Caladbohlg Chapter V: A Long Awaited Departure

The Irish adventure continues

It was the day after Gobán and his kin had fled from the Cell-by-the-sea that Bradán first had the chance to see her, when not on the verge of drowning. That first meeting, did not initially go well, in his view. It began with him morosely tossing pebbles into the water almost more out of anger, over the fire and how it had removed the Ratvian clan from Colum and his life. By the time, he had run out of pebbles he had lost all sense of self-certainty, he was in effect a slave to his fate. Lost, tired, he felt then the hugeness of the world, along with the smallness of his own person in comparison to it, more keenly than ever before.
In frustration with his own loneliness, he took to the sea, as he had the day before, and for all the days of the past week. To shout, to talk, to try and puzzle out the mystery of who it was that had pulled him out, of the water near the boat. He knew that he had seen a fin, at the end of a long tail, when Éodain was thrown off of him several days before.
“I know that you are there, show yourself!” Bradán shouted into the distance, only to receive no response to his mounting frustration. He reached down for a pebble, in the water to toss it further, into the sea. “Show yourself or-or-or I will never return here!”
In truth, he knew it was an idle threat, a weak one too as he could no more stay away than he could cease breathing. It was his favourite spot, the place that was only his when he had no desire, to humour others. It was the one place where no one bothered him. Yet, it was also the one place where it was the most dangerous, it seemed, as death existed persistently in connection to it. It was where Ríonal had nearly drowned, where Fergus had nearly died also, as well as where Éodain had come close to murdering him. In spite of all of this, it was also where he felt the most alive, where he was not Bradán the bully or bullied, but rather who he was at his core. At the primitive center of his being, as though the shore, the sea. It happened that it was mother and friend, yet also part of him.
His threat met with silence. It was not an altogether unexpected development, it still angered him though, enough for him to turn about from where he stood knee deep in the sea, to begin to head back to the shore.
That was when it happened, when he heard the sound of a loud splash some distance away. It could have been a fish, or it could have been his imagination, but he was sure of what it was even before he turned around once more. He was right, he realized belatedly a few seconds later, when he searched the area behind him. Only to nearly jump, and lose his footing when to his utter amazement, a head appeared from the sea.
“Woah!” He had cried out, only to barely succeed in keeping his footing; he stared in open-mouthed shock before he stuttered out. “Y-yo-you are real? You are the one who saved me, are you not?”
He could be excused for his surprise, as his acquaintance was not just human-seeming but almost entirely human at first glance with her pretty, yet uncannily blonde long hair, blue eyes and a face that in colouration was no darker than that of Ríonal, if anything it was much lighter. She did have gills, and there were strange fish-like membranes that ran up and down her neck from what little, he could see as she did not rise any higher, than neck-level above the water.
In response to his question she gave a short nod, one that signalled him to him, just as much timidity as Colum could with so small a gesture. It reassured Bradán who was aware of the danger some of those of the area he had grown up in, would constantly remind him, of the old wives’ tales of sirens and mermaids.
“Did you save me when Éodain, attacked me?” Bradán asked carefully, just as nervous as the woman before him, though he hid it better, he tried to also give her the impression of disarming friendliness.
Another nod followed. Pleased by this, he felt a surge of excitement as this signified so much more than just him being right, or that he did have someone to be thankful for.
“Wait until Colum, Ríonal and Eibhlin hear of this, even they will be surprised and-” Bradán caught himself just as the head of the alarmed girl disappeared under the sea, rushing forward he cried out after her, “Wait! Do not go!” She reappeared suddenly, with an uncertain look on her face, “I-I will come back tomorrow.”
