The death of Conn broke what little unity was left in Glasvhail. Though he had hardly been a wise leader, he was nonetheless a man they knew almost intimately. His family had continuously intermingled with the local fisherman’s village for generations. With none doing so more than Conn, who’s mother had been Graeme the carpenter’s cousin and his second eldest daughter had wed one of the villagers. He had been prone to sharp emotional outbursts, was less educated than the majority of his congregation yet had always been accepted as one of them.
Gentle and pompous all at once, Conn did not merit his fate Kenna thought, wiping at her eyes. Fearful for the village, she was filled with pity for Conn’s remaining family members, with Ainsley wishing to leave as soon as her husband was right and properly cremated to join her eldest daughter in Bjørndun to the north-west.
The head was burnt and laid to rest however it was the wish of Conn’s widow to request her husband’s corpse for the same purpose. She was dissuaded from leaving the village for Badrách’s keep only with the supreme most efforts of the locals who worried desperately, for her.
The village assembly had dispersed in despair, the day prior as none could quite decide what to do. The next assembly was called early in the morn and only resulted in bitter recriminations and quarrels over the intentions of Badrách.
Freygil was of a mind that the man had no intention to truly harm them, there had to be something they could offer or do to appease their laird.
A view that Salmon found utterly ridiculous, wherefore he argued with a loud snort full of contempt, “He will kill us all Freygil, he has no need of us.”
“What of our goods and produce?”
“He could simply slay us and take it for himself, regardless if we live or not, then hand our lands over to more convenient tenants.” Salmon sneered contemptuously just before he had been declared out of line, by the rest of those around him.
Many of them were of a mind that he had gone too far with his doom-sayings, with Ainsley not recovering from her swoon at the time. It was she who led the funeral of her husband, familiar with the rites of Orcus though she had never been accepted into the clergy. As there were no druids or druidesses in the region, it fell upon her to lead the Temple Session.
The second assembly involved much the same arguments. Undecided, Kenna could hardly bring herself to believe that the end could truly be nigh, Badrách was not supposed to wish them dead over what was in effect a piece of steel stolen by either Corin or Daegan. Badrách’s messenger had warned them of the intent of his liege-laird to slaughter them all, two days after the herald’s visit.
Trapped inside her home, sewing together a dress without truly thinking, her mind empty for hours after Conn’s funeral.
Swallowing her fears, her tears Kenna threw down the dress just as the suns reached their zenith, the land had by then thawed into spring so that the breeze that greeted her face when she stepped out was a warm one. There was a time she might well have objected to throwing a dress she was fixing to the ground, however now was not the time for such a week-kneed reaction. She felt an obligation, to ensure that her son still had a home to return to. But home had to be more than a simple building, or so she told herself as she crossed the village in the direction of one of the houses the nearest to the sea.
Waltigon had visited this particular house frequently in life, for Salmon was his closest friend (after his son of course). The two had been of a similar curmudgeon nature, had the same taste in ale and in food, with neither particularly fond of the local lairds. Both men also had a strange addiction to games of chance and dice though neither were particularly talented at the game. Murchadh had also visited Salmon’s home often, considering him almost his ‘uncle’ and fond of winning a great deal of fish from him, in those sort of games. It had also been Salmon, who had helped him to carve together a new boat after Waltigon had passed, as Murchadh had insisted upon burning the old one with his father, after he had passed.
After Murchadh had disappeared Kenna had ceased visiting the man’s home altogether. His closeness to her husband’s family had made her feel desirous to put as much distance between him and her.
Her knock upon the door, was greeted by Salmon’s daughter Mairead, a woman a few years older than Kenna herself.
A bright-haired young woman, who had the golden hair Salmon had once had, and that Waltigon and Murchadh had had, she also possessed chocolate-brown eyes and a plump figure. To-day she was dressed in a faded green dress, with a bonnet upon her head and with an eternally long-suffering air about her that was part and parcel to living with her tempestuous father.
From inside there was considerable noise, as her husband and five children (three daughters and two sons) all squabbled with the same zest and loudness that was so characteristic of old Salmon. As a mother of one lad, who had participated in the upbringing of two other children, Kenna could honestly say she had no notion of how Mairead survived and thrived as she did.
“Hullo there Mairead,” Kenna said, feeling rather awkward and uncomfortable now, having genuinely forgotten about the old fisherman’s family in her quest to seek him out.
“Oh Kenna, what an unexpected pleasure, I was not expecting you lass,” Mairead replied before she shouted over her shoulder, “Quiet the lot of you!”
“Make me!” Shouted back her youngest lad, Kentigern, this led to a further scolding which in turn led to another quarrel between the nine-year old and his elder brother and sisters.
Mairead appeared as though she might leap forward to strangle the lad, only to return her furious gaze back to that of her friend with a grimace on her worn features, “Apologies.”
“Think nothing of it,” Kenna assured her, “Where is your father? I would like to ask of him, his thoughts.”
Though she left it unsaid, what it was that weighed upon her, and what it was that she necessitated the Salmon’s opinion about, Mairead gave her a knowing look. Well-aware of what had happened earlier the day before, as all in Glasvhail were she let slip a long sigh.
It felt as though half the spirit of the fisherman’s body departed from her lungs, “He is by the shore, seated upon the quay I should think. He goes there to clear his mind he says, though it has been some time, since he last did so.”
It was a habit that Kenna had largely been ignorant of. If she was being truthful, she had thought it only Cormac who had developed that irritating habit. He had loved to stare at the sea, to day-dream he had once told her of fishing. His longing for the sea, to fish was the principal driving force in his life. While he had never resisted her attempts to pair him with Daegan, he had offered all the resistance his simple spirit could conjure forth to the notion of leaving for Sgain as she had wished to.
If- nay when he returns, I will convince Salmon to take him on as an apprentice, though I suspect that Trygve has often shared the old man’s teachings with him when neither of us were watching. Kenna thought to herself, having long suspected Indulf’s younger brother of doing so though the Salmon had hated for the lad to touch his boat, without his permission.
Departing from the small thatch and wood house, Kenna made her way to the shoreline keen to discuss with the old man the danger that threatened Glasvhail and her inhabitants. The grass she found between the house and the shore was tall and overgrown by now as none had cut it recently. The tall green grass had been well-maintained elsewhere, or so Kenna had observed, as the shepherds and shepherdesses had taken their sheep across the long region. Keen to keep the grass under control, so as to make life easier for their neighbours.
The breeze for its own part was cool yet not ice cold, as previous breezes had been with the sea dipped in orange due to the magnificent light of the suns. The ruins of Corin’s home which lay upon a nearby hill, was ignored purposely by the middle-aged woman, for she had no desire to ponder about the home to her left. In the distance she almost felt certain that the Misty-Isle could be almost discerned, as always wrapped in its mysterious fog that seemed to almost eternally hide the great hunk of land.
Seated upon the large wooden quay where many of the dozens of boats were hitched or pulled up over, so that the boats could be lain upon the nearby shore line or grassy fields. This was often done before the boats were put back out to sea, with Salmon seated at the very edge his tall back facing her, as surely as Cormac’s might have done were he still in Glasvhail.
