The Chicago Druid & The Ugly Princess: Irish/American fantasy, #4

Prologue

It was in a time before our time.

The wind whipped the icy sleet across the cliff face in strong gusts.

Standing on one leg, leaning on his spear, he had been motionless for an hour. The crevasse where he stood was cut into the cliff face to form a small cave. He was out near the edge of the ledge but protected from the wetting buffeting wind by an outcrop of the cliff face.

Despite the weather, from where he stood he could see the dogs running along the valley floor. Irish Stag Hounds, large hairy and savage, he recognised them and could have called them by name. Only this time they weren’t hunting stags.

Then he saw them, following, trying to keep up, maybe a fifty yards behind the dogs. They were the Gamanraide of Connaught. They were his friends, his fellow soldiers. Now they were hunting him down, he and the girl.

Although he knew they wouldn’t see him he instinctively stepped back into the cliff face, but kept them in view. Then he smiled; the dogs had branched left into the Cruagh wood. The false trail he had set had worked. The Cruagh wood was thick and extensive, an outskirt of the great forest. They could search in there for days on end.

The men stopped, and then two began to retrace their steps while the rest of the squad followed the dogs. Two Backtrackers. He allowed himself a small shake of his head, the Gamanraide were good soldiers, covering all bets.

Princess Fionnuala stood at the edge of the fissure in the rocks that served as their cave and admired his tall strong figure where he stood, dressed in the clothes of a warrior, with sword, shield and spear. His shoulders were covered with the fur of a bear he had killed with his own hands.

He turned, somehow aware of her gaze.

They’ve taken the bait, he said above the wind and sleet.

Wrapping her cloak tightly to her neck, she went and joined him.

They watched in silence as the band of knights followed the dogs into the scrub towards Cruagh wood.

Their chariots won’t be much use in there, he added with satisfaction.

Will I light a fire? she asked.

No, he replied sharply. It’s not safe, he added more softly, more understanding in his tone.

She looked up at him, her face framed in her dark cloak. We have the smoked venison and I’ve put out the bowl to catch the rainwater.

Fine, he said agreeably and looked again out into the distance.

She went back into the fissure to take out their meagre meal.

He still found it a shock every time he looked into her eyes. Her large eyes, black with even blacker pupils, framed by their clear white surrounds and her long black eyelashes, they never ceased to unnerve him.

Her name belied her eyes. Fionnuala was the Celtic name for fair-headed. Silken blonde from birth with dark black eyes, her appearance had set her apart from the beginning. And now was driving them west towards the rocks of the Burren in county Clare.

It will be two days forced march, he said as he came back into the cave.

He placed his bearskin cloak on the wet stone floor and sat. She came with the venison and then placed it and the bowl of water in front of his seated position. Then placing her dark coarse cloak around his shoulders, she sat beside him, snuggling in and sharing the cloak and his warmth.

When do we start again? she asked as she passed him the sackcloth-covered leg of venison. He took out his dagger and cut a slice, first for her and then for himself.

It will be dark soon. We should rest and then we must be on the move at dawn.

She handed him the water and he took a sip. The bowl was of gold inset with emeralds. Again he met her black eyes. He averted his gaze and she looked down to the floor.

Sorry, I was staring, she apologised.

No it’s me. Your eyes are ... I don’t know?

I’m used to it.

I care for you Fionnuala.

You are a true knight and warrior Keltar, she said and snuggled in closer, feeling warm, safe and cared for.

I took the oath of the Fianna and became a knight of the Red Branch at seven years of age. And now I am well schooled in their ways and I will defend your innocence to the death.

I don’t want to be innocent. I want to know of the world and my place in it, she said with a free sincerity born of the deep trust between them.

We must talk to the Druid, we need to know.

What do you need to know? she asked softly.

I need to know if you are truly a witch Fionnuala, he said sincerely.

You know I’m not, she said nervously.

The King of Connaught wants you burnt Fionnuala.