He departed as swiftly as he could, eager to tell someone, anyone of his incredible discovery. Only to soon be, sorely disappointed by the reactions he received from the women, who seemed unsure, and also bemused.
No matter, he told himself, he would tell Colum secretly, away from the presence of the monks. Not that the Ratvian responded with much more enthusiasm than either of the two women did.
“I am not certain about this girl Bradán, besides I am in no mood for adventures or any such things.” Colum declared as they sat alone in a corner of the kitchen where they could whisper without fear to one another.
“You, only say that because you’re still saddened by the Ui’Rosses departure, you will feel better once you have another friend. Furthermore you have need of, a distraction from their departure.” Bradán cajoled, wanting to help his friend in spite of his words, which were harsher than he ever intended them to be.
“Bradán I do not think it wise, the monks would be unhappy,” Colum replied impatiently, only to add with a shake of his head. “They are mad you know, very much so with you as they have noticed all of your absences.”
Bradán shrugged, unlike his friend he did not fear the brothers, the gods nor did he seek to please them. He really doubted they much cared that, he was always absent, as none of them ever seemed to care when he was present either.
With a sigh of irritation he climbed up to his feet, suddenly no longer keen for Colum’s company, he knew that the Ratvian was likely of the mind that he had Bradán’s best interest at heart. Yet it did not feel that way, to the annoyed boy. “Fine, then I will leave you be,” Bradán grunted irritably only to add self-righteously, “I only wished to help.”
“Bradán, I-I cannot replace one group of friends with a new one,” Colum told him quietly, a hint of disapproval in his voice.
“Nor should you, but you behave as though all is over already, they are alive and we will see them again.” Bradán snapped, wounded by his words as he had never intended to replace Gobán or his kind-hearted family. And while he did not know for certain that, they continued to draw breath, he held out hope as he knew that they would never left without certain possessions. This was because to his mind, the alternative was also too terrible to ponder, for very long.
Colum unwilling to meet the mysterious girl from the sea, and Bradán now annoyed at him, he was however unable to convince either Eibhlin or Ríonal to join him, he left early the next day to go see the mysterious girl.
In contrast to Colum’s reticence, Bradán was hopeful, for this meeting with the girl he hoped would be as good a friend as the Ratvian or Ríonal, simply to prove them all wrong. Even so, it did not change his greater desire to learn more, specifically about the immediate area around Ériu.
Once he arrived at the shoreline, he glanced about in search of her, in spite of himself he did not want to risk venturing out too far out to sea. Unable to find her, in the dark morning he began, to consider taking a seat to begin to wait, for the sun to come up and shed some light, along the beach.
He was in luck though, he discovered when a familiar face popped up shortly after his arrival, he could not see it but could almost feel the hesitant stare of the mermaid, when he stepped on over to her, up to his knees into the water. “You surprised me, were you waiting for very long?”
She shook her head, once he was a bit closer he could see that it was indeed the same girl, what with her long hair, prominent forehead and fine features.
“What is your name?” Bradán asked trying and failing to repress the shiver that crawled up his spine once he was nearer to her, almost up to his waist in the water.
The girl stared at him, still unsure if she should disclose any information to him, while the boy sought to hide how cold he felt. Along with the first embers of frustration that had begun to spark up in the pit of his gut. The silence between them, stretched on, long until he wondered if it would ever be unbroken.
Eventually, Bradán grew sufficiently frustrated to consider leaving, he decided against it though, instead he told her of his feelings of impatience. He decided to tell her, he did not intend to stay if she did not speak up, “If you do not tell me, I will just have to-”
He did not finish his ultimatum though, as the strange girl finally introduced herself quietly, so softly did she speak that, he did not initially hear her. “Muirgel.”
