A New Scottish Epic: The Sword of the Western-Seas - My Sword & the Stone Story - The Wicked Witch of the High Mountains

The sea had calmed itself. In the days since they had swallowed Pàrlan, they had gone from utterly dark depths to now appearing as serene as the sunrise so that no one, not Raonaid, nor Artuir, nor Seathan could possibly have imagined it committing the sort of violence that it had several days prior.

It happened though that the maiden ordinarily passed her days weaving for her father, alongside her mother. Much of what she wove in those days was simple sails for the fishing-boats just off the coast of the island of Kull, and yet this failed to truly inflame her interest, her passion. While she was someone who demurred violence in all its forms, there was something to the old songs that Conn and others clumsily sought to retell, and that Tasgall though young could sing ever so beautifully.

There was some great force in them that somehow always intrigued young Raonaid. Dark of hair, and with clear blue eyes, her eyes would always spark to life when she heard tell or sing of great raids. It was why she had begun to undertake if in secret the weaving of a grand tapestry. It was painstaking work, yet Raonaid remained confident that she could accomplish this great wonder.

Quite what she might weave whom or what great event it might depict she did not yet know. She knew only that it had to have distant yet bright stars shining in the heavens, and a hint of green in the night-sky.

As yet none had discovered her tapestry. She had taken great care to hide it away, in her dowry-box. The box in question was the one into which all her possessions that she was to someday bring to her future husband’s home. It was the sole place that her neither her father, nor her mother liked to open and search or clean, save when they wished to add to it. There were several bronze coins from far away Breizh on the Continent, several bolts of cloth and that was all.

Thankfully neither of her parents was particularly keen to search the box, in recent days since she had moved into her eldest sister’s former bedchambers on the second floor across the hall from where they slept. Catriona, once a domineering presence within the household had married a short time ago the eldest son of Hòmair, a youth who was a fisherman with a passion for carpentry.

An orphan since his father had died on a raid some ten years prior, he had once shepherded for Amhladh, and had since that time become a fisherman. One who kept away from the quarrels, the bickering of the other fishermen even as he was to Raonaid’s knowledge the source of a great deal of exasperation among them. It was Hòmair after all who loved little better than to bring Artuir aboard his ship to sail with him near the rocky north-eastern parts of the island, or simply fishing further out than others when Artuir was forbidden due to one of his pranks.

This was assumed by some to simply be shared boyish impulsiveness, while still others thought it crass defiance on the part of the youth. It was Raonaid’s view though it was less the fault of the red haired fisherman, and was instead the fault of Artuir. This was because the youth had a hold of sorts over the gentle fisherman, who could never refuse the chieftain’s son a single thing for reasons that escaped the rest of the family.

It was a hold that amused Raonaid, who had always been fairly fond of the baby since she had first held him at five years of age. This was because it was she who had first greeted the newly returned raiders after Adomnan had departed for the motherland in Amadan on a trade expedition. When the chieftain had first returned with the infant, Raonaid was filled with amazement wherefore she had been consumed by fascination by the small, fussing child. Intrigued by him, it was she who had asked where he had found the child. This had yielded a number of glances from the other warriors who had not known how best to answer her childish questions.

“On the island of Morn,” Adomnan had answered honestly, wherefore he had added to the shock of many of the habitants of the village, “It was thereupon that most ancient of isles that we found Artuir.”

“Artuir?”

“Aye, it means ‘exalted’ for he is of more exalted birth than any of those who came before us in our great line,” Adomnan had boasted proudly.

It was at that moment that the people realized the lad to be of the line of Adomnan. While many might well have doubted for the first year of his life, the resemblance between the two was unmistakeable so that by the time that the child reached his second year none could have mistaken him for aught other than Adomnan’s son.

As the words had been uttered in complete confidence to the young lass, if in a teasing manner she was to never forget them and had treasured them and the first sight she had of Artuir. He had looked so innocent, sleeping therein her arms so that whenever Raonaid looked on him still a part of her could not help but think back to that moment. It still charmed her.

This then was why she had made certain that every year on his birthday, he should receive from her a new blanket, cloak or gloves. Her gift was always hand woven and wrapped together in a cloth with some pastries that usually involved jam made from berries that her father would go to the island of Dearceilan to find. The island in question was covered by berries especially towards the centre of the island which she had only ever seen in her dreams. While her father and mother had seen it with their own two eyes a number of times in their lives.

Every year as she watched Artuir grow to look ever more like his father, yet ever more different Raonaid was filled with great affection and admiration for the lad. Someday, she thought he would prove himself thrice the warrior Adomnan was, and might even go on to perform deeds no less heroic and grand than those of Cormac the Hero.

And like Cormac the Hero, Raonaid mused tartly he would likely go off on his own and likely have little time for silly young maidens like her. Such thoughts inspired by Ailpin’s many jests about how the lad was unlikely to ever grow out of his hunger for adventure, or that he was likely to find himself an Elf-Maiden to wed rather than some local lass, were never ones that were a cause for much joy for her. They ought to have been, but the thought of some Elf-maiden coming along to steal away her dearest friend always left her feeling cold and even a little annoyed at her father.

Not that she often dwelt long on such thoughts as of late, consumed as she was by enthusiasm for all the changes that had swept over the island. Adomnan’s union with the Lady Seònaid had signalled all sorts of changes, all of which struck her as very much welcome and the heralding of a new, brighter age.

And yet now all were uncertain of the upcoming age, with none more hesitant towards it than the lady herself who walked about full of grief. Her every step full of regret, and not an hour passed wherein she was not seen with her head bowed or seeking to hide her tears. So that the coldness that surrounded her was one that only the hardest hearts were to remain stony towards her. Most thawed and felt that the young woman ought to be well treated even if only publicly.

It happened that while Seònaid mourned and wept Raonaid did not. Though she was saddened for the poor maiden that had married into their village, she was far more interested in singing her songs and sewing the threads necessary to her tapestry. Still in the midst of girlhood Raonaid, could not help carrying on with life, and doing what she could to capture the beauty of the stars above and of the sea that surrounded her home. While other girls loved to sing of summer, and to dance along the shores and to race about the foothills, or sigh dreamily after the boys all around them. At present the most popular youth on the isle was Cathal, for he was tall, strong and ever so masculine just as his father was.

And yet for Raonaid there was no replacement for the stars and the seas, but also for her friendship with Artuir. Since she had first met him, she had loved to see him grow from babe to youthful lad. He, Tasgall and her brothers who loved to play with them were a source of continuous amusement.

It was they who she had once played with in her younger days, until she had grown too old for such things and had taken to her loom and to her sewing needles and songs. But best of all pleasures was that of seeing the suns’ rise in the distance from the coast.