Ferdiad wants me naked in his bed, Fionnuala replied and the steel in her voice was unmistakable.

Keltar chewed his venison and reflected.

Maybe both, he conceded with a laugh.

He put his strong right arm around her shoulders and drew her in. She stretched an arm as far as it would go around his waist. Contented, they ate together, one arm each, sharing the tasks and smiling at their self imposed awkwardness.

During this era at the start of history, Ireland had a temperate climate with lots of rain and wind and cloud and sunshine. Much as it is today. Perhaps it was the weather that drove the inhabitants to seek passion in love and song and poetry, to seek warmth in conversation and sadness in war and strife.

The country was divided into four kingdoms, Ulster, Leinster, Munster and Connaught. Much forested, the terrain was rough and boggy in places but natural grasslands supported a tough way of life and the possession of cattle was the best indication of wealth.

The Red Branch Knights belonged wholly to Ulster, serving their king. They were a standing army well drilled in military science and feats of arms. The Gamanraide were of Connaught and served their king. When not in battle they trained or they hunted the forests for the abundant wildlife. Cattle raids were their favoured form of foraging.

If we squeeze into the back of the fissure we can lie together, Fionnuala suggested.

Arrange it, Keltar said and standing he went outside to use the cliff face as his toilet.

The light was fading now, and aided by the heavy grey clouds and the downpour, now turned to heavy rain, this winter day would end early. He turned back inside.

We need to rest, the next two days will be hard, he said matter-of –fact.

They say the Burren is a place where there is not enough water to drown a man or enough wood to hang him or enough earth to bury him, Fionnuala offered without turning, as she adjusted his bear skin to form their mattress and then spread her cloak over the top.

They have fat cattle, Keltar countered. For they say that the grass growing in the Grikes between the rocks is sweet and nourishing.

And the flowers, Fionnuala added. They say they are like nowhere else.

It’s not flowers we’ll be looking for, Keltar said, while laying his long bronze, leaf shaped sword against the cave wall where he could easily grasp it in an emergency. He then laid his spear at an angle to the fissure entrance, the better to trip anyone who might try to rush in. The shield he put in place as a pillow while Fionnuala stood back to give him room.

Are you sure you know where the Poulnabroune is to be found? she asked.

They would sleep dressed for warmth, but she hated to sleep in shoes and she carefully unbound the long laces.

Enough, we must sleep, Keltar said gruffly, getting under her cloak. His feet, still in sandals, protruded at the end and she grinned at the sight of him. She climbed in beside him, and he indicated she would sleep nearest the wall, with him between her and any danger that might enter.

How do you know we will find the Druid Lochlain? she persisted.

The Druid Lochlain is the last Druid of the Firbolgs and is known to dwell in that rocky place and he conducts ceremonies at the Poulnabroune. They are a dark people and he will know the ancient magic of darkness.

What will you ask of him Keltar?

About the blackness. There is a country somewhere called Greece. They say that is the origin of the Firbolg and it is said they are a dark people. I will ask of your eyes, Fionnuala.

My eyes?

The Druid Lochlain may know the cure. For you are truly cursed in your great beauty.

It was Macha, the Druid of Connaught who pronounced me cursed, Fionnuala protested.

You will be famous wherever you go. They will always be able to find you.

And Druid Lochlain?

We must hope. He is our last hope.

You are my last hope Keltar, Fionnuala said and as she spoke, she turned and knelt beside him.

He kissed her forehead.

Would you like me naked? she asked. Her tone of voice gave her away. He could tell she was afraid for his answer.

Fionnuala I am of the knights or the Red Branch of Ulster and I swore a sacred oath to protect you always.

I know, Fionnuala said softly.

He could read the gratitude in her expression. She had grown up in a savage world of distrust and betrayal. He was the one person she could trust to care for her without seeking a return. He knew this and he knew her need to check out his motives, and that to trust in someone was the most important thing for her.

When they sent you to Connaught, they sent me to join the Gamanraide so that I could be there to protect you.

