfortably beneath her gaze.

  ‘She didn’t say it like that, Grey One.’

  ‘I know, Bearach. I’m teasing. Thank you. You can tell Bodhmhall I’ll join her presently.’

  ‘I will.’

  As the youth made to leave, she returned to her contemplation of the flames but the absence of any sound from the entrance flap caused her to swivel about once more. Bearach was still standing there, staring at her closely.

  ‘Have I disappointed you, Grey One?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have I failed you in some way? Should I have come to support you at Drom Osna? I -’ He paused. ‘You do not speak to me. I feel shame that I have let you down.’

  Liath Luachra stared at him, a series of furrows slowly forming along her brow. For a moment, she considered brushing the question off with a generic response but a surge of insight prompted her to hold her tongue. The boy was genuinely distressed, fraught with feelings of shame and humiliation similar to those that she, herself, had so recently confessed to Bodhmhall.

  ‘You did not let me down,’ she said at last. ‘You followed my orders. If you had not done so, I would have struggled to trust you again. Bearach ...’ She trailed off, choosing her next words with care. ‘You are someone I would trust to walk the Great Wild with. I can think of no other person I would prefer to have at my side.’

  The boy’s chin lifted perceptibly.

  ‘It’s just ... you seemed distant when we were Out. When you came back you were silent and didn’t –’

  ‘Bearach, when we were Out I was contending with memories from times past, old poisons in my head that still taint my thinking. Such blemishes on my mood have no connection with you.’

  The boy looked ludicrously relieved by her words, almost grateful. He hesitantly tapped the reed-strewn floor with the tip of his toe.

  ‘I wish to be like you, Liath Luachra. I wish to be a gaiscíoch - a true warrior.’

  She stared at him in genuine astonishment. A moment later, she started to laugh. It was a rare sound for her and one that was surprisingly soft, if tinged with an underlying melancholy. ‘Ah, Bearach. You are truly the only one to make me raise a smile.’

  ‘I make no jest, Grey One. I wish to be a gaiscíoch like you. One day I hope to equal your skill as a fighter, your ability to work through the fight in your head. I want to learn courage such as yours. You know no fear when you are Out in the Great Wild.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The Great Wild backs down when I tramp through its forests. Wolves shit themselves and slink into the undergrowth at my passing. Even the Faceless Ones, the ghosts of hazy glades, hide and tell each other fearful tales of the dreaded Liath Luachra who will come through the shadows to take their heads.’

  The youth blushed at her gentle mockery. Picking at a loose thread on the hem of his tunic, he wound it about his index finger, tightening it until the tip of the digit grew white.

  ‘You are the best of us here in Ráth Bládhma.’

  ‘Which only goes to show how little of the Out you’ve actually seen, Bearach. There are many out there who would best me in a fight.’

  ‘But Aodhán says you beat Dún Baoiscne’s finest warriors. He says they fear you, that your reputation for war makes them quake in their boots.’

  ‘Aodhán needs to harness his tongue. And his fancies.’

  ‘He told me about the day you first came to Dún Baoiscne with Na Cineáltaí – the Kindly Ones – your fian of a hundred men. He says that you crushed their best fighters in single combat. Humiliated them. That you were too agile, too strong to be defeated.’

  Liath Luachra ground her teeth together.

  ‘I did defeat them. And, yes, I did humiliate them. But that was a mistake for which they never forgave me.’ She shrugged. ‘I understand that now. I’d probably have reacted in a similar manner if I was defeated by someone I considered weaker or in some way inferior.’

  ‘But you showed them!’ There was a shrill enthusiasm to the boy’s voice that made her cringe.

  ‘You have a warped understanding of things, Bearach. I accept that the fault is not yours for you base it on the tall tales of those who should know better. I will have strong words with Aodhán about putting such stories in your head.’

  The boy looked confused, almost disbelieving. ‘Aodhán has not spoken true?’

  Liath Luachra shifted awkwardly on her seat. She was uncomfortable having conversations of such depth with anyone other than Bodhmhall.

  ‘Aodhán’s claims hold a sliver of truth. I did lead Na Cineáltaí but that band never had more than ten men at any one time. They were brutal men, little more than killers -’ Her voice trailed off. ‘You must understand, Bearach, my life back then ... that was a different life. I was a different person. I had a haunting on me, a haunting so venomous that I became little better than a wounded animal: vicious, savage and very cruel.’

  Unable to bear his trusting gaze, she dropped her own eyes to the floor. ‘You have seen the way a dog will snap at a wound in its paw.’

  The boy nodded slowly.