“What?” Bradán queried in what was a startled voice, certain that he had not heard her speak at all.
“Muirgel.” She repeated a little more clearly, with a small, shy smile.
Bradán felt a wide grin climb onto his face, pleased by the smile on her own face, which warmed him, far more than the twin suns ever had. What did not help his stomach or heart’s heat, was the soft, lilting almost musical quality to her voice. It was a pretty sound, more akin he thought to the sound of chirping birds, or the finest of chorus he had ever heard.
“Muirgel, it’s a nice name, are there more people like you?” Bradán said to her, unsure of what to say to her, now that he knew her name. He was eager though to know more about her, to better understand her as a person, and why she had done so much for him.
Muirgel smiled at his compliment, pleased it seemed that he approved of her name, she gave another small nod.
“Are your people organized?” He asked, only to receive another small nod, which inspired another question, “Is there a kingdom?”
Muirgel confirmed this point, just as she had the other ones that had preceded it. This caused him to grow bolder, as he also forgot his feelings of discomfort from the water.
“Do you follow the ways of the Temple?”
“Temple?” Muirgel wondered confused, furrowing her brow as she spoke up for the first time since her introduction, to him.
“The Temple to the gods, the bringers of the holy Canticle of the goddess Brigantia and her kinsmen,” Bradán clarified only to pause and gape at her in utter shock, as his mind raced to catch up with her question. “Y-you do not follow the gods?”
The hesitant look on her face was almost answer enough, though Bradán did not entirely know what to do or how to respond to this, new piece of knowledge. In truth, he did believe in Scripture, did believe in the Temple, even if his feelings were somewhat offset by the harshness of the monks. He was also not sure how to react because of how pretty she was, or how quiet she could be, most heretics in Lyr’s stories were monsters. Likely to eat or torture him, yet Muirgel did not seem capable of any such act.
“I have never heard of such things,” She admitted only to add still silently, “Though I do believe in the gods.”
“You do? So you are of the Wild Faith,” Bradán assumed, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Nay, I suppose the easiest translation would be the ‘sea-faith’, which has been passed down to us by the Queen of all sea gods, Salacia.” Muirgel explained.
Bradán took all of this newfound information in with some difficult, he had never heard of such things and was therefore wholly unprepared for it. As to the name of Salacia, it sounded strange to his ears. It did not sound as though it were of the Wild Faith, though it was nonetheless familiar, to his ears, one never could be certain though, maybe it also belonged to that faith.
“Is she a northern goddess?” He asked only to receive his answer when he saw her look even more puzzled than before, “Nay? But I thought there were only three faiths.”
What he referred to, was the Norse faith, the Quirinian faith and that of the so-called ‘Wild-Folk’, all three of which were arrayed against each other, whilst they also struggled against the persecutions of the Warlock-King. And now there was a fourth to consider, something which he supposed did not bode well for Ériu.
Seeing his consternation, Muirgel reacted quickly though, still confused by what she had learnt from him. “Tell me about this faith, this way of my-I mean your people, I would know more about it.
“You would?” Bradán asked dubiously, still unsure of how to respond to a confirmed heretic. He knew what some of the older monks would say; either kill her or never see her again. Others such as Brien would say to convert her on the spot, while a still greater minority, this one option he liked the most, would say to hear all of her tales, write them down then convert her. Yet it was not just that Bradán lacked confidence in his own ability to convert her, but he was not certain which of the three faiths of Ériu were correct, and whether or not Muirgel would forsake him, if he tried to. He did not want that. He already had such a shortage of friends, that he had no wish to further acerbate his problem by chasing away Muirgel.
The mermaid nodded with an eager look on her face, one which was a relief to him. Though he was also surprised, by her strange eagerness to hear, of his own faith, this made him wonder though, as to why she was so curious. “Why?”