You can love me and still protect me, Fionnuala suggested.

I do love you, Keltar said fiercely.

But you fear me?

Just your black eyes, for I cannot read them.

I’m not a witch and I’ll not steal your manhood, Fionnuala said crossly and sat stiffly beside him.

Lie down, he said softly. Let me keep you warm. We need to rest. The Gamanraide will not be fooled for long. We have gained a day at best.

Prologue

Part two

As they approached the Burren they picked up on a pilgrim trail. It made the going easier, but Keltar was on full alert.

Not many on the trail, Fionnuala remarked in the peaceful silence.

Ahead, they had seen a couple of pilgrims in the distance.

We have to be alert for vagabonds and thieves, Keltar explained. Man is the most dangerous of animals, much more so than the inhabitants of the wilderness we’ve just passed through.

Their initial approach towards the Burren suggested a hostile agricultural landscape in a huge area of limestone rock. However as they got nearer it could be seen that although extensive and rocky, there was ample though intermittent grazing. Indeed Keltar was well aware that the people of the Burren paid their tributes to the King in sheep and pigs as well as in cloaks.

The weather had settled to a bright cold sunshine. As they reached the eastern edges of the Burren they could see that it extended far to the horizon.

The Poulnabrane is said to be at the centre of the Burren, we have a distance to go, Keltar explained without breaking his brisk pace.

Then they stopped. Ahead they could see a small family group on the pilgrim trail. Apparently their chariot wheel was wedged in a crevice in the stone along the trail.

Keltar cut off the trail before they were seen and followed by Fionnuala they made a detour to avoid the group.

I’m starving, Fionnuala remarked without complaint.

Keltar grunted. Their forced march had made foraging or hunting impossible and their venison was finished.

Another couple of hours, Keltar said.

This is a strange place, Fionnuala added.

Keltar grunted. He realised that Fionnuala was just making conversation in the way of women.

Not too long now, he said.

Signalling Fionnuala to stop he diverted to climb a Limestone mound.

As best he could Keltar scanned the horizon to the rear. This was good chariot country and could be traversed at pace if one could avoid jamming a wheel. He expected the Gamanraide to be moving at a steady trot with the chariots and the dogs pushing out ahead, moving at a faster pace than he could with Fionnuala.

Early in the morning, he had tried a military pace, leading at a jogging trot, but by mid morning he sensed Fionnuala was becoming exhausted. So he had slowed their pace down, the better to be able to continue for the day.

No sign, still clear, he told Fionnuala as he rejoined her at the foot of the mound.

Did we lose them?

With luck, but if they are on the trail they will be coming on, gaining steadily. We must keep moving.

Lets’ go, Fionnuala urged.

Keltar took the lead and she followed.

You all right? he threw over his shoulder.

I’m well used to walking, was the spirited reply.

The Poulnabrane stood on elevated ground with four massive pillar stones and an enormous capstone. There were a few pilgrims walking a circle but the sacrificial offerings of the day were clearly finished. Servants were clearing up and gathering the offerings of the day.

Druid Lochlain? Keltar demanded.

The servant lifted his cowl and had an aggressive scowl.

Fionnuala produced the drinking goblet with a gold and emerald design.

The servant scowled a smile. Wonderful offering, he said, reaching.

Keltar put his spear across. First we see Lochlain, he insisted.

The servant bowed and indicating to follow he retreated towards a series of wooden huts. In the centre there was a long wooden building. The servant opened the entrance half door built into the large oak door.

Keltar and Fionnuala waited.

When the servant re-emerged, he signalled. Keltar led and Fionnuala followed.

Lochlain was at the top of the long wooden hall and they squinted in adjustment to the half-light.

Keltar was half-believing, half-cynical. Lochlain was his idea of a typical Druid, except Lochlain was not tall. A broad built man with long flowing hair and beard, Lochlain was clearly in the prime of life. This could be seen in his step and movement.