With the snow and thaw gone for the rest of the year until its inevitable returned in the tenth month of Dàmhar, Kenna’s feet hardly made a sound as she walked over to the shore. Her thoughts were not on the thaw, or how it always came in the tenth month, lasted until the second or third months of the following year but upon Badrách and the failure of the past three assemblies.
They had sought to placate Badrách, had sought to secure naught but peace and stability by offering him all that they had, and he had still sought to take from them. There had been no hints, she tried to tell herself that events might one day spiral in this direction, and yet she was not entirely certain that she believed this herself.
Salmon did not turn his head, but kept his eyes upon the sea and feet dangling from the quay as though he were little more than a young lad. His back was straight his white hair long, longer than she had previously noticed it had grown though when it had she was not entirely certain. She spent so little time with him that she could hardly be blamed for finding this to be a surprising development.
“Salmon,” Kenna said all of a sudden, only to find herself struggling for words. She in truth knew not how to properly address him then, the weight of the years of coldness on her part felt akin to an indestructible stone-wall. He felt far away as surely as her son was, though in this case the distance between her and the old man was but four meters.
“Aye?” He replied after a moment, his voice unusually quiet. When she failed to answer at once, he did not turn about to face her but, maintained his gaze upon the still sea, and the light of the suns that bounced upon them. At the end of that moment he spoke up once more, though his voice sounded distant, and almost seemed to echo due to this distance. “Did you ever hear the tale of how Waltigon and I first rigged up a boat, to go fish on our own?”
“Nay,” She said impatiently, having no use for such a tale at such a time, though her throat felt too tight to summon hither the words necessary to interrupt him.
“We were foolish lads,” He murmured so softly she had to strain to hear advancing two more meters to do so. “We rigged her up, but took her out during a storm. Thought we could master it, could become in this way the mightiest fishermen to ever sail. All we did was ruin me pa’s old boat and wash ashore, he never did believe the tale we told. Then again, nobody ever did except Murchadh and maybe Cormac, who I always knew was told the tale by his pa.”
“What tale?” Kenna demanded stiffly, hopeful that it was not anything to make her scold the old man for. She really had no time for such things, not with certain death looming over the whole of the village.
“We could have sworn that from the sea there arose a great figure,” Salmon explained an almost dreamy tone to his voice, “Unlike in the tales told in the Canticle though, it was not Tempestas. She only appears with a bolt of thunder and amidst great hurricane storms and dark skies. The skies were indeed dark that day, yet this figure was far more queenly than she I think, and appeared from amidst the sea. Her raiment that of gemstones, pearls, clam-shells and great blue-gold crown were all magnificent, as magnificent and humbling as it was to see her she was also the most terrible thing I have ever beheld. I know that Conn and others might not have believed this, but I know for a fact that she was a goddess.”
The tale he told was so fanciful, so strange in nature that Kenna at once suspected him of making the whole thing whole-cloth in order to frighten or amuse her. This talk of a sea-goddess was heresy, never a topic she cared to entertain in any of her kith, let alone her kin, with it highly unlikely she might care to hear it from one she had barely any toleration for. There were only twelve divine ones, and none of them were sea-goddesses therefore Salmon’s description was flirting far too close for any pious follower of the Quirinian faith to feel comfortable with.
It thus went without saying that she did not much like the tale, nor did she much appreciate the almost dreamy element to his voice when he spoke of this strange ocean-figure. It was utterly dreamy and full of longing, reminding her ever so strongly of her Cormac and even Murchadh.
Taking her silent brooding for encouragement, Salmon continued with his little tale, “No one would believe us though, not that I blame them. We were but two eight year old lads, who had a habit for mischief at the time. But… gods, I am now seventy-three years old and I can still remember the sight of her, the majesty and the beauty of her expression as well as the terror that surrounded us as we looked upon her.”
“Why are you speaking of this- this tale of yours,” Kenna asked of him, exasperated and uncertain of why he spoke thus.
“It is just that, I wish to see her again though I know that may seem akin to folly to most now. I know she saved us, but it was also she who filled Waltigon and me with the old sea-longing that likely was passed on to Murchadh and Cormac.” He carried on voice quiet once more, ere long he laughed a hoarse laugh that we have all heard old men occasionally give. “I wonder at times, if it was mayhap the longing to see her himself that drove Murchadh out to sea during that terrible storm that night, though he claimed it was because Cormac wished for cod.”
“Please stop speaking of this,” Kenna begged him no longer wishing to hear of this story of this ‘Sea-Queen’ of his.
“Since that night when I was eight, I have had this feel for the air, for the weather Kenna,” Salmon said ignoring her plea, “I know that there is a storm coming. It is as though it wishes to deny us an escape from this pathetic spit of land that juts out of Caledonia.”
“But we do not jut out, and are no peninsula.”
“Use your head lass, I was not speaking literally,” He snapped irritably so that she knew then another reason why she had long preferred to avoid his company.
He could be so irascible that she never quite felt at home around him, and could always feel her own temper never a very distant thing begin to rouse itself. If Salmon noticed Kenna’s discomfort and growing unhappiness he continued to ignore it, preferring to once again stare out at the sea.
Her voice came to her without difficulty now, this being due as much to her anger towards him as due to her distaste for this heretical discussion of some sort of sea-goddess. “May we at last speak of what happened the other day? Of Badrách’s hopes to reclaim this sword of his?”
Salmon made a dismissive noise, something between a snort from his nose and a sneer, “The sword is meaningless.”
“Not to him it seems.”
“I am not so certain of that,” He snapped impatient as always, as the hitherto white clouds that had seemed to disperse themselves from before the suns began to roll together, greying with age as they reunited. The redness of the suns no longer shone through across the land, as the cool breeze turned malevolent in nature. “This was never about the sword, I think, it was but an excuse.”
“An excuse? Why formulate any sort of excuse, when he could rightly do what he wishes to with those beneath him, he is when all is said and done, our laird.” Kenna argued not grasping the point still.
“Come now Kenna, I thought you were supposed to be the intelligent one in your family,” Salmon grumbled before he pulled his feet from the water. Pulling the boots from where they had sat untended in the boat anchored next to him, tied by rope to the quay, along with a piece of clothe which he used to wipe at his wet feet before he shod them. “You know as well as I, Badrách has never much cared for peasants, he likely fancies he could bring in more compliant folk or reward any sell-swords he hires in the future with our lands.”
“What sell-swords?” She was now alarmed, confused by the direction of his thoughts.
The sigh that escaped him was as hostile as it was furious now, “Those he wishes to use in the war against our High-King, in the name of that imbecile MacDuibh.”
The open insult and criticism towards MacDuibh was the sort of remark that she could never have otherwise felt comfortable saying herself. For years she had avoided any contact with anyone (save Daegan) who tended to speak so of the local Mormaer.
Her mind awhirl at the implication that Badrách may wish to hire mercenaries, especially since he likely wished to reward them and other followers with the land of Glasvhail. It filled Kenna wish such despair, so that thereafter she could nary pull her courage and wits together once more.