  ‘It is the reaction of a stupid beast who knows no better. It experiences pain and immediately thinks it has been attacked. In its attempt to retaliate, to strike back, it hurts itself even more.’

  She reached down into the fire and pulled a burning brand
from the embers. Part of the wood had burned away and much of it was scorched and black but the tip was still red hot.

  ‘That was the way of me back in those days. Except that I didn’t strike at my own limbs. No, I was far too smart for that. I struck out at others instead. Bandits, reavers, murderers, sometimes even innocent people who merely looked at me the wrong way, at the wrong time on the wrong day.’

  She placed the tip of the burning brand against the back of her left hand. Bearach stared in horror as smoke from the skin rose up, the stink of burning flesh filing the air. Liath Luachra showed no sign of even noticing. Her eyes flared with a ragged intensity.

  ‘I had a belly full of venom, a heart full of gangrene and battle rage. This world had cut me to the quick and I was determined to hurt it back, to carve its filthy influence out of my heart. I hacked and cleaved a route through blood and sinew and bone when all that time my real target, the one thing I was truly trying to strike, was myself.’

  She paused and took a deep breath as she dropped the firebrand back into the fire. Her forehead was sweating profusely. Her heart thundered and there was a sickly taste in her mouth. She focused her attention on these other physical sensations, refusing to acknowledge the pain in her hand.

  ‘So yes, in a martial sense, that made me strong. It made me impervious to fear and, for a time, to pain. It also made me impervious to those things that make us human: compassion, friendship, affection.’

  Her eyes raised abruptly to lock directly on the boy’s. ‘And that,’ she snarled, ‘is what you must sacrifice to be a true gaiscíoch.’

  Bearach blanched and unconsciously stepped back. For a moment, she thought that he would run, flee the roundhouse, but he surprised her by holding his ground. Drawing on some inner reserve of fortitude, he advanced towards her once more.

  ‘I don’t care. I like you Liath Luachra. I would have you as my comrade and friend and remain your comrade and friend when I am older.’

  The woman warrior stared back at him, her features empty of all emotion. Inside, however, her belly had clenched, twisted into a hundred thousand knots. Her throat constricted and for a moment she was unable to speak, almost unable to breathe. With great effort, she took a deep breath then released it again.

  ‘I like you too, Bearach,’ she croaked. ‘I like you too.’

  ***

  Liath Luachra remained staring into the fire for a long time after the boy had departed, her thoughts immersed in its blazing red depth. The intensity of their conversation and the ancient memories it revived, had left her feeling empty, confused and, surprisingly, tainted with feelings of guilt. This latter reaction angered her. Although selective with the details, she had been as truthful with the boy as she could. Gritting her teeth, she wrapped a damp flannel about her stinging hand.

  Fool! What were you trying to prove with that display?

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. It hurt to think. Even now, after all these years, it still hurt to think. She didn’t really understand why she’d felt the way she’d felt, why she’d done all the things she’d done during her days with Na Cineáltaí. Although it was true that the distance of time gave some level of detached reflection, all she could really recall from that period was a great geyser of rage and a head-full of black noise created from her own internal fury. That rage had directed every action that she’d taken, every sword stroke she’d delivered, every merciless thrust she’d made. The irony was that, in her madness, she’d truly believed she was in control.

  Oblivious to such irony, she had led her fian from one battle to another, from one massacre to the next and somehow, miraculously, survived when stronger, better men had fallen at her side. Over time, her reputation had grown. Men had gathered about her – Na Cineáltaí – attracted by her luck and a ferocity that put their own blood lust in perspective. Storytellers, men who did not know her but were enamoured by the concept of her gender and accomplishments, spun romanticised tales about the campfires of a strapping female that no sword edge could touch who, in time, became the most notorious of killers.

  Ironically, that reputation had probably saved her life. On at least two occasions, she’d seen it in the eyes of the men she was fighting, men who recognised her from the fanciful tales of her fearsome savagery. Convinced of the stories’ accuracy, they had also allowed themselves to be convinced that death was upon them. Under such circumstances, it was. She had left both men leaking their life’s blood into the thirsty earth.

  She had been lucky. She had survived because of Bodhmhall. At Dún Baoiscne, the bandraoi had found her, calmed her, treated her with kindness, and doused her fury so she could return to humankind. She knew that Bodhmhall still worried about her, monitored her inner flame using that perceptive Gift of hers for fear that, one day, it might flare up and consume the world once more.

  Such a possibility made her fearful. She did not wish to revert. At the same time her experiences with the Tainted One had shaken her. She truly feared that the creature had broken her mind, released elements of the brutal, mindless warrior she had been. And yet, conversely, she also knew that in the days to come, that very person might be the only one who could save them.