Thereon the sandy shore Raonaid sat, her heart in her throat as she looked out to the sea that had borne away her mother’s father all those years ago. She still recalled how he had waved from aboard his ship, just before the storm had carried him off, crashing his ship as mercilessly against the distant rocks as it had the father of Seònaid. But this was not the memory she clung to when she looked out to sea, for she knew her sea-loving ancestor had loved the sea too much to truly blame it for what had become of him.

No, her thoughts lay with the song that her father would sing to her, when he used to take her out onto his ship before he had given into her mother’s wishes and stopped doing so.

“Lo! Whither hast Lirván gone,

He didst fain,

Hope might be found yonder,

Alone hast Téadel been left to wander

About the shore,

Spilling tears and vain hopes for

She hast none others,

To shadow’d realms and forgotten places

Hast Lirván gone, this though the stars

Will ne’er shine in those shadow’d places!”

Soft as her song was, tenuous as the tenor was she could not resist a small smile when she noticed that Artuir had found his way to her side. It had been some time since he last joined her by the sea so that she had almost forgotten how it felt to have his company. He was a quiet youth one capable of a great deal of boyish boisterousness when the mood overtook him. So that he could charm even the most hostile of hearts she thought.

Pleased to have him at her side she was to sing the song once more, with the young Artuir laughing and joining in on the song, until at last they fell quiet once more.

“Has something happened Artuir?” She asked after some time spent soaking in the vision that was the distant horizon, with its orange, crimson and pink colours all pressed together. The early morning sunrise a sight that the young lass had enjoyed since her earliest childhood, so that she loved to slip out from within her family home before the suns’ had risen, to wait for them to rise in the east. She loved to sit by the southern tip of the peninsular village that she might lie in wait, and had been shown the finest spot to do so by her father.

If only she often thought to herself that her good-brother would acquiesce to take her aboard his fishing-boat to enjoy the sea alongside her sister who had adored climbing aboard. That is until she had become pregnant so that Catriona had become as cautious as she was ferociously ill-tempered.

It was the view of Raonaid that her good-brother simple minded as he was, was the best possible example of a man that Artuir could possibly find. Not that the youth cared to pay heed to her words on this matter, for he was utterly convinced that the warriors of the village served as better examples for him to follow.

“Nothing has happened, Raonaid,” Artuir replied quietly as he shrugged his small shoulders, “Can you sing that song again?”

Raonaid almost gave in, only to think better of doing so without first asking of him, “And what of what took place the other day, with thy stepmother?”

The lad huffed out a heavy sigh, with a grimace, “Must we speak of it again? I would prefer if we sang or otherwise discussed something else such as the history of the song you just sang, or that of the hero Horas.”

The hero of whom he spoke was the companion of Cormac the hero, with the man in question having been born it was said on the isle of Kull, and who had upon hearing of the heroics of the ancient hero against the Svartálfar left to join him in Strawthern. It was he who had in turn been sent back whence he came with a mandate to rally those of the West-Isles to the hero’s banner against those who would destroy the inhabitants of the island.

It was thus that they had turned the tide, with the likes of Horas having had to turn about to return home to the West-Isles. Distracted from the far south of Bretwealda which Cormac wished to rescue, he had been forced to cross the sea to come to the rescue of Ériu, which had been likewise invaded by the monstrous invaders.

It happened that when Cormac had ended the wars in Bretwealda, he had lured the greater proportion of Svartálfar from the lands of Ériu to the slaughter on the Lairdly-Island. It was said that he had briefly crossed the sea though when the vast majority of the Svartálfar had not taken the bait he had presented. Once he had finished culling them from the two great isles, he had along with a number of his retainers, and followers departed for the distant lands north of the Glacial Sea.

It was however Horas among many others who had remained on the island of Kull in place of chasing the enemy north. A number of these men had gone on to found large clans and families, most of whom would in the following centuries before the rise of Roma to quarrel with the older lineages such as that of Roparzh King for dominance. That is until King Horas IV had seen fit to begin eliminating the new families in an attempt to remove any and all potential rivals. This had had the effect of causing one particular man Iomhair to escape by sea for the lands of the Zulvrain on the Continent. It was therein those lands that he had found succour with the heirs of Aganippe the Warlock and gotten aid from one of the lesser kings of those lands. It was but a year after this alliance was first forged that the likes of Iomhair was to overcome the heir of Roparzh.

The kingdoms were by this action shattered. The Zulvrain could not properly sustain their hold over the kingdoms and had shattered and broken into a multitude of petty kingdoms not long thereafter.

It was always amazing to Raonaid that such permanent seeming things such as kingdoms and empires should be such temporary things. It was for this reason that she had asked her father late one night as they had pondered this very question after he had finished singing of the final downfall of the kingdoms of the line of Roparzh to her younger brothers. “Is there naught that is permanent in this world father?”

Ailpin was to ponder her words at some length. Never a man to scoff at his wife, or children’s many queries about the state of the world, he preferred to think deeply upon them. Not the brutish if cheerful person that Conn was, or the impulsive and head-strong man that Adomnan was either he took his time before he answered. Ordinarily he might well have included her grandfather Ràild in the conversation however the old man had already by this time fallen asleep.

“There are, however I know not a single thing that is save for this isle, that of Bretwealda and of the Agenors.”

“But in time will they not vanish below the waves, or beneath the wrath of the gods or demons?” Raonaid countered confused and worried as she pondered over how much things had changed since ancient times.

The most knowledgeable of all men she could think of, her father Ailpin considered her words before he broke out into a wide grin. “Have you ever seen a mountain become consumed by the sea? Or an island disappear beneath the waves, my duck?”

“Nay.”

“If such be true, then ne’er you mind such things my dear, now off to bed with thee!” Ailpin had told her as he pulled her to her feet, away from the window and thither to the stairs that led up to the second landing where her bedchamber was to be found across from his.

It was after this that Raonaid took to pondering his words, later that night just before sleep claimed her. Later she was to become consumed by them when she awoke, and had finished with her early morning chores. Seeing this and how distracted she was, her mother Aofe was to growl at her, “Daughter, do stop loafing about and go fetch us flowers and herbs up in yon forest.”

Though her words were gruff there was a slyness and a gentility to her tone that belied them. Giggling to herself, the young maiden was to bob her head several times before she made for the top of the hill where the forest was to be found.

It was thereupon its peak she entered the forest with an eye for the edible mushrooms, flowers and some smaller branches for the fire they would need to put together the fire to cook their meal later. It was as she did so that she wandered aimlessly through the woodlands, until such time that she was to leap when she heard a voice and looking up discovered there a short distance away from her Artuir. The lad sat on a log by a small pond near where the hill dipped so that the forest and the river intersected.