“What are we to do? Simply give up?” She asked of him, her words and heart utterly hollow after hearing him speak so. A part of her refused to believe it, though she knew the truth was that Badrách had never liked those peasants that worked the land and sea, on the threshold to his home.
She was saved from the depths of the dark pit that she had fallen into by Salmon, when he next spoke. “Nay, just as when at sea and a storm lies upon the horizon and the pickings are slim we must never give up and leap overboard.”
“If such is the case, what do you propose we do?” Kenna queried, as he walked over at last to her, the two turning to leave the quay behind them.
“I am not certain.”
“You speak of the laird’s hope to slaughter us all, yet remain unsure of what to do?” She asked incredulously of him.
“Aye, I never pretend to have all the answers,” Salmon retorted evenly, eyes on the heavens above them, “The skies are darkening, which signals that a storm is as I said; imminent.”
“What of it?”
“Storms are frightful things, yet we must hope to reach the shore before they come crashing down upon us.” Salmon muttered before he added restlessly, tugging at his cloak against the breeze that grew ever icier. “Badrách intends to strike at us tomorrow; once he does he will demand his sword, only to give the order whereupon the slaughter will take place.”
“And if we did have this sword?” Kenna asked nervously.
“He would accuse us of theft and punish us for it,” Salmon informed her looking at her with his dark-stormy eyes, daring her to disagree with him.
She no longer wished to do so, preferring in place of seeking out an argument over what was unimportant semantics, when there was the more urgent matter of avoiding death. “What if we were to appeal the decision to the Mormaer or the High-King?”
“In less than one day?” He shook his head at this foolish question before he answered, “Nay, we are by ourselves and have only ourselves to blame should we make the wrong decision.”
“And what might be the right choice in this situation?” Kenna wondered almost more to herself, gnawing upon her lower lip, shivering in the cold.
“Survival, by any means, there is no shame in flight though I do wonder where in the name of all the gods we might find flee, with the Dyrkwoods behind us and nothing but fields’ south-west. Woods to the north-west with the laird’s keep to the north-east.” Salmon described at some length shaking his head once more in despair himself.
Hiding sounded good to her, she thought just as the question of where to hide came into her spirit. To the west of Glasvhail lay open hills and plains, where many took their sheep to, along with a branch of the northern woods which stretched far to the north for two days, stretching off in that direction past the heartland of Badrách’s barony. To the south were some fields, but most notable of all places lay the Dyrkwoods, said to be cursed and most of the locals would have preferred to try their fortunes against Badrách’s steel than whatever fate the fey may have in store for them.
Kenna though had one possible solution, “What if we were to take to the forests to the north? Surely, Badrách will not think of it.”
They were nearing Salmon’s home; she could see this and felt no small amount of relief at the sight of it. This conversation had not exactly been an exciting venture for her, though she knew that she could not let things end so soon. Not with there still looming over them the threat posed by the local laird.
“I am not so certain that is wise; he knows those woods better than anyone given how often he hunts there.” Salmon said in a brooding voice, one that she refused to allow to discourage her from her newfound scheme.
“Do you have any better ideas to propose, Salmon?” Kenna challenged in the same voice, she used whenever she battered down the will of her son.
Salmon for his part was no fool lad of barely sixteen seasons old, but an old man seasoned and wizened over the course of seventy-three seasons. “Nay, though I am curious, as to why you came to me and not Freygil or the rest of them, with this talk of plans to escape from Glasvhail.”
This was a question that Kenna had hardly expected to be asked, though she knew she should have foreseen it. It was a good question, and one that now that she pondered it had a very simple answer, one worthy of the simplicity of spirit of her son. “It is because; you alone appear to me to wish to speak of solutions rather than the problem itself. Many of our neighbours appear to me, to have already given up in spirit and I wished to speak to one, who cannot properly understand such a term.”
This drew a loud cackle from the old man, so that he threw his head back with a long laugh. His resemblance then to Inga was noticeable, for she had had a tendency to throw back her head, and laugh in just such a manner. It brought a smile, if a short-lived, and tight one that looked almost akin to a frown to Kenna’s lips.
When they had neared his home, he paused to tell the seamstress, still chortling from her simple answer. “If you could somehow convince the whole lot of these ram and cows, to defy the shepherd in favour of survival, I will follow your mad scheme to run and hide in the woods.”
*****
This set Kenna’s course, though Salmon did not entirely realize it at once.
Crossing the village, she next visited the home of her old friend Ida whom she convinced into spreading the news that there was to be an evening assembly, one that was to be called forth by Ainsley. Leaving her friend also with instructions to sway Freygil, wherefore he was to leave to convince as many as possible to escape Glasvhail if need be.
This done, Kenna hurried thither to the temple of Fufluns the skirts of her dress almost hiked up to her thighs in a disgraceful manner, as she bound forward in a manner she had not done since girlhood. Embarrassed by it, her cheeks red as she panted from the long run, outside the building the skies had noticeably darkened something that worried her quite a bit.
Once she had knocked and been invited inside by Ainsley who had arrayed herself in a black dress to mourn for old Conn, Kenna asked her, “May I speak with you a moment, Ainsley?”
“Certainly, do join us we have a wine-bottle open at the moment, and do not much mind sharing it with you.” The druid’s widow said with more warmth than Kenna had looked to expect from her, under the circumstances and given what had happened the day before.
Though they had never truly been friends as Kenna was with Olith and Ida, while Ainsley had clung to Mairead and Olith also, the two of them had never truly contested against one another. Both were cordial women, who disliked their men-folk’s habits of losing themselves in their own day-dreams, maintained a strict household where orderliness and piety were absolute. Yet both had been patronesses to younger women in the locality, though Kenna had long suspected Doada to have a certain dislike for Daegan. The lass who had long held the majority of the seamstress’s own favour, with the only reason Doada possibly tolerated her being due to the lass’s friendship with Inga. The Salmon’s granddaughter having always been a favourite of all the women of Glasvhail, due to her pious, passion for good-natured jests and undeniable warmth.
The interior of the druid’s living quarters was decidedly less ostentatious than some of those who lived in the village. This surprised Kenna, who found the simple ash-wood table that lay at the center of the kitchen, was twice as large as Kenna’s own kitchen, with there being several wooden counters where food was stored in small bottles. Much of the meat as with most locals was kept in tight chests filled with salt, though Ainsley’s chests were kept to the left hand corner of the room, both lined up near the wall connected to the door that led outside. The counters to the left were split apart by the chimney which was made of stone, and was used for cooking meat and fish. There was to the right of the large square table that dominated the room, a door that led to the temple’s main hall where worship took place, and at the other end of the room was another alder-wood door. It led, Kenna suspected to the rooms where the household slept during the night.
In all it was a lovely place, a little cramped what with the six chairs by the table and the gloom that filled the air from top to bottom, corner to corner not that Kenna was liable to judge. Her own home was unlikely to be much larger, and had for nigh on a decade been even gloomier she imagined.
Seated at the table were to the right-side Doada and her husband Bhàtair, and to the left sat Helga nearest to the door and opposite to her good-brother, little Eillidh sat across from her eldest sister. Invited to seat herself at the chair nearest to the door, at the head of this small, sad household Kenna was swiftly served by her hostess who all but thrust a goblet into her hand, and then filled it before she all but threw herself back unto her original seat.