  ***

  Bodhmhall was standing on the causeway beyond the gateway, in the company of Cairbre and Fiacail mac Codhna, when Liath Luachra came to join them. Engaged in heated discussion, none of them noticed her approach until she coughed softly to announce her presence. All discussion halted as they turned to face her and, with a start, the woman warrior realised Bodhmhall was holding a baby in her arms. Her nephew.

  The presence of the infant took her by surprise. As she stared, she saw Bodhmhall snuggle it to her chest. Almost immediately, the baby nuzzled its head in closer towards the bandraoi’s breast.

  ‘You won’t find any nourishment there,’ Bodhmhall laughed. ‘Forget your hunger for a moment, little one. Take your first true look at the world.’ She raised the baby in her arms as though to offer it a view of their surroundings. The gesture was not appreciated, however, for the baby whimpered, until she pulled it close again, tucking the furs in around it.

  She looks happy.

  Liath Luachra considered the joy in the bandraoi’s face, unsure what sensation the sight provoked within herself: happiness, jealousy or, perhaps, simply no sensation at all.

  Fortunately, Fiacail proved an effective distraction from such complex considerations. The warrior had a sour puss on him and was clearly unhappy as a result of his discussions with Bodhmhall and Cairbre. ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded. ‘We sent Bearach to fetch you an age ago.’

  Liath Luachra stared back at him without expression, despite her irritation at the Seiscenn Uarbhaoil man’s presumption of authority. Bodhmhall, too, had evidently noted this transgression for she glowered at the big man. ‘We asked Bearach to fetch you,’ she corrected as she regarded the woman warrior. ‘Are you recovered, Liath Luachra?’

  ‘I’m well. Forgive my tardiness. I have been reflecting.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On Life. On Death.’

  Fiacail was unimpressed with her response ‘Plenty of time to reflect on death when you’re dead. We have other, more urgent matters to discuss.’

  ‘More urgent matters?’

  ‘Well, there is the fian. And then of course, there is that cursed Tainted One who continues to haunt your settlement.’

  Liath Luachra glanced at Bodhmhall, one eyebrow arched in question. Despite the earlier laughter with her nephew, the bandraoi looked drawn and worried.

  ‘He is still out there, Liath Luachra. I felt his touch again, just before we gathered here.’ The bandraoi could not hide a shudder of revulsion. ‘He seeks Muirne and her son. I am sure of it now.’

  ‘And he did not detect her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought you said such creatures were effective at closing in on their prey.’

  ‘That is what I was told. My understanding is that they can detect a pe
rson not only by sensing their thoughts but also through their dreams.’

  ‘So why has it not done that?’

  ‘I believe it has. Or at least it’s attempted to. I suspect that exhaustion diminishes a person’s mental activity and, thereby, the creature’s ability to sense them. Muirne had barely arrived at Ráth Bládhma the first time I felt its touch and she was in a deep state of exhaustion. When its mind passed over our home she had passed out and it became distracted with me instead.’

  The baby in her arms whimpered again. Liath Luachra watched in bemused confusion as Bodhmhall rocked it gently back to sleep.

  ‘This morning,’ the bandraoi continued. ‘The circumstances were similar. When the Tainted One came searching, Muirne was deep asleep again, this time exhausted by the effort of childbirth.’

  Liath Luachra nodded and thoughtfully chewed on the inside of her cheek. ‘Yes, that makes sense. I can remember feeling the creature’s grip loosen when I fell in an old riverbed and was knocked almost senseless.’ A sudden thought struck her and her eyes dropped to the sleeping infant.

  ‘It didn’t sense the babe?’

  ‘The babe is too young to form real thoughts. There is nothing substantial for the Tainted One’s net of notions to seize.’ The bandraoi released a sigh, suddenly looking very weary. ‘Our visitors have been very fortunate but it is only a matter of time before it returns and finds them. I cannot prevent that.’

  ‘Perhaps we could somehow conceal Muirne from the Tainted One?’

  All eyes turned to Cairbre who was staring into space, tugging pensively on his beard. When he realised that they were looking at him, he started and cleared his throat with an embarrassed cough. ‘I mean, if Muirne cannot be detected while she sleeps perhaps we should keep her in that state of slumber.’

  This time, all eyes turned to Bodhmhall.

  ‘I suppose I could give her a draught to keep her in deep sleep,’ the bandraoi said with obvious reluctance. ‘But I cannot keep her like that indefinitely. She needs to eat and the babe needs to be fed.’