Keltar bowed his head in respect but as a warrior knight he stood and was alert.

Druid Lochlain, my ward Fionnuala has need of your help, Keltar said simply. Fionnuala knelt and held out the jewel-encrusted bowl in offering.

Lochlain appraised the couple in silence. A servant took the bowl and put it on a side table.

Advance to the light, Lochlain instructed.

A servant at the sidewall pulled a rope and a large slat of timber slid aside to allow in the light of the afternoon sun. It fell in a bright shaft of light across a portion of the hall.

Fionnuala followed Keltar into the light.

A knight of the Red Branch in the uniform of the Gamanraide, and a beautiful young woman of noble bearing whose modesty forbids her look in my face, Lochlain summarised.

Keltar went down on one knee and placed his spear on the ground.

Noble Druid, I am Keltar of the Red Branch and the Gamanraide. My ward is cursed from birth with great beauty, Keltar explained.

A strange thing to say. Why do you think she is in need of my help?

Fionnuala is the daughter of Aoife of Dundalk, Keeper of the Salmon of Knowledge. Aoife who was taken in battle and taken in rape.

Lochlain stiffened in shock.

You speak of Aoife, guardian of the Salmon of Knowledge? he asked.

Aoife fled to Ulster, seeking the protection of the Red Branch.

And the Salmon of Knowledge? Lochlain asked in level tones, hiding his excitement.

I know not of this. Aoife died in childbirth, leaving Fionnuala in the care of the Red Branch Knights.

Lochlain frowned and then advanced a few steps.

Show me your face child, he instructed.

Fionnuala looked up, lifting the cowl of her cloak back onto her shoulders.

Lochlain’s eyes softened as her saw the beauty of her silken hair and the soft gentle features of her young beautiful face. Then she opened her eyes and looked into his.

Lochlain stifled a gasp. He stepped back and sat on his chair, his face impassive.

Macha, the Druid of Connaught, has pronounced her a witch and the King of Connaught will have her burnt, Keltar explained.

It is he who burns, Fionnuala said bitterly.

I’m not surprised, Lochlain said as her took in her soft well rounded but slim figure.

Can you help us? Keltar asked.

How?

We cannot hide, for she is too beautiful.

Then all will desire her, Lochlain said with a shrug.

Then make me ugly, Fionnuala said strongly.

At what price? Lochlain asked.

The goblet, Fionnuala offered.

But a trinket, Lochlain said dismissively. Do you think I want to make an enemy of the King of Connaught?

How would he know? Keltar demanded.

He would be told, a voice said from the shadows.

Keltar froze but braced for action.

Stop! Lochlain thundered, holding up his arms. I am not yet finished my questioning.

You are a better tracker than I thought Ciaran, Keltar said softly as he closed his hand on his spear.

Stay your hand Keltar, you are surrounded, Ciaran threatened.

Keltar remained still, but while trying to make out figures in the shadows of the gloom.

How? he asked helplessly. By what magic?

Keltar, you lost us near Cruagh wood, so I reflected and decided this might be your destination and I set out directly, Ciaran said with a satisfied laugh in his tone.

We moved at pace, Keltar pointed out, trying to use Ciaran’s voice to place him precisely.

We are four warriors by chariot Keltar. You are caught. The squad is already on the pilgrim trail and will arrive here shortly.

Keltar calculated. If they had come by Chariot there would be two bowmen. Ciaran’s chariot drivers were skilled bowmen. Once he moved they would release their arrows. Four warriors in armed combat were possible to manage, but the two bowmen? He stayed still and listened, he needed to know where they were in the shadows.

Silence! Lochlain thundered.

Lochlain stood in front of Fionnuala. In truth he was nervous but he did not show it. He forced himself to look into her dark black eyes.

Child, tell me what you know? he asked.

My mother was the Keeper of the Salmon of Knowledge.

A fairy tale, there is no such fish, Ciaran offered from the shadows.

Silence! Lochlain instructed.