“It is so good of you to come for a visit, especially given the circumstances,” Doada piped up with as much as she could muster, a wan smile decorating her pretty face, as her husband nodded his head and wrapped a protective arm about her shoulders.
“Aye, you are the third to stop by to offer condolences since the break-up of the funeral and preceding assembly.” Ainsley informed her stiffly, pouring herself a substantial amount of wine also now.
Unsure of where to begin, Kenna decided to try to ease into the subject, offering up first her apologies for not visiting sooner, before she stated, “I do hope I have not intruded upon any particularly sensitive moment for you and yours, Ainsley.”
“Nonsense, Conn was beloved throughout all of Glasvhail,” Ainsley said her voice hoarse with grief and eyes shiny with tears, seeing the look on her guest’s face she almost smiled. “Oh I know he was a figure of considerable mockery throughout all of Glasvhail. However, just as he was considered a buffoon, he was beloved and was talked about as a member proper of the village rather than some gentry-man as he fancied himself to be.”
When she spoke thusly of Conn, it felt impossible not to grieve for the poor old man. Kindly, and full of bluster, the fifty year old druid had had his share of faults such as his sense of superiority over all who surrounded him. A quality he had humorously shared in common with Daegan, now that Kenna thought about it. He had also been the same man, who when his authority was challenged when he had the idea to cut down Ciaran’s oak, had crumpled before Cormac’s pleas. Bursting into tears himself, he had retreated after repeatedly apologising, whereupon he was considered something of an old fool and cry-baby by the local villagers. Yet none had ever afterwards doubted his goodness, and had honoured his every order and request with all the warmth, they had reserved for the likes of Waltigon, Murchadh or Ida.
Kenna could still remember his words from that day, even across the more than ten years that separated her from that moment. It was just before Murchadh had vanished at sea, he had been off on his boat with Salmon, fishing off the shore, with it being Kenna who answered the door at the first knock from the druid. He had escorted Daegan and Cormac back to her home, and with tear-streaked plump cheeks, had told her, “Your lad is the most troublesome rascal I have ever laid eyes upon, Kenna! He may as well be a fairy-lad. Though if I may, he is the most godly and good-hearted lad in the whole of this village.”
That had been before Cormac took to his day-dreams and wanderings, and before Conn developed a faint distaste for the lad. The words had remained ever after with her, and still imbued her with a faint sense of pride and warmth for her rapscallion of a son.
Pulling herself from her memories, she nodded her agreement at her hostess’s words murmuring her own kindly praise of old Conn.
“This is the second kindness you have shown us, which as me old ma’ might have said, makes you in effect kin,” Ainsley said to her then with another near wan-smile.
“Second?” Kenna queried startled, not certain she followed the other woman’s line of thought.
“You taking Helga on to teach her to improve her needlework, of course,” Ainsley answered with a significant glance to the red-faced Helga.
Demurring from their gratitude, especially since she was of a mind that it was to the contrary to what they had just purposed to be the truth of the matter. It was Helga who had helped the seamstress, by taking onto her own shoulders a portion of the widow’s work and by providing her with company during some of her loneliest days.
The memory of how difficulty the past week has been for her, and of how compassionate Helga had been towards her, made up Kenna’s mind for her. She swore then with all the resoluteness of an army-general or a High-King from the age of the Second Wars of Darkness that she would save Conn’s stricken kinswomen and kinsmen.
“Ladies, Bhàtair,” Kenna said with a great deal more confidence than before, after they had quieted down a little to have a sip of their wine. “I came not to speak of old memories or simply to commiserate, but rather to speak to you of the threats that herald, Craig laid down upon us and what is to be done.”
Her words astonished them, the resolve in them all the more. Where some such as Eillidh the youngest daughter was too grief-stricken to pay them much mind, others such as Helga heeded them at once. Helga’s dark eyes rose from her own clay goblet, to gaze inquisitively to the seamstress, with others such as her good-brother looking at the same woman searchingly.
Accustomed to searching gazes as a merchant woman, Kenna did not become flustered as her son or Indulf might have, but rather felt her inner being stitch itself almost back into place. The notion that people were as pieces of clothe that were stitched, or knitted together was a view, her master had had. Until then though, she had had her reservations about this view, yet now she began to see the wisdom that lay behind his words.
It was Doada the second daughter who appeared to be the strongest of those present therewith her family, answering for the rest of them though she appeared to disapprove of Kenna’s words. “What do you mean? Our father is dead, and you wish to speak of how it came about and why Badrách wishes to slay the rest of us?”
“Nay, not that,” Kenna replied hurriedly unsure of how she had misunderstood her intent. “I would prefer to speak to you of what is to be done to save our families; whether you wish to or not you still have authority over Glasvhail.”
“How so?” Ainsley demanded in a thick voice that filled the brown-haired seamstress with pity for her, her eyes momentarily lowered to the table that had a multitude of cracks in it. The veins of the alder-tree used to make it visible and almost beige the dark brown of the rest of the tree largely dominated the wood of the table.
Her study of the table came to an end whereupon she gathered about herself not only her confidence, but her thoughts. Forcing herself, to be as the darker chocolate colour and to dominate the beige, as softness could hardly aid them then, not when there were lives at stake she told herself.
“You are the widow of Conn; he was headman of Glasvhail as our druid. Therefore until there is a new druid you are the only one who can call, for a village assembly.” Kenna persisted forcing herself forward regardless of the doubt she saw thereon the faces of those who surrounded her. Feeling nervous she decided to remind them, as an after-thought, “It is what Conn would have done, for it was his duty and is now yours.”
*****
Though the children had hardly cared for this call to duty, trapped as they were by their grief and stricken by the proposal that they do anything other than grieve, Ainsley did as pleaded. Though she did so reluctantly, and was hardly overjoyed by the sheer size of the assembly. Gathering from every corner of the village, the people who did so included the wives of the fishermen, farmers and artisans where ordinarily it might mostly have been the men-folk. Each family hurried inside wthe temple here it was decided due in no small part to the rain that had by this time, hours after Kenna’s conversation with Conn’s family.
The rain fell at first slowly, going tap-tap-tap upon the ground, striking the dirt, trees and grass with the force of a hundred small ice-shards. The heavens which had darkened to a dark grey now took up a darkened air that chilled the blood of all those who gazed upon them. From then onwards tens of thousands of raindrops had struck the land, the sea beginning to rage at the quay with a force unseen ere several years. The grass that filled the fields became a dark-green, only to bend forward or backwards while the trees that seemed to hover over the fields lowered their arms in surrender to Tempestas’s glory. Few flowers had begun to bloom, as it was still early spring, with those few who had were darkened with the petals bowing downwards.
Few if any of those who entered the temple, stepping past the cedar wood doors took notice of the dark mood that hung in the fields, the darkening of the land in the face of the storm. For they carried within each of them, a greater tempest or so Kenna thought, noting how a great many had preferred to array themselves in black raiment of mourning. The sound of the rainfall against the roof-top served to distract the seamstress who also took notice of how many raindrops slithered past the many cracks in the ceiling to patter down to the ground of the main worshiping hall. Some drops fell upon the occasional unwary person, who typically reacted with irritation in response, and attempted to bustle or shrink away. Not always to considerable success, given how there were too many people contained within the small hall.
