The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan Page 2

  The only time that the harbor was ever