Muirgel opened her mouth to reply, only to shoot a glance behind her, down into the darkness of the sea beneath her. Her large, prominent brow furrowed once again, this time in consternation, the girl swallowed wherefore she turned to face him once more.
“Return here tomorrow, at this time and I will answer all your questions.” She answered before she dove down into the sea.
Cursing under his breath, as he had wanted to know what it was that had her so concerned, with nothing to do or to say about this disappearance. He left to go join Eibhlin and Ríonal, where he would help with the farm-work.

In the morn, the next day he would sneak away once more though, with many glances behind him, when he recalled how Éodain had followed him to the shore. Once there, he called out to her, in a raised voice, “Muirgel! Muirgel! Where are you?”
Once again, she appeared with only her head above the water, and once again as visibly nervous as she was when she left the day before. Once he was waist deep in cool water, a tad warmer than the day before. He did not waste time before he asked her the same question he had the day before. “Why do you wish to know about the Quirinian faith?”
Muirgel sighed, sucked in a breath that seemed about as heavy as the weight that weighed upon mighty Atlas, with Bradán waiting expectantly, for her answer. “It is a long tale kindly Bradán, a long one that has shaped the whole of my life.”
“Really? I do not mind, tell me this tale!” Bradán responded ecstatically, as in love as all Ériu-folk are with lengthy tales.
In response to his joy, Muirgel smiled in amusement at him, with a great deal of warmth, with a low hum she prevaricated then said philosophically. “Mayhap it may be best to start, by asking if you have ever heard of a king of the surface by the name of Bradán Bóruma?”
At once Bradán grinned widely, this was the exact sort of thing he wished to hear, for to his mind it was a tremendous tragedy, when eloquent yet gruff Fergus was forced to flee, because of savage little Éodain. He had felt cheated, when he had not been able to hear of Ériu’s finest warriors from his friend.
He licked his lips before he answered, doing his best to contain the eagerness such news inspired in him, as he knew precious little about the Bóruma. “Of course I have heard of him, he was the finest of all Ériu-men that ever lived.”
His answer won for him, a startled yet overjoyed look from the mermaid, she smiled more happily than ever before. “Really? I will tell you this, in the form of the song told to me, shortly before my mother died. She learnt it from one of your people-a holy-man I believe, when she was heavy with child that is to say, when I was still in her womb.”
Bradán leant forward, certain he was about to hear something great, something that would pay homage to Ériu’s most famous son, it did not disappoint him, one bit when he did hear it, a moment later.

“Four races of Kings have sat the Clover Throne,
Four great conquerors have walked the land,
Three faiths championed by those seated upon the Great Stone,

First was Athulf, the Golden King,
From him sprung the Athulfings,
Hot-Blooded one and all,
They felled and left each other dead or thralls,

Second to rise was Ryence, the Thief-King,
Long did he reign, yet endless was his suffering,
Fools soon followed as did the Lochs of blood,
As swift as they arose, they fell as in a flood,

Next arrived Helgi, the North King who’s eyes were ablaze,
Swords in hand, the Northmen felled Athulf’s line,
Days came then fled as Ériu drowned,
Thence arrived the shadow to sever every one of Ériu’s vines,

Lastly there arose the Bóruma,
None were ever so favoured by Brigantia,
All knelt, yet falseness dogged him to the hare’s field,
Where the fairest of Ériu’s flower of manhood did yield.”

The boy was moved by her voice, he stood speechless with shaky knees, at the sound of her melodious voice, and because of the quality of the hero-song she had just sung. Never mind the gratitude he felt, for the telling of the great man, he had always wanted to hear more of.
“Um, a great song,” He murmured softly still in the middle of recovering his wits, which pushed him to ask. “Wait, what does this have to do with you?”
In what was, he began to rapidly suspect, was an involuntary nervous reaction, one that amused him, she hummed a little before she answered, with her typical timidity. “Once again, it could take me days to explain it to you, yet it would be swifter and far more expedient to do so in the manner of my people, by singing it to you.”
Bradán nodded, not in the slightest bit anxious or displeased to hear such, though he did wonder why it was that she seemed so uncertain of her own voice’s beauty.

“Long did Muirgen watch him,
She would float there forever,
If Bradán’s gaze found hers,
None ever knew, save her mother,
One, two, then three years were they apart.
They were meant to be together,
She swore this upon the earth, he loved so fiercely,
While he fought ferociously.

While her kin, thought her daft
His believed her false,
Once united, they held fast,
Where she thought him bright, he was false.
From night until morn’, did she hope for Juno’s gift,
She hoped vainly, for seven seasons until she despaired,
Still he clung to her, despite the rift,
Until united, in dark where his lairds, would not have dared,
Another of his blood, did they beget.

Alas, just as Juno and Venus at last smiled upon her,
Orcus sent for noble Bradán,
At last loved, there was to be no succor
For either Cennétig’s heir, or for his maiden.
The Shadow-laird came roaring,
In the field of the hare he fell,
Leaving Glaucus’ gem to her weeping,
While the white-robed holies tolled the bell,
Cast down by his, her heart in torment in Hel,
Muirgen did fly, to Glaucus’ hall, where he sat feasting.”