Nigh on the whole village had gathered, to the surprise of Kenna who had not expected to see almost everyone present. Certainly she had hoped for the usual thirty or so people, but to see almost every family so that the number was near to a hundred people present rattled her.
At the head of the hall, stood Ainsley, the hall had by then become suffocating in scent and heat due to the number of folks present. With Ida to the left of her and Mairead to her right, as both woman had hurried to the temple, the moment they had finished with their appointed tasks of spreading the news of the assembly. Both excited to see what it was that Kenna had planned, who for her own part knew that the majority of those present likely believed Ainsley to be their rescuer in this darkest of hours.
“We are gathered, because of how you all doubtless are aware of the threat cast upon us by Badrách, and of the danger of refusing him his precious sword.” Ainsley stated primly, her head held high, speaking hoarsely with a throat that had in the past several days been ill-used from the great multitude of weeping she had done.
Grief weighed down upon all those in the hall, it gave way though to cynical bitterness when Ealar the fisherman pushed his way forward from the middle of the crowd.
His prominent brow bulged just as his beard bristled, at his next words, “This is why we must see to offering a new bribe to Badrách; he stated he would spare us if we did so again.”
“But then his herald promised us doom, you fool,” Salmon barked out from the right-most section of the hall, the opposite end to where Kenna, the family of Conn flinched a little at his sharp tone. Nervous, all could see them hesitate where they stood between the wooden, green-clothed altar and the statue of Fufluns with his wheat and grape in hand. Salmon was not finished speaking though, “Nay, any further bribes will only further impoverish and weaken us, while allowing Badrách to grow stronger and less patient in the days to come. He will only demand more.”
“How do you know this, you doddering old man?” another voice spoke out, this one belonged to Elspet the Elder as folks called the wife of the woodcutter, Graeme who had perished some time ago to the phantom-rider. “What is to be your alternative? That we rise in revolt and perish before his house-hold guards, rather than pay Badrách his due?”
“I neither propose rebellion, nor do I propose any alternatives, but rather argue against any folly which involves appeasing a laird who is prepared to do what his neighbour’s forefather Gartnait did fifty years ago. Gartnait desired the death of his subjects, they offered to pay double their usual tithes, and this led to in the following months thrice that doubled tithe-fee. This only led to them being worked to the bone, until most perished and starved, with the rest wiped out regardless of how much they paid him.” Salmon explained as though it was the simplest thing in the world, and Elspet was one of the slowest individuals he had ever met.
This response caused an eruption of murmurings, complaints and past recriminations to burst forth from where they had lain hidden, for a number of years. Old grudges that had simmered beneath the surface for years were proven then to have merely hibernated. The sound of the shouts, shrieks and accusations shook the temple itself to its foundations with no corner of the hall safe from the bitterness of Elspet.
The sight of the hall on the cusp of chaos proved to be too much, for Freygil who rose to the occasion, to restore order to the hall. Screaming himself hoarse, with the assistance of his two eldest sons Solamh and Eachann, he restored order at the request of Ainsley. Fearing a riot, the widow of Conn had begged him silently, as one of the most respected fishermen in the locality to aid in this endeavour.
Taking up post by the altar himself, Freygil declared with no small amount of anger in his voice, “Are we wee children, to require such a scolding? Remember the good harvest-lord’s example, we are here in concord, we all took an oath at the dawn of this assembly to comport ourselves properly. Remember this,” His gaze fell upon Salmon, who sneered back at him, as the younger man gazed upon him with open scorn, “You most of all Salmon.”
“Pah,” He spat at the ground between them.
Mairead rubbed at her temple, her cheeks scarlet with embarrassment at her father’s poor comportment then. Kenna could not help but rub her shoulder in sympathy; it was the sort of behaviour one might have expected from the old man.
Freygil coughed to clear his throat, “Ehem, as there are no further proposals than that suggested by Ealar, I do believe we should return to our hearths to gather what we have, for Badrách.”
It took Kenna a moment to realize what it was that he sought to do; he wished to pass the motion to bribe Badrách without waiting to listen to her proposal.
At the same time that Kenna felt stung by the betrayal, having hoped that Ida’s husband might at least consider another approach to Badrách’s threat. The knowledge that he only wished, to push forward his scheme to grovel for mercy infuriated Kenna, igniting the fire that lay hidden within her Caled blood.
It was said that the people of Caledonia, were as much the descendants of Scota who had created them all, as they were those of Ziu. The war-god it was said had wished to join in the process of creation alongside his cousin, with the manifold desires that lay hidden in the hearts of all Caleds ignited when Ziu had spilled some of the flames of his fiery-sword upon them. Doing so only because, though she could ignite life within mortals, the goddess could not give them the passion she so dearly wished them to have. Her cousin it was said had requested the honour to do so, but had been passed over during the creation of the Brittians, Cymrans and Ergyngians, in favour of Khnum. The Caled ancestors though, were seized by a large demon-drake known as the Nadgoggr who had devoured them; whereupon Ziu carved open its stomach withdrew the first Caleds and returned them to Scota, who decided to reward him for his heroism. This was an old tale that Kenna’s father had been wont to tell her late at night, to explain his reasons for pursuing battle wherever he heard it had befallen the lands of the Lairdly-Isle.
At that moment, it was not only the fire that burnt within her heart that was ignited but that of Ida, who all but threw herself forward to reprimand her dishonest husband. “Traitor! Coward! That was not why we came here, you whelp of a man!”
Astonished at his wife’s accusations, as much by her public denunciation of his attempts to pass the motion he favoured, he spoke out in a fury, “Careful wife, I am still your husband.”
“And I your wife and you promised me you would heed my counsel to-day.” Ida bellowed back with all the fury of a war-born Caled, stamping over to the altar her back to the crowd of people who stared, as much in disgust as they did in bemusement at this very public quarrel between man and wife. “You swore earlier near to noon, to abide by my request to hear out Kenna’s proposal at this assembly, and now you seek to undermine that? Would you truly break your oath to your own wife?”
Freygil appeared murderous, and though none doubted a part of him might well have liked to lay his hands upon his wife. Such a thing was not to be done in public, and was actively discouraged by most Caleds, who had little taste for such violence between couples. Freygil amongst them, and much as he could be a liar and had proven himself fundamentally dishonest in Kenna’s eyes then, she had no doubt in her soul, he would never harm Ida.
She was however nervous, whether her friend might resort to such misdeeds in public though, given the rage that had seized a-hold of her. Kenna took this as her moment to step up, before the crowd lest Ida or Freygil should say much more to embarrass themselves. As it was, the latter merely spluttered for the moment, claiming to have never broken his oath to his bride at the same time that his sons sought to amend things between their parents, their sister in turn though burst into tears. Stricken by the sight of her parents at such loggerheads, Finella was amongst the youngest of those children who had joined in the assembly, being barely older than fifteen years old. The sight of her pain and tears moved a great many of those present to compassion, with Moyra the sister of Inga taking her up in her arms. The mood turned from one of murderous rage, to one of utter frustration and depression.