Raonaid came very near to approaching the lad, eager to greet him and see what it was that he was doing in the forest when she suddenly leapt some twenty feet in the air at the sound of Seònaid’s voice. It took some effort to keep from shrieking with the young maiden staring in bewilderment as she hid herself. She did not quite know why it was that she hid then, however she had a sudden desire to see and hear what it was that was being said without either of them knowing it.

So that she crouched behind a nearby tree, her dark blue eyes fixed on the pair. Artuir sat on a log in the midst of cutting away at a small bit of wood, his luminous eyes alert and fixed on the work at hand, while the beautiful Seònaid her long locks streaming down her orange covered side (for she had chosen a simple orange dress made of wool that day).

“We can be friends, can we not Artuir?” Seònaid asked of her stepson, as she leant against the nearby tree that loomed over the youth.

His head bowed in thought, it looked as though he wished to leap into the waters below, Raonaid noticed so that she prayed to the gods of old that he would not do so. She also saw how the older woman’s hands trembled and shook as she addressed the youth with a trembling lip.

It made her heart go out to the southron woman, with Raonaid urging if in spirit for her young friend to embrace his stepmother. To her disappointment though, he did no such thing. To the contrary he simply shifted away and attempted to ignore her still.

“I understand, Artuir I am not what you longed for,” Seònaid murmured to him as she placed a small hand on his shoulder. “I did not come hither to bother you, only to try to beg if we could be family? It would please thine father very much, especially given how much he has suffered in recent days.”

“But you are not my mother,” Artuir retorted with a hint of sullenness, “Nor can you ever be.”

“I-I know that, however I had hoped to become something akin to one.” She said a hint of hurt in her voice, “For I love Adomnan very much.”

“But not me,” He retorted coldly, “You do so out of duty and that is not love. If it were, it would be wholly natural.”

Raonaid could have slapped him, so great was the pity she felt for Seònaid. The chief’s wife looked as though she had just been struck herself. The sense of outrage at the lad’s words was worsened when his stepmother burst into tears.

Tearing herself from his side she was to race away towards the village.

Moved by the other woman’s plight, Raonaid was no longer able to bear simply sitting thereupon a small log behind a large aspen tree. She had to act.

Hurrying thither with no regard for the noise she made, she was to find him unsurprised at her sudden appearance before him. “Artuir!”

“Raonaid! I am so glad you could join me! Look, I have been carving with wood exactly in the manner that old Ràild once did before his fingers grew too clumsy to do so!” Artuir told her cheerfully, pleased to see her.

The young lass did not know how to respond, certainly she loved him as surely as she did her younger siblings, however he had done wrong. “Do you not realize what you just said to your stepmother?”

“What of her?” Artuir asked with a shrug of his shoulders, “Her father wished for her to have more babies so as to replace me, she is no friend to me.”

This view shocked the young lass who did not know what to say to him. It was her view that Seònaid truly did wish to formulate a bond of some sort with Adomnan’s eldest child. Much as she wished to likely have children of her own, so that Raonaid could not help but pity the poor woman. Yet pity was so often a foreign thing to Artuir when he took a dislike to someone, she mused unsure of how best one ought to approach this topic.

The lad did not mind criticism, save when it came to the topic of his stepmother, Grandfather Oak and the likelihood of fairies still living in the forest. “You really ought to be kinder to her Artuir.”

“Bah, why should I care one whit for her? She is not my mother,” Artuir retorted irritably.

“But she is dear to your father.”

“Why are you defending her? I thought we would speak of something else,” Artuir demanded as he stood up once more, his eyes flashing with fury.

“I only meant that you are young, and that how you feel at present will pass with time and- whither are you going Artuir?” Raonaid cried out as the lad began to stomp away from her side, head down and tiny fists balled and shaking with fury.

“Away! Away to find my true friends, who may wish to play with me in the forest, rather than to tell me how I must feel and what I am to think.” Artuir growled at his most furious as he raced away from her.

“Oh but wait Artuir! Wait!” Raonaid cried out after him, hurt at his rejection and turning away from her.

Later she was to curse him and howl her fury after him, as her own temper got the better of her, not that this was to make any sort of difference to her dearest friend. Swept up in his own anger, he hardly paid her any mind, fixated as he was now upon finding his friends such as Tasgall, Coraidh and Dànaidh.

Cursing them all for their indifference towards her and her views on the matter of Seònaid, Raonaid was to try to give chase after him but he was gone and away down the hill. Feeling terrible for the lad she was to however decide not to give chase when she lost sight of him as the leaves of the trees whipped about her face.

“Oh curse it all!” She cried out after a few minutes of running, only to admit defeat and spit on the road after him, “That lout! Why he forgets that long before he danced about and climbed all over Grandfather Oak that it was I who taught him to dance and sing before him, and my father who taught him to climb trees!” It was a moment of silence and sighing and cursing some more ere she at last made for the tree that stood at the centre of the forest. “Oh Grandfather Oak!” She said when he at last loomed over her after a few minutes of walking, “If you are inhabited by Sgiathgorm the Fey-Queen do something to change that impulsive lad’s mind lest he end his days alone and regretful of how he had treated poor Seònaid!”

*****

It was as said quite some time before Adomnan returned. There was during this time a great deal of tension that arose within the village as among the men there were those who were of a mind that Artuir ought to go back to his father’s house. Instead he wandered from house to house, mostly those of Conn and Ailpin looking for food when he had need of it, whilst the women were to be divided over whether to gossip about the Lady Seònaid or to praise and pity her.

Adomnan’s return thus was heralded by great cheers from those of Kiernan, who felt glad to see his long-ship appear on the horizon. Where his departure had been saluted with pleas for him to stay, and fears that he might find his doom out at sea, now there was such a groundswell of relief that most were to hurry out to the shore to await his return.

His large long-ship announced its return by way of the great carnyx that he kept aboard for just such an occasion. The majestic instrument blasted its great booming proclamation across all the isles, all the seas west of the Continent and to all in sundry. Dressed in a blue woollen tunic, with a large wolf-fur cloak thrown over his shoulders and kept in place by virtue of a large sword shaped bronze pin gifted to him by Seònaid’s father at their wedding. His breeches were the same colour if a little more muted, with the man’s sword still girt to his belt as he stood near the front of the ship, his left hand raised high as he put down the carnyx in favour of cheering and crying out his joy.

Chief amongst those who hurried out to greet him and the others was of course the lady Seònaid, who threw herself against him pleading and hissing query after query the moment that the black clad warrior stepped down from the ship and onto the beach. “What of my mother? What did she say? What did she do? And what of my brothers and sisters? Are they safe? How did they take the news?”