Ciaran was happy to wait. He could not see how Keltar would escape his bowmen and he felt himself a match in combat and he had his warriors. But he feared the Druid. He had given his word to the Druid in return for the betrayal.

In return for facilitating the ambush, the Druid had insisted on the right to question the girl.

There was a clatter as a black raven landed on the casement where the sunlight streamed in.

My raven to tell that your men are almost here, I must continue, Lochlain said. As he spoke he looked toward Ciaran.

Keltar’s spear impaled a bowman to the wooden sidewall and as he threw Keltar rolled out of the light.

The arrow of the second bowman took him in the thigh and he cried out in pain. The warrior Filtrim rushed forward and Keltar kicked and rolled, the arrow breaking off leaving the arrowhead deep in his thigh. He took the pain and crashed his sword up under Filtrim’s armour into his heart. Filtrim took the second arrow as he fell across Keltar. Keltar’s dagger found the chest of the bowman as Keltar launched it across the hall. Cian and Oisin came in head on. Keltar parried, tripping Oisin and piercing his throat. With a backward twist he came under Cian’s guard and pierced him in the stomach.

Ciaran took his position swiftly, carefully. He stepped in behind Keltar and beheaded him in a single stroke of his sword.

Fionnuala began to cry deep sobs at the loss of her hero.

The bravest of the brave, Ciaran said regretfully as he picked up Keltar’s stare-eyed head. Now we will have a war with the Red Branch knights, he said regretfully.

Stop! Lochlain shouted.

Ciaran lowered his sword. I should kill her, for she caused all this.

Is she not to be burnt? Lochlain reminded him.

Death is death.

Take your warriors, take Keltar and place them in the Poulnabrane. Later I will do ceremony for the brave fallen.

First I deal with the girl, Ciaran said.

Have I not your solemn word Ciaran? I must question her.

Will you do special ceremony for Keltar? He deserves honour.

I will when your troop arrives, take the dead and leave me alone in here with the girl.

The Salmon of Knowledge may have existed, but on the taking of Aoife all had salmon and none became the wiser, Ciaran said with a cynical laugh as he put away his bloody sword.

Sometimes Ciaran, myths are more than the story, sometimes they have to be interpreted, Lochlain said mildly

Lochlain signalled to his servants to take out the bodies.

Ciaran sometimes words are used to convey meaning, not to convey plain facts, Lochlain added gravely.

Ciaran shook his head, not wanting to disagree with a learned Druid. He was a military man unused to philosophical and mythological discussions.

I will lay my brave comrades to rest and when the Gamanraide arrive we will honour the dead.

Let my servants assist and make the proper arrangements, Lochlain offered.

Ciaran looked at Fionnuala. He wanted to hold her beauty but was afraid of her magic. She was too beautiful to live in peace amongst men who were men. When she looked up and met his eyes he stepped back, afraid of their darkness.

Lochlain what is it you wish to do with her? he asked suspiciously.

To know the knowledge, knowledge she may not know she has.

Fionnuala stayed on her knees still sobbing. The servants, supervised by Ciaran, cleared out the bodies.

The Gamanraide are here, Ciaran announced. There will be a guard around this building until we take the girl.

Leave the blood until later, Lochlain instructed his servants, despite the odour of death.

I will lock the door and none shall enter or depart, Ciaran said as he ushered out the servants, leaving Lochlain with Fionnuala.

I will need some time, Lochlain added as Ciaran began to pull the door closed.

Druid do your work with this witch, but beware of her magic.

I am the Druid of the Firbolg and I know well the dark magic, she cannot harm me, Lochlain reassured.

Stop sobbing child, Lochlain said when the room was cleared and the door closed.

Fionnuala looked up at him with big round black tear-drenched eyes.

I loved Keltar, she said.

Your lover? Lochlain asked.

Had he wished, but he was just my guardian.

Was he the knight who raped your mother? Lochlain asked gently.

That knight died in the act,