This was the moment when Kenna rose at last to the occasion, to inform them all of what she had in mind for them to do. Stepping forth from she had previously stood to the front of the crowd to stand by Ainsley’s side, her blood still boiling at her friend’s betrayal of her. “Thank you Freygil, for your proposed motion.” This she said sardonically, unable to resist striking him when he was almost bowled over by his wife, such was the force of her own bitterness. Turning back to the crowd of people gathered before her, she said in bald terms what it was she thought they ought to do. “I will not lie to you, my brothers and sisters of Glasvhail, we face to-day such danger that we have not seen in generations. Bribes will avail us naught, neither will hiding in our homes to pretend that all is well save us.”
Kenna took a breath, whereupon Elspet ever keen to be a contrarian where she was concerned leapt forth from the crowd to attempt to make a fool of her. “What might you suggest, seamstress? That we revolt?”
“Nay, never that,” Kenna rejected at once, forced to raise her voice due to the incessant murmurings that had exploded throughout the hall she struggled to be heard and to keep the anger at this unwelcome interruption out of her voice. “I recommend we fly to the north-woods, to the north-west before it is too late.”
It took her words a moment ere they sunk in people muttered and debated them for some time. Seeing the bewilderment they caused and how uncertain all those gathered felt, cost Kenna her confidence in them. She had known her plan might prove to be controversial, but she was unprepared for the depths of the disapproval and shock her proposal inspired throughout the hall.
“Leave our homes?” Sheona the sister of Bungo gasped, horrified by the suggestion, momentarily distracted from her attempts to comfort Ida’s daughter.
“Outrageous!” Cried another voice, this one sounded female also with Kenna too stunned by the anger she saw on a great multitude of the faces gathered before her, to place a name to the voice.
“You would have us abandon our homes, for what? To play in the woods?” This time the shout came from Bungo himself.
Just as it seemed as though the whole of the hall preferred to screech and shout at her, until the timbers that served foundations to the temple trembled. Helga stepped forward to join her voice, in support of the seamstress’s motion. “All that we have is in danger either way; the only difference would be that we might live if we follow Kenna’s wise counsel.”
“But we do not know what is out there!” Finella shouted having recovered from her tears.
“Aye and this is our home!” This time it was Aodh, another of the fishermen of Glasvhail who added his voice to those who had already spoken.
“Not anymore,” Salmon countered at once, “They were lost to us, the moment our laird declared against us, therefore we have a duty to abandon them and take all that we have with us.”
“And where would we go after the forest?” This time it was Solamh, eldest son of Freygil and Ida who spoke up.
It was Elspet the wood-cutter’s widow who proposed a mad suggestion that won immediate popularity amongst the vast majority of the horde of people present, therein the temple’s principal hall. “Why flee, when we need only take shelter herein the halls of Fufluns?”
“What?” Eachann, the next eldest of Freygil and Ida’s children who spoke, hardly the most swift-witted of his brothers, he nonetheless appeared as stunned by the suggestion as his betters were.
“We could claim all as one sanctuary from the brutes who serve Badrách, and they could not harm us,” She suggested madness in her eyes, such that it shook Kenna to the very depths of her soul.
She was not alone in feeling revulsion towards this idea, as Salmon soon proved when he spoke out with a sneer, “Oh yes, but for how long? They could outwait us, and we have little sustenance herein this hall. Nay, to the woods we must look.”
The rejection by the Salmon though had little influence upon people, as he and Kenna had hoped. To the contrary, his words only incited them to further defiance to his pragmatism, and to begin to consider the madness of Elspet.
“The gods will provide for us,” One man said madly.
“They owe us that much, for all that we have done for them and given how long we have toiled in those fields and sea.” Tadg the farmer bellowed daft as Elspet was, at that moment.
What stunned Kenna was how many of those who had once supported her or Freygil joined in this call, to plant themselves on and all in the temple. It was as though the two factions having worn themselves out against one another, over the course of hours of battle, had decided upon this as a kind of middle-ground. It was a compromise that pleased none of those, who were more attached to leaving or to bribing Badrách for they could see the flaws in such a plan.
“This is daft,” Freygil stammered horrified by this proposal, “And sacrilegious it is not for the gods to care for us!”
“What is more is that if we cease to work the land and fish, we will eventually starve,” Ainsley the widow of Conn cried out, adding her voice to the others who strove to reason with the maddened crowd.
It was to no avail. Her ‘betrayal’ of the mob that had fully expected Conn’s widow to support their religious folly, took this but poorly. Shouting her down, they passed the motion regardless of those speaking out against them.
It was thus in this manner that Elspet the wood-cutter’s mad-widow took control of the village so that she and nigh on seventy people or so forced themselves upon the home of Conn. What was more was that they passed the decision to send a messenger, to the village of Thernhallow near the keep of Badrách to pass along the message that the whole of the village had sought sanctuary.
*****
Kenna left the temple hall in despair. By right, she should support the decision of the majority of the village. Tenjin (the god of wisdom), only knew how often she had taken to lecturing Cormac or even Murchadh upon this point.
This brought up the question, of what it was that she was to do; she could return home to await Badrách’s decision, could flee south after the children as Corin had done. But this decision was one she could no more abide than she could the strange madness that had overtaken Glasvhail. Her loyalty was to the village and to keeping if not the physical form of it, the people who resided there alive. Alive so that they could inevitably return one day, to lay down future seeds and fish once more from the sea near the shoreline, and welcome back Cormac to something that more or less resembled normalcy.
This thought resonated through the whole of her being, so that it was with this driving thought in her mind that Kenna lit a candle, which she took with her from room to room, and gathered together her most precious private possessions. Along with some of those of her son, and some dresses and cloth such as the silk material she had spent so much coin upon into a large pack. Moving from room to room, Kenna found that she could hardly breathe as she examined each of these rooms from top to bottom. The memory of the scent of the dye that she had tended to use just outside to the left of the house and that had never wholly been washed away from the oak-wood of her home filled her nostrils then.
Where before it was an unpleasant stench that at times made her gag, it now filled her with warmth as surely as the oak-wood did, with the sight of each crack in the walls and ceiling likewise filling her with sorrow. She had a sense as she examined every piece of dress she tucked away into the pack, as she threw a proper bonnet upon her head that this, was to be the very last time she saw this place. With a sigh of regret she ended her examination of her and Murchadh’s room, which had originally been her master’s in life, and that she had inherited upon his death. She moved from there to that of Cormac’s, searching it as a ferret might its hole in the winter for rations, for any small possession he had left that she knew he had loved so.
In the middle of her search through Cormac’s room, for his father’s net that he had so prized, she found to her surprise, Daegan’s silk dress from the festival.
Fingering the dress, and thinking back upon the effort the seamstress had poured into it, Kenna thought back to all the hours she had worked upon it. Of the daydreams that had distracted her as she worked, of the notion that this dress would surely help Daegan in the seducing of Cormac’s heart. In helping to at last persuade him to abandon his dreams of the sea, in favour of seeing the beauty that could be woven together by cloth.