“They took it well enough,” Adomnan retorted quietly, looking utterly wearied as he ran a bandaged hand through his thick mane of hair.

The sight of his lightly bandaged right hand made her squawk a little in alarm, “What has happened? You are injured Adomnan!”

“Nothing my dearest, a mere cut-” he attempted to lie only for his wife to undo the bandage and find a large dried cut that ran along the back of his hand.

“How could this happen?” She hissed at him, beside herself with concern for him.

“It was while I was in thy village that it happened.”

“But how and when during the visit?”

“I- I do not rightly know,” he admitted quietly, “It happened I think whilst I slept aboard the ship during the second day after we arrived before the village.”

This struck everyone listening as very strange. How could it not? It was strange but few cared to give it any further thought, for to their minds there was a great deal more queer about Adomnan’s circumstances as of late than a simple cut hand.

It was with more than a little amusement that the chief of Kiernan was to kiss his bride, and turn to his son asking him as he did so, “Were you behaved whilst I was abroad my child?”

“But of course! Though I was filled with dread for ye,” Artuir admitted as he looked at his father with visibly still worried eyes.

This won him another smile from his father, while his stepmother looked on at him apprehensive that he should speak out against her. She was however relieved when he did no such thing, preferring to in place of any such thing go on to speak excitedly about Grandfather Oak, about his endeavours in fishing with Ailpin or Hòmair. All of these news pleased Adomnan though he was to later ask after his son’s comportment.

His question when it was asked after the people had begun unloading the long-ships was to be directed at Seònaid and Conn both of whom answered promptly at the same time. The woman sought to hurriedly tell him, “Naught went wrong, all was well!”

“The lad, was as silent as ever whilst you were gone south Adomnan,” Conn assured the young chieftain with a shrug of his beefy shoulders before he cast a sidelong glance to the man’s wife.

Both of them studied her for several minutes, neither of them particularly certain of what to make of her hurried words. They could both of them sense that something was amiss, yet knew not what exactly it was that had gone wrong.

Ordinarily a gay and merry lass full of laughter and capable of charming all those around her whenever in the company of her husband, the lady Seònaid was to however remain utterly subdued. This most of all was to prove itself the sole possible thorn in the side of Adomnan’s happiness and that of those around him.

He could not have immediately known what it was that had gone wrong, with the likes of Raonaid when it was told to her to take to heart the fact that the family of Artuir was in such dire straits. It happened that none of this went unnoticed by the patriarch of the ruling clan of Kiernan so that he was to later inquire into the matter with his bride. So that what he learnt displeased him greatly, Artuir at that time was to bear his punishments a little better, though he did limp through the village for almost a fortnight.

It was left to Raonaid to remind him what he had done wrong, while the lad pouted and clenched his jaw mutinously while she rubbed helped to clean the bruises that dotted his legs and shoulders. Her father likewise alongside his wife was to reprimand and remind Artuir what he had done wrong. “If it is wrong to not like someone,” Artuir retorted, “Then I shall forever be wrong!”

“It is wrong to like that maiden, she is here and you are to be a pious son to her!” Raonaid told him sharply.

“But she is not my mother!” Artuir grunted as he stared at a distant corner of the house, miserable and angry.

Though she might have wished to say more, the young maid could not. Seeing that there was naught to be gained by reprimanding the child further, Ailpin was to silence her before he sent Artuir back from whence he had come.

“I hope that child will be better behaved in time for the Mid-Summer Festival,” He growled more to himself, whilst his daughter and wife both pursed their lips. Neither of them had much hope for any such eventuality.

*****

The Mid-Summer Festival was an event that traced its roots back to the time of the first arrival of Men. The age in which they had arrived happened to be that of when the Elves had first come to the islands of Bretwealda and Ériu. The festival in question was one that came about in celebration of the first of the great victories which the races of Men, Wolves and Elves had won against their great enemies the Cyclops. While the Wolfram might well have lost their glory and the Elves their splendour, still the Men of the isles celebrated the seasons and the harvest.

It also happened to be a festival that celebrated the god of the harvest Lugh, in the hopes that he might bless them with another good harvest and help to fatten their herds and flocks. A great many of them sought therefore to make this festival and celebration as grand as possible. It was after all the perfect opportunity to cheer up and charm the chieftain’s new bride.

While Artuir had inspired much criticism amongst the women with regards to Adomnan’s skills as a parent, most who disapproved of the lad had no such complaints about his choice in brides. Already the maiden had attracted more than a little favourable attention from them. Such was the force of her charm and the natural fragility that followed after her, so that most of the women were seized by either pity or scorn for her.

Those consumed by envy and disdain though were to hold their peace however as they could not truly speak out without drawing upon themselves the ire of their men-folk or other women of the village. And so resentment bubbled there beneath the surface, even as they were forced to hide how they truly felt.

Not that the men were to truly be bothered with this before or during the festival. When the time came for the festival the tables were arranged as before, along with some tents with much dancing and eating as the people sang and celebrated the height of summer. Stepping out from their home along with Artuir, the principal couple were to make their way thither to the chief table upon which sat a whole host of food that was no less appetizing than that served during their marriage. Fish of all kinds, along with smoked pork, mutton and venison were to be seen everywhere along with honey, berries, apples and potatoes and other vegetables and fruits.

Most of those present fell into an uncomfortable silence, one that garnered for the ruling couple a sense of uncertainty as they did not quite know how best to proceed. They had declared the festival to have begun with the support of Seathan, who had already begun to quaff mouthfuls of ale.

It was thus with more than a little discomfort that the patriarch of the ruling family cleared his throat, attempted to hint to the druid that he ought to speak up only for him to refill his bronze goblet and to go on to ignore them. It was Artuir who made to speak up, eager to put the middle-aged man in his place however his father had foreseen this action and made to shush him and to direct him elsewhere. It happened though that a new voice joined into the fray, quieting the whispers that erupted from all parts and serving to reassure a great many who felt disquieted by Seathan’s typical apathy towards his hereditary duties.

“To the new ruling couple!” Conn said with forced cheer, hopeful to inspire the same sort of enthusiasm he felt for the future in those around him.

Some joined in his toast and in his good cheer, such as the likes of Domnall, Seathan and also the likes of Cathal. Most of these naysayers of the likes of Artuir, were in a convivial mood eager to forget the prior days and the misery they had been filled with.

It happened that while most such as her mother were eager to forgive them if only for a single evening Raonaid was not feeling so kind, as she grumbled under her breath, “Bah, they ought not to have been invited at all!”
“Mind thy tongue, Raonaid,” Aofe reprimanded her sharply.

“But mother! They never have anything good to say of Adomnan, father or Artuir!” she protested with a sidelong glare in the direction of the men in question.