Bradán frowned grimly, saddened he felt full of pity for Muirgel and for her now deceased mother, thence he felt stricken for all that they had both lost, and endured. In some ways, it was not unlike the tale of Fianna, who was also a great woman who had suffered needlessly. He longed to say something, anything to comfort Muirgel, yet he could think of nothing appropriate to say to her.
“I am sorry,” Was all he could blurt out lamely, only to kick himself mentally for his lack of eloquence. “I know it is of no comfort, but your father was a great man, a splendid one just as surely as your mother was likely to my knowledge.”
His words clumsy as any could be, won him an approving nod, no smile, as Muirgel was still upset over the fates of her parents. A loss Bradán could well understand though, in spite of how he envied her. He had no knowledge of his father, none either of his mother, all that he knew was that she was from the north, and that she may still have kinsmen who yet lived, if Lyr’s words could well be trusted.
“Is that why you ask after the faith? To know your father?” Bradán questioned, he realized how alike they were; both of them sought more knowledge of their kin though others would deny them, even this.
“Yes, but I also wish to know his people.” Muirgel confessed past a tight throat, “Would you please teach me about them?”
The plea was uttered with wet eyes, which were as a knife to the heart of the monk, reminded him of how he may not be the best equipped person to teach her, the ways of the faith of Quirina. Especially given, how often he quarrelled with the monks, all of whom claimed him to be rude and impious.

Despite his anger and reticence, he threw himself into an explanation of the nature of the Temple along with the hierarchy of the gods. “You see Brigantia, is also the Queen of the gods, with Ziu her brother, is god of war and I imagine the Bóruma liked him. Then you have Turan who is the goddess of love, Tenjin god of wisdom, Saga the goddess of scribes and history. Nótt goddess of the night, Dagd god of the day, Tempestas goddess of storms, Meret goddess of music, Khnum the smith-god, Fufluns the god of healing and fertility and finally Orcus the laird of the dead and of the underworld..”
“Is there no poem or song about them?” Muirgel asked impatiently, demonstrating for the first time since his introduction to her, a hint of a flaw that he shared one that annoyed him.
“None, that I know of,” Bradán admitted only to add, “I am no poet.”
“A pity, it would be much easier to learn if one could sing it, the nature of as well as tales of these gods of yours.” Muirgel whined, annoyed when he simply shrugged in reply to her complaints.
“Then compose it yourself,” Bradán retorted irritated by her criticism of how, he recounted the history of the Temple, as this was how he, himself had been taught.
“I am no poet either,” She snapped with equal impatience to his own.
“Yet you sang those songs so well!”
“Aye, I can sing them, but cannot compose them, as I simply sing what I have learnt.” She explained with as much dignified pomposity that she could summon.
“Is that not akin to learning how to swing a sword, without being in possession of an arm?” Bradán queried wryly, which made him laugh a bit at his own jest, he could see though from the hurt look in her eyes that, this may not have been the wisest or kindest thing to do or to say. “What of your gods, do they have any long tales you could tell me?”
“Mayhap tomorrow,” Muirgel grunted still upset with him, over his mockery of her.
Full of guilt, for he could see that though he had not meant to wound her, he had done just that. Many had judged and would later judge him with great harshness, for his dislike of those words however he justified himself by the fact that too often such words, were uttered merely to ease one’s own conscience and to avoid action. It was through actions that one should demonstrate one’s sincere desire for reconciliation, or so he believed.
“Thank you, will it be in song?” Bradán asked her timidly, indecisive of how to communicate his intentions to her.
“Maybe,” She said frigidly.
“I look forward, to it Muirgel,” the boy said quietly to her, he forced himself then, to meet her gaze.
“Good,” Was all she said in reply, in those few unguarded words he could all but feel a world of relief tinged with forgiveness. It was enough to make him sigh, in satisfaction that all was mended between them, with this confirmed and peace once more between them, she dove back underwater.