Able to see now how futile, this desire to replace his sea-longing with one for weaving and the seeking of profit, was folly personified. Kenna almost wished she had never woven the dress at all, the memory though of the awe in which Cormac had held Daegan in, when she wore it and the joy it had brought the latter purged her of this terrible notion.
Madness and joy, were not always wholly divorced from one another, Kenna mused tartly. If only they could be entirely severed, though she wondered how much worse the world might be if some of the madness was taken out of joy itself.
Packing away the dress, for it struck her mind that there may indeed be a day in the future that it might need to be worn. Besides if Daegan had loved it, it was not within her rights to destroy it, especially as it had already been given over to Olith’s daughter’s possession.
This done, along with the packing of some food such as cheese, bread and what meat remained that Cormac and his friends had not taken along with them. Tossing about her shoulders and old fur-cloak Murchadh had once given her, made from the fur of an old she-bear that he and Corin had hunted in the north-woods. She selected with care her favourite old walking staff, determined as she made for the door to before she left, speak once more to Ida, Ruairi (Salmon’s eldest granddaughter’s husband) and Salmon and their kinsmen. Who knew? Maybe they would prefer to leave with her. Kenna threw open the door, just as it appeared that Ida had raised her hand to rapt her fist against it.
“Oh!” She uttered in surprise.
“I’faith!” Kenna yelped at the same time.
Both of them stared at one another for a time, before they gave way to a small fit of giggles that verged upon madness. It was strange, wild and utterly without reason and yet it felt at that moment as though it were the most natural thing in the world to do. The fear and shock of the past days almost bowled them over, when the realisation that the woman who had vowed, to never leave Glasvhail a fugitive with but her satchel of coins and dresses for elsewhere was about to do just that.
When this fit of hysterical snickering had faded properly (though it took some time), Kenna took the time to ask of her old friend, who with her curled blonde tresses askew, eyes wide and the half-soaked dress and cloak, appeared more than frazzled. She had the air of a woman half mad. “Why have you come hither Ida?”
“I had thought that you might be up to some daft madness, but now I see that all my fears, have been proven to be entirely and absolutely correct.” Ida said with another small fit of laughter on her part.
“I shan’t stay,” Kenna stated with much less hysteria to before, so that she sounded properly serious. It was only now as she stood straight and tall that she saw how darkened the skies had become, having paid nary any attention to this detail when returning home. “I will not stay and die at Badrách’s hands Ida.”
“I know, Kenna,” Ida whispered in a voice husky from her mad fit, as well as because of all the shouting she had engaged in during the assembly.
“Therefore do not try to stop me Ida, I must do this, I will flee northwards in order to go from there if necessary to Sgain to seek the King’s aid against Badrách.” Kenna persisted, continuing on without paying any attention to the expression on the face of her friend or to her objections.
Ida though had a surprise of her own, when she informed her cheerfully, “That is precisely what we wished to speak to you of; many of us have met at the Salmon’s home. There we have gathered, for we intend to depart through the north-woods, with you Kenna.”
Kenna’s mouth formed an ‘o’ of feminine shock as she in her moment of flabbergasted stupefaction forgot to cover her mouth as she had been taught to do. Pulled from her home across the wet fields of Glasvhail, the rain fell in the thousands as always, so that they had become darkened and far more soaked than ever before. It was not only the fields that grew wet though, the ladies were soon soaked as they raced through the rain, relying as much upon their memories to guide them towards Salmon’s house.
It was there that to the amazement of Kenna, she found the whole of several families gathered outside and within the building. These families included those of Salmon, of Bungo the fisherman, Aonghas the shepherd and to Kenna’s surprise even that of Ida, which included Freygil.
Amazed to find the unhappy fisherman present, Kenna asked him why it was that he was present, for which his eldest son answered for him, with a small chuckle. “Pa, may not be entirely keen on the notion of leaving Glasvhail however he has no intention of letting ma leave without him.”
A growl escaped the older man’s lips this though failed to frighten his son, Freygil’s cheeks even in the darkness of the rain-swept early morning were very visibly scarlet. Once Kenna had joined them, they did not stay long waiting only for Mairead to finish clearing her home of what food and wine there was left in her home. This only took place after much argument, between her and her father, and her husband. The latter two were keen and very vociferous in their insistence that she hurry and cease fussing over the slightest dress for her daughters, or about what boots ought to be used.
This took some time, whereupon the argument was at an end, there came a series of new families that joined them. Their numbers were thus, bolstered to thirty people almost in total, and amongst these newcomers came Doada and her husband Bhàtair.
It was the youthful fisherman who insisted to those around him, “We shan’t leave without my good-mother or good-sisters.”
He spoke as though he awaited some of those around him and his wife might disagree with him, to his surprise though there was no objection to his words. To the contrary, an awkward silence followed until Gregor the fisherman, the only of Freygil’s surviving brothers spoke up, “But of course. We all owe Conn no less than compassion, therefore none of us shall leave without Ainsley, Helga and wee Eillidh.”
His words were simple in nature, and befitted such a simple folk. There was beauty though, magnificence even in their simple-natured goodness. Tears sprung to Doada’s eyes, for she was greatly moved by this commitment to her kinswomen. None blamed her, nor did they judge even her husband for sniffling and dabbing at his eyes, which had quite the number of unshed tears all to themselves. The men present therewith him gathered about him, to slap their palms upon his back, or gripped his shoulders in the manner of simple country-folk.
By this time hours had passed since the assembly, the rain had begun to slow itself much to the relief of all gathered though all felt the lack of sleep deep in their bones. Desperation though, made the elderly young again, and made the young old. With the vast majority keen to take as much of the burden of the few packs gathered, upon their own shoulders. It was the lads who taking up the packs of their women-folk, their elders or in some cases the pack and their elders, children or women-folk to spare them the pain of the journey. Lasses became true-born Caled-women then, Kenna observed, keen to alleviate the burden placed upon the shoulders of the men, keen to support them and one another so that all past wrongs were forgotten.
The fire that Ziu had lit in the souls of their ancestors, she mused had been lit that night in the hearts of all those who had heeded her call. Much as she had felt betrayed by Freygil, he had when the time came risen to the horn-call and proven his mettle she thought, by supporting his kith and kin.
The rain slowed itself, to a near halt the fugitives of Glasvhail took to the road. None of them wished to stay a moment longer in the darkened, fields by the Firth of the Thern and wait for the dawn which was to presage naught save violence. They crossed the fields in such a hurry that those in the midst of bustling their way into the temple of Fufluns took immediate notice of them. Whereupon they issued a great many hoots, calls and jeers at those who had decided to flee Glasvhail for the north-woods to seek sanctuary if temporarily so.
“Run, cowards!”
“Flee!”
“Traitors the lot of ye,” Many of the men shouted at them, with naught but the utmost scorn in their voices and hearts.