Her mother threw her an exasperated look from where she sat to her left at the large table that was to the left of the main one occupied by the likes of Adomnan. “Still guard that tongue of yours, for this is a gay and festive event, not one to poison with such disagreeable topics.”

“Unless of course Conn or his wife happens to speak poorly of someone, of course,” Ailpin remarked good-naturedly ignoring his wife’s glare as he did so.

He was to say more when he was interrupted by his third daughter, Eleirst leaping to her feet and pleading with him, “Dance with me father! I would not dance alone!”

“Aye, lass, aye,” he grunted with an amused look to his wife who encouraged him, her anger already forgotten.

They were not alone in seeking to dance therein the middle of the fields near where the tables had been arranged, amidst the land just outside the village. The festival was typically one in which a dozen harpists might strum their bronze-crafted harps carried along from their homes thither into the fields that they might strum and sing to their music for the enjoyment of those around them. It had long been a tradition that after the chieftain and the druid had toasted the village, they were to begin their play.

The song which they sang first was always that of Angaidh who was said to have planted the acorn from which Grandfather Oak had sprung centuries prior. It was he who when called to resist the Romalian encroachment had risen to the occasion. He had fought for a dozen years against them and their advancing armies, until at last he had been released from his oaths of brotherhood to Calorcan’ whereupon he had returned home to find that his wife was dead and his sons’ drowned at sea by accident. His daughters had for their part died of grief thinking him dead, so that Angaidh had fallen into a long period of grief and was prepared to throw himself into the sea. This though he was dissuaded from doing thanks to the eloquent Elf-Prince Mydralthan, who had visited it was said to pay his respects to his former comrade in arms in the wars against Roma. It was he who was said to have when he saw the dire state in which the younger hero was in, had endeavoured for some time to help restore the man’s good humours. He had in this all but failed when the Elf’s enemy King Drythan of the Dwarven kingdom of Scáthcarraig to the north-east of Luthain sent some of his guards to steal away the Elf in his sleep. This had of course led to Angaidh being forced to ride to his rescue, whereupon he did so and also liberated from the tyrant’s prisons a number of Wolfram, Minotaur and Tigrun tribesmen along with men, women and children.

Amongst the prisoners was the Lady Flòraidh, who was said to have been the foster-daughter of Mydralthan taken in after her huntsman father had passed away in her girlhood, having saved her from a rabid bear. It was as he lay dying that the Elf-Prince had happened upon him, and accepted the lass’ charge. It was she who with her tenderness and her able fingers tended to the chieftain’s wounds, and soothed his pains, so that once more he knew joy and love. It was also she whom he took on as his wife and father a dozen children upon in the years that followed. This then was their song, passed down across the generations by their descendants, even as Mydralthan was said to have departed for his father’s realm in the distant mountains to the south on Bretwealda.

“The gods and stars do weep,

As do the hills and glens, and vales

For the sorrows that engulf’d Angaidh,

Away from shadow’d places he escaped in olden days,

To his home he hurried that he might rejoice,

Unending as the sea was his pains,

So that he might well hath leap’d

Into the sea’s tides,

To soothe his grief,

And stem the waves of sorrow,

Mydralthan of fond memory,

Came from distant forests, wreaths

Upon his brow,

Destin’d to be pilloried

And torment’d for but a brief

Few days ere the nets and sorrow

Wert set aside, as he took up steel and fury,

As in olden days, in full valour

He raced, honour abounds

With every step, the flavour

Of love soon to embrace his soul,

For o’er yonder

Surround’d by a dozen hounds

Stands the fair Flòraidh the Wolf-Tamer,

By voice, as by sweetness she purged them

Of wickedness as of the flame

That engulf’d Angaidh of great fame,

Hwaet! Lo! Behold the great dame

That as with wolves didst tame

The mightiest warrior, and didst cast away blame,

That he might once more be of great fame!”

The two songs were ones that appealed to Raonaid, who had long since considered the first of the two among the most romantic tales ever passed down. Her only hope was that such pains, such grief might never revisit itself upon the island of Kull or even that of Bretwealda.

“Thankfully, the Svartálfar have been beaten back a millennia ago lassie, so that they will never trouble us again,” Ailpin often used to whisper to her when she was a wee lass and stricken with nightmares or fears of the Dark Elves. The Great Wars of Darkness were long since behind them, and were never to take place again.

It was the second that caused the greatest amount of cheer though. Not nearly as morbid at the outset as the song of Angaidh, it was romantic and cheerful from the start. It served as the perfect counter-weight in the minds and hearts of the dancers to the first song. Though, in essence both they knew were celebrations of the summer, of life at its fullest and of the joy that only summer could bring them.

“Grow, grow may ye grow,

Plump, plump potatoes,

Lo! Ye art becoming plentiful and more,

That we might devour thee as in days of yore,

Now and yesteryear just as on the morrow

We shalt eat, eat and sing and dance some more!

All whilst the suns’ shine and the harvest grows!

Grow, grow may ye grow,

Plump, plump salmon,

Lo! Ye art gathering plentifully,

That we might devour thee as in days of yore,

Now and yesteryear just as on the morrow

We shalt eat, eat and sing and dance some more!

All whilst the suns’ shine and the harvest grows!”

It was with these words calling for the plantation of new crops and their harvesting that people were keen to celebrate. Full of joy at the brightness of the suns’, the delicious fish, mutton and fruits and vegetables they took to their dancing and singing, so that their cries could be heard all across the hills.

The festivities were expected to last through the evening, well into the night. This expectation ought not to have been a surprise to anyone familiar with the history of the island given that the prior year the celebration had lasted for two whole days. It had only ended when a great storm had swept over the island.

This then was the reason for the great cheer, and the sense of joy that accompanied every song and that haunted every verse, every dance that they undertook together. Every smoking pig, every sheep that was cooked and devoured was greeted with joy, toasted whilst the men drank deeply and the women sipped at their drinks giggling and laughing together.

It was then at the height of the celebration that a great fog rolled out from the north. It came from the north-east. From the sea and swept across with little difficulty over the lands of Bretwealda, along the great Highlands that crowned the greatest of the isles of the Occident.

This then was the fog that ushered forth not curiosity but disaster as it came to cover the whole of the island of Kull. From coast to coast it went with nary any mercy, nary aught else than coldness within it. It was then that a great shadow overtook the mightiest of the islands of the Gerwruan Straits.

It was as a knife through the breast of a defenceless woman that the dark lady stepped forward from the fog that had slowly enveloped the island. It was thus with more than a little bewilderment that she was studied and whispered about as she stepped on past and through the large crowds of people, her eyes fixed upon Adomnan. Her hair was dark as the blackest of nights and eyes the same colour and yet her flesh was pale as snow. In all she was truly among the most beautiful women that any of them had ever seen.