Others shouted such unpleasant insults, particularly at Kenna that it would be impossible to repeat them and retain one’s composure so horrid were they. Shocked that some of those she had traded cloth with, or sewn clothes for, for countless years from young lasses, to old crones, to young and old men could accuse her of all things from harlotry to worshipping the Dark Queen. It was all Kenna could do to keep from screeching back accusations or defences, or from stopping to gape at those who were lined up before the doors of the temple, jostling to get in with nary a thought to another person’s safety or needs. Many also shouted insults Kenna noticed, over their shoulders at Freygil for betraying them, in favour of Kenna and Ida. This stung him, she could see for he walked next to her as they pushed their own way next to the larger crowd, past the gates of the fencing that surrounded the temple. His cheeks were once again crimson, as he bowed his head in defeat, for the very first time since she had made his acquaintanceship nigh on thirty years ago.
“Pay them no mind,” Salmon counselled from next to her, gripping her by the elbow to guide her towards the door of the domicile attached to the temple of Fufluns.
“But-”
“Pay them no mind,” He growled in her ear treating her no differently from how she had observed how he behaved, towards Mairead.
The thought was hardly a comforting one.
Once the thirty or so people were gathered about the domicile, most were directed from there to the cemetery that lay further to the left. It was decided that they would wait there until Ainsley had joined them outside, with Doada and Bhàtair volunteered as their representative to go speak with Ainsley. This decision was unnecessarily cruel and utilitarian in Kenna’s view, as the two youths in question were to her mind already visibly strained and were now expected to shoulder the burden of representing a large portion of the village. While the couple bustled their way inside, this left a great many of those still outside to bid their farewells to the graves of their ancestors or departed loved ones, or in some cases; both.
Once again, she stood before Murchadh’s family grave. It had been her hope that she might be buried by his side, though not until she had seen her first grandchild. Her hopes though, may have been dashed, with the seamstress now convinced that she could not trust in so vague a plan. Committing the stone with its inscriptions to memory, she knew every inscription, every inch of every letter that had been carved into it. Kenna was also familiar with every crack no matter how miniscule, or large the break in the rock that stood before her. Though already familiar with these details, she still felt compelled to commit it all the more, to her memory as much out of love for Murchadh as out of duty towards him. Studying the stone as she had done but a few days ago (it felt akin to several years now!), Kenna could have sworn she heard a series of thunderclaps in the distance. The storm though had yet to recommence, so that she shrugged this sound off hesitantly.
The stone was a large grey one with a crack near the upper-left hand corner that ended just before the first ‘W’ that was the start of Waltigon’s name. Though illiterate, Kenna could almost write the name of her deceased good-father and husband. There were small cracks near the ‘T’ and the ‘N’ that helped to form Waltigon’s inscription. Just as there was a crack in the lower right-hand corner, just below the ‘H’ at the end of Murchadh’s name, which was itself just below the dates of birth and death of the fisherman’s father.
She was distracted from her thoughts by Mairead calling out to her, “Kenna hurry, it appears that Doada is struggling to convince her mother to leave with us.”
Sighing, Kenna answered positively at this call, en route for the door pausing as she passed the Salmon’s daughter at a sudden sound. It was that same thunderclap from earlier, so that she mused that there was something to the sound that made her memory itch.
“Do you hear that?” She asked uneasily.
“Do you mean the family argument?” Mairead asked of her, raising a dark eyebrow.
Kenna did not answer, distracted and hurried into the domicile of Conn, by the fisherman’s wife. Her mind awhirl due to the thunderclap, her stomach in knots as she entered to find Ainsley clinging to what appeared to be a druid’s dark green woollen robe.
The little lass was in tears, with her mother frozen a short distance from her while the older sisters were in the midst of an argument, over one of the four packs that lay upon the table in the center of the kitchen. To one side Bhàtair was smashing his fist upon the nearby right-hand door red-faced with fury.
“What is this?” Kenna asked of the family, “Why are you all in chaos?”
“I shan’t leave da!” Eillidh wailed, clinging to the robe of her father.
“Will you be quiet Bhàtair, we must go! Mother help otherwise we may perish!” Doada shrieked with Helga countering her point.
“It is hardly her fault,” Helga shouted back at her elder sister, “We must bring as many mementos of father’s!”
“Open this door!” Bhàtair yelled at the same time as the women in his family.
Exasperated by this disorganised, mess of a family Kenna threw herself into yelling over them, at her sternest at that moment, “Silence the lot of you!” Several of them looked to her in surprise, as Eillidh repeated her cry about her father, Kenna ignored her, “Helga cease this nonsense and get your sister outside. Doada, Bhàtair the both of you get out now. You have delayed us long enough! Quite why is beyond me.”
Bhàtair for his part grumbled as he passed, “It is hardly my fault! It is those rats in the temple who have locked us from the temple-proper. Ainsley wanted to get the jar containing the paragon Muireall’s reliquary.”
“Why?”
“Because it contains the paragon’s right hand,” Ainsley spoke up at last from where she sat in the doorsill at the back of the room, a defeated look in her eyes. “It was important to Conn; all know that for centuries his family served the paragon and Fufluns.”
Filled with pity for her friend, Kenna waited until the children were almost outside, distracted from the other widow by Eillidh who tried to resist Doada’s efforts to drag her outside. Helga refused to help for a moment, with the older lass struggling with her pack and youngest sister. A single glare in Helga’s direction from the seamstress had at last the desired effect upon her newest pupil, so that she with a sigh seized Eillidh’s left hand and aided in dragging the little lass out of the domicile.
Moving to Ainsley’s side, circling about the table as she moved she wrapped her arms around the elder widow’s shoulders, she whispered to her then. “Ainsley you must leave now.”
“Not without the paragon’s hand.” Ainsley snapped shaking her head stubbornly.
“You must! They have locked you out; there is naught you could do for the moment.” Kenna told her gently, rocking her friend a little her heart stricken still with pity.
They remained side-by-side, holding one another for some time. They knew not how long, only that the elder of the two needed the comfort while the younger was stricken with pity and the memory of her own still fresh grief. She knew a thing or three about futile gestures, at the passing of one’s spouse. Therefore Kenna did not blame or judge her friend for her peculiar obsession with the paragon’s hand.
“But- wait, what is that sound?” Ainsley stumbled over her reply, the same stupefied expression appearing upon her face that was undoubtedly pained upon that of Kenna’s.
The sound was as the wind crashing against the wood of the temple, or upon further thought the sound of the screaming wind grew in intensity and volume.
Both women were out the door in the next heartbeat, the sound of laughter and victory cries intermingled with those of the screams. Emerging from the domicile both of them surged outside to discover to their shock dozens of figures standing before the temple, many of them held torches in hand, with more than half of them thrown against the temple which was lit up with the reddened light of building flames. Plumes of smoke rose up, with the fire still small though the flames were being fed with hacked off pieces of the nearby fencing and thatch that Badrách’s thugs threw onto the temple, as they lit new torches whenever they threw their torches against the temple whose doors they had barred shut.
The screams echoed across all the fields from the cemetery, as Badrách’s cackling dozen or so warriors lit the temple with the majority of the village, trapped inside the now burning temple. Frozen in place, Kenna could only stare for a moment, her mind in tatters, shock washing over her at the sight of the flames and the sound of the screams that echoed from within the temple.
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Also Crown of Blood has a new edition, with maps, character bios and more!