More than one man breathed out a sigh of longing, and more than one woman looked on her with a little envy for she seemed carved from marble and fuller in figure than any mountain or deep valley could have been. Hers was the sort of beauty that lasted through the ages, and that could enrapture a man for the remainder of his life.

Yet her expression was so thunderous and her eyes wild with hatred that all those who might otherwise have interposed themselves between her and the table she advanced towards preferred to step aside.

“You did not heed my words as thou should have, Adomnan!” the lady growled as she glowered at the chieftain of Kiernan.

Observing the mighty figure that stood in defiance of all those assembled for the mid-summer feast, the villagers could hardly bring themselves to keep from exchanging worried whispers. Most of them were of a mind that whoever this woman was, she was the strangest and most unpleasant creature they had ever seen before even as she was the most intriguing.

None of them could describe her as aught else than beautiful, so fair was her complexion and dark her hair and eyes that not one man was not mesmerized by her every movement. Wonderful and terrible she was in a manner that no other person present could possibly have imagined hitherto that moment.

It was thus with more than a little trepidation that a few of them made to step forward, towards her with each of them halting when she turned furious eyes upon them. “Halt where thou are, lest ye wish to be be one and all dead by the morn’!”

Each of them froze where they stood, consumed by horror as more than one man glanced at one another. Each of them from obnoxious Domnall, to ill-tempered Ailpin, to leal Conn wished to move, truly yet could not quite bring themselves to do so. Each of them, Adomnan included wished then though they did not say so that Cormac the Hero or Horas the West-Flame as he was known were present to inspire in them the sort of valour that those who had followed them had been capable of.

To the surprise of all present it was a number of children, such as Artuir and Tasgall who stood up to shout at the woman before them, “Down with thee, down with thee! Begone witch!”

“Silence children, lest ye wish to endure the full fury of my wrath!” Ackren hissed back at them with such fervent hatred that even they were left astonished. It was during that brief intermission in their spitting and yelling that several people such as Ailpin and his daughter Raonaid swept forward to pull the two away fearful for them.

Pleased by this the young woman might well have continued spewing curses and accusations against the likes of Adomnan. However to the surprise of all present, Seathan it was who stepped forward to challenge Ackren next. A cowardly fellow he had however throughout the feast been caught up in the celebrations, quaffing more ale than he likely ought to have. This then was the reason for his sudden and very strange burst of courage, “Bah, none of us here care one whit for what thou has to say witch. You are beneath us, and so much so as to make me laugh ha! Tush and go back the way you have come that we might continue our celebration in peace!”

“What did you say to me?” The woman’s tone was unmistakeably dangerous.

Drunk as he was, Seathan was unable to continue to contain his impatience towards her, “What do you mean what did I say? Are you as drunken as you are short on wits, strumpet? Do hurry on away from this place for this is our isle, and our homeland! It is no place for those who wish to sully it with dark arts taught to them I imagine by dark gods or Svartálfar. Or must I speak at a less swift pace that you might understand my words?”

Red-faced by this time, though whether it was due to the drink he had imbibed or from the fury he had at last let loose from deep within him, he was to add even more expletives.

Under other circumstances those around him might well have cheered for the person to whom he was addressing himself might defend themselves in some fashion and put him in his proper place. The trouble was that at this particular moment the person to whom he was assailing in verbal fashion was a goddess or witch of some sort.

Try as they might to force themselves to tell him tush, or to otherwise support him in his private resistance against the she-beast that besieged their wills, this they could not do. Some though such as Conn and Ailpin who had met her before on the Island of Morn, could not understand the strange transformation that had taken her over. For where she was terrible and frightening at present she had once been beauteous and moving to behold.

Only Seathan though was prepared to drunkenly renounce the wicked lady of the south, as he persisted in his show of fury, “Strumpet of the north, none here fear thee and what is more is that you shall not find us a weak or docile people as thou ought to be! We have braved the seas, conquered the hills of this place and fought and raided across a thousand islands, while thou has remained in a faraway keep away from hardship. Therefore, if you have no intention of finding thy place pouring our ale, and we may well show thee mercy!”

It was with a start that the stunned woman at last woke from her stupor so that she hissed with fury. Her anger was only to worsen when to the horror of a number of those still seated at the principal table were to fall back as she raised an accusing finger in the direction of the troubled, pale Adomnan.

“You Adomnan, have forsaken the bargain we made in days’ past! At one time it was promised that you would not wed another!” Ackren shouted at him, full of fury and jealousy so that all present cringed and shrunk back, fearful of her putting them into a strange three day sleep.

“Bah do be silent, what oaths might once have been sworn were not binding or sacred, for they were not overseen by myself therefore do go trip over a turnip and fall back into the sea from whence thou sprung strumpet!” Seathan shouted back, and this was the final of the great shouts that he delivered against her.

Shouting with incandescent rage Ackren drew up her arms as a great gust of wind soon tore through the air so that her sleeves and dress arose all around her, so that she appeared akin to a great dark and white pillar. “Know then the wrath of Hella’s last servant of the Western-Isles! Never again shall thou address me with such disrespect!”

It was with a cry and a great flash of light that blinded all those present that the whole of the village turned away. To the fright of all present a shriek of pain was torn from Seathan’s mouth.

When they were to look up once more after the smoke had cleared, they could see that the man had disappeared completely and entirely.

A gasp cut through the air with greater force than the earlier gust of wind, while Ackren delivered sharply one last warning to them all. “Be warned O sons and daughters of Kiernan! Do not test my wrath again, and Adomnan? I will await thine arrival in my fortress within the Mountain of Scáthcarraig on the isle of Bretwealda. There you will find me, and beg for my mercy and hand in marriage…”

“Never!”

“Then I shalt hold as my ‘honoured guest’ the insolent druid of this place forever until his last, screaming, pleading death!”

It was with those words that there was another flash and boom before the wicked lady vanished.

*****

In the hours that followed there was some measure of panic that instilled itself deep within the minds and hearts of all those present. None of them had expected that Seathan should disappear alongside the terrible woman that had appeared sudden as the wind early in the morn. So that all the people of the north of the island, with all their chickens, their sheep, their flocks, their herds and their dogs and cats all knew the truth of what had happened.

Only perhaps the likes of wise old Grandfather Oak remained ignorant of what had happened, as he and his peers and children were one and all trees. And as all know trees can neither think nor speak (mores the pity for this fact, as the world would be a much better place if they could speak and convey a hundred years of wisdom to us!). From the north to the south, all knew that to steal away the druid of a village was to rob them of their connection to the realm of the gods, and of the fey.

This was the sort of loss that could only prove a disaster, and might well have left any other village truly stricken.

Yet somehow the village of Kiernan though at first shocked and was to yell, shout and curse and otherwise cry out at the wicked crime that had been inflicted upon them. Given that they had only lost a corrupt preacher who had stolen from them on more than one occasion, day after day they could not quite bring themselves to maintain their frustration. It was for this reason that they soon returned within a day to their own lives, most might well have forgotten the invasion by the lady Ackren, yet Adomnan could not.

Once again the warrior was to set out to sea against the wishes of his family and friends. It was the view of Raonaid that the man’s reasoning was hardly justified no matter the threats of the dark lady that had appeared at the mid-summer feast. The reason for this was that she had disappeared, and that the man she had kidnapped was none other than Seathan, the least likeable member of the village.

This sort of reasoning though when brought before the likes of Ailpin found that the middle-aged man agreed with her, just as Conn and others did also, she learnt as she listened in on them whilst sewing together some sails for the long-ships. Sitting thereon the beach, on a small stool she was to help knit them back together as they had torn and there was a desire for extra sails in the event that they should tear over the course of the lengthy journey ahead of the warriors.

“Why must we journey north to fight some witch and for one such as Seathan? A man who is as cowardly as he is self-profiteering and has none of the virtues that other men possess,” Ailpin complained at some length early one morning not long after the suns’ had already begun their full ascent.

The question of the fisherman took the chief by surprise. It seemed as though he had not foreseen that Ailpin might question the need to rescue one of their own. A leal man, who could not tolerate any sort of show of disloyalty he had never given any hint it seemed to his chieftain that he might hesitate to follow him in this endeavour as he had previously done a thousand times.

Astonished he stared at him for some time, wherefore he turned to the rest of those present therewith him to study them with equally keen interest. They were one and all a people who might well have followed him with the sort of enthusiasm that could well have inspired a thousand generations in the future. There was however none of this enthusiasm, or even the remotest desire to the disgust of the chieftain of Kiernan. He had convened his people to the shore as he had on a number of other occasions. This time though it had yielded only complaints where the last few times he had called for a town council it had not.

This sense of frustration was one that was returned with a great deal of interest by the people of the village who had little in the way of joy for this quest.

“Understand, Adomnan that we are all of us weary of this feud with the Lady Ackren, and that while we might well like to see her punished for her myriad insults and crimes against us. We are however not prepared to risk our lives for the likes of Seathan. He has shown himself time and again a knave and one who is as accursed and miserable a fellow as the lady herself is.” Amhladh said speaking up for all those present with them as they all stood aligned before the chieftain who had climbed atop his ship to address them all as best he could.

The chieftain was never a man to do anything by half measures, and was to with good cheer throw himself into the doling out of great words and challenges to his people.

“I say to thee, we depart now for the north to the home of this Ackren, to avenge our honour and insults done to us, along with the stealing away of one of our own!” Adomnan yelled at those around him, as he stood tall on his large long-ship. “I see in your faces,” He added a moment afterwards when he noticed the grunts and noises of annoyance on the part of his people. “My people that you do not wholly think it worthwhile rescuing Seathan, and that most of thee think it unlikely we are to succeed in this endeavour ought to be something you are to be ashamed of so much as thinking!”

“How dare you Adomnan, address us in that manner when it is not you who have had your woman folk chased after, or your coin or fruits or fish stolen by that scoundrel!” Ailpin yelled on behalf of others, which won him a great many nods of approval. “I am your friend and would perish for thee, but not for he whom you speak of.”

“Really now? How many others feel the same?” Adomnan demanded of those around him, who each of them bowed their heads and nodded in agreement with one another. “How many here has struggled at some time in their lives? Up with the hands, we have all struggled, all been made to feel lowly sooner or later in life have we not?” Up went the hands if reluctantly so, with Adomnan turning from one man to another, “Up with the hand Ailpin, you very near lost all when you lost that first boat of yours. Up goes the hand of Conn-”

“I have also lost all once,” Hòmair said with a little too much eagerness, as he won for himself a slight scowl from Ailpin.

“Aye, but this was for those who began with something and only lost it once, not every two seasons unlucky one!” Adomnan joshed at the youth who flushed a vivid scarlet as the men all around him chortled at the jest. Becoming serious once ore, the chieftain sought to drive home the purpose behind his words now, “You see? We have all been unfortunate, all been unlucky in some manner. Always though Seathan was there to swipe, thieve and otherwise humiliate us, is that not correct?”

Many were the nods that followed those words.

“Yet always we had one another, did we not?”

“Aye, what do you mean by this speech, Adomnan?” Amhladh asked impatiently of their chieftain, “We have no need to be leal to that knave, who never demonstrated any lealty or goodness to we his neighbours.”

“To the contrary,” Adomnan replied with a stern glance in his direction, “The least of us merits no less fidelity, on account of they are no less our kindred than our cousins, brothers and sisters. He is a knave, but it is not for some mainlander, or some southroner or some Amadanite to judge him… he is ours to judge, ours to condemn and ours to rescue if we so wish. And in the hour when Seathan defied the likes of that Lady Ackren he was not the least of us, but truly the bravest of our lot.”

There was an awful silence that followed. Most of the men were embarrassed at the truth behind his words, especially the last of them, as they were one and all impressed by the courage drunken though it was that Seathan had demonstrated in his defiance of the strange black lady.

None expected anyone to stand up, to throw himself forward still to the chieftain’s side, especially since most resented Seathan for his many myriad attempts to steal from them. This then was why they were all astonished to see Artuir leap forward.

“I am with thee father!” Artuir cried out, moved by his father’s words, “Give me a sword and I shall charge the witch myself and rescue old Seathan, no matter the squalls! By the bones of Badb, I would challenge her, Cernunnos or even that old tyrant of auld Zeus himself!”

Great was the laughter that bubbled forth from Adomnan’s lips as his son leapt onto the ship to stand by his side. Roughing his hair, he was to chuckle all the louder when Artuir’s closest friend Tasgall, the most pompous of the children of the village and the second most fearless raced forward also.

“And I! I too will stand by thine side noble Adomnan! To war! To war I say!” He bellowed with all the fury of one of the Dwarf Kings of old as he threw himself into the surf, and onto the boat, whereupon Artuir clapped him on the shoulder in approval.

After this there was a tidal wave of young lads that began to hurry to the ships, hopeful that they too might take part in the adventure. This so frightened the women and elders such as Tasgall’s old grandfather, that they rounded upon the men shaming them for their cowardice, for their reluctance and for having been surpassed in courage by their sons’.

“Have ye no courage? No fire? None of the Fire-Blood of our forefathers?!” Shrieked old Ràild at the lot of them, ere he turned about to yell at his grandson, “Now down from there, and do come hither back to thy family Tasgall!”

“Never! I will cross the sea or die on this ship,” Tasgall shouted back with no less fervour than the old man.

“Aye! As will we all!” Artuir agreed at once.

This exchange more than any other filled the men with such shame that they moved out into the water, near to the boats to seize their children. They were aided in this by Adomnan, who was later wont to admit that he had perhaps gone too far in his efforts to shame them.

He was to have his volunteers though, as the children were torn from the ships and back onto the hard and firm land, with it being Conn who spoke up when the situation had calmed itself. “I’faith we shan’t let the children humiliate us by showing themselves to be less fearful than we men! I for one have had enough of this show of cowardice on our parts! We have let this wicked old witch trample upon our honour, our dignity all without lifting a single finger in defence of those things or of one of our own! Let us now then undertake to do what we ought to have already done by this time!”

The shouted words were to have the effect of inspiring a renewed sense of shame that Adomnan’s words and the children’s comportment had already inspired. More than one man was to move forward to join the warrior, with each of them reluctant still to aid Seathan as proven by their grumbling.

“Ye will not regret this, this I so swear my people,” their chieftain promised eagerly, not that this won him much more than a few sullen looks.

They might well have complained still further had it not been for them having to prepare to depart and the cries by their sons’ that they wished to join them. It happened though that the greatest source of shouts and bickering took place as Amhladh and Cathal were to begin to argue heatedly about whether the latter may join his father.

“I really must insist that I am needed on this quest,” Cathal growled when his father forbade him from leaving with the warriors.

“Nay, what we need is for you to remain here, to mind the cattle,” Amhladh threw back at his defiant son.

“Sorcha could well see to such a task,” Cathal yelled at his father who looked as though he might strike the lad.

He was not alone in feeling tempted to do so, as a number of men reprimanded either the father or the youth. Those who scolded the father were led by the likes of Tomaidh who sought to remind the other man, “What of thine youth my friend? Did it not occur more than once that you sought to raid foreign lands more than once, and did not heed the warnings of thy father?”

“Aye and I paid such a dear price that if I was to return to the past, I would not have gone on the last raid I participated in.” Amhladh retorted with such fervent irritation, as he came very near to reminding those present of how his father Varkas had passed on. A noble warrior, who had captained the long-ship Adhragan or ‘Wood-Drake’, and who had raided for nigh on thirty-five years until ten years prior when he reluctantly accompanied his son on a raid of the isle of Makk. The raider had paid greater attention to his son and shielding him than he had himself, so that he had fallen by way of an axe to the skull. Amhladh had never forgiven himself his death.

“I feel myself to be more than amply prepared, Adomnan I would accompany thee on this quest to rescue Seathan! Do please allow me the honour of joining ye, please I would do anything! Will even give my life for the village if called to do so!” Cathal said loudly turning now to Adomnan for assistance in countering the authority of his father, since as captain of the fleet and chieftain of the village all decisions of who goes or does not go raiding was his.

Adomnan jumped what must have been some twenty or thirty feet into the air, and looked distinctly discomfited at the notion of regulating a matter between one of his oldest friends and the man’s son. The trouble was also that Amhladh was akin to an uncle to the energetic Artuir, so that often in the past he had relied upon him to safeguard, to watch over and otherwise assist him in parenting the child. To return his kindnesses by humiliating him publicly needlessly was perhaps a step too far in his view.

It was thus with more than a little reluctance that he was to meet the gaze of his impatient friend as he pushed his ship further out to sea alongside a number of other men. “Cathal, you are young still-”

“Chieftain!”

“-And while I have no doubt that you are without peer with a sword or spear, however this is for thy father to decide. Not for me. I have men enough for this rescue, three full score, the rest of the men such as yourself must remain here to defend our women and children.” Adomnan continued loudly speaking over the protesting youth.

Cathal never the calmest of men, being in the full throes of youthful passion as he was, was to give vent to a great curse and to turn away from his father who attempted to embrace him only to be refused. Visibly saddened by this, he was to murmur to his friend, “We have never argued so bitterly.”

“He will when he has calmed himself, come to see that you have the right of it my beloved,” Sorcha assured him gently as she ran a hand along his broad arm, “I will speak to him, never fear!”

Moved by her promise he was to clasp her hand in his own, ere he turned away to make for his ship with a number of the other men. Most of whom clapped him on his shoulders, before they leapt aboard themselves. The ships that set out were one and all topped at their prows with statues of the old gods of the island, notably of the Manannán, the deity of the sea that they all revered above all others.

The children were unhappy, and irritable at the fact that they had been denied the right to participate in the great raid that was to take place, since for a great many of them this had been all that they had dreamed of doing for the whole of their lives. If they were hardly willing to do aught else than seethe, they could hardly be blamed. All while the women preened and cheered, pleased that their husbands, brothers and men-folk had at last stood up and proven themselves to truly be men.

“It is settled then,” Adomnan declared sharply, “We leave at once, soon as the ships are prepared and loaded with the necessary rations for the journey and the necessary arms and fishing tools. May the gods especially the war-gods such as Morrigan, Badb and all the rest take vengeance upon the pestilent lady who stole our druid from us! And let any man who may cower hereafter before the shadow of that lady be as accursed as she!”

This time there were hearty cheers from the women and children, and somewhat half-hearted ones from the men-folk.

None though were more enthusiastic in their exclamations of joy than the likes of Artuir, who was to have to be prevented by Ràild from clambering forward to volunteer his services once more. In this he was not alone, as Tasgall made it as far as the Adhragan itself and had to be thrown back out to sea, and dragged away by Conn.

“Miserable gits, why can they not understand to wait and that their time will come in time?” He asked himself with more than a little irritation.

This was definitively the same sentiment that Adomnan felt for those who attempted to push their way forward, to force their assistance upon those who had volunteered to rescue Seathan. “Aye, we have more than enough men now, and do not have need to throw our children before the Dark Lady as one would a group of weasels at their prey.”

Conn echoed this sentiment ere he stepped aboard the ship, as did a great many of those who now clambered aboard. Those who remained behind were visibly relieved in a great many respects, and also regretful as they watched the ships depart for the north until they had disappeared.

More than one person when they turned away did so with quietly reassuring words to the likes of Seònaid and also Artuir.

All felt certain or perhaps it should be said that they wished to feel certain that those who had departed might soon return before autumn set in. It was only when days turned into weeks, and then weeks into two months so that despair at last sunk its terrible claws into the nape of every man who lived thereupon the island of Kull.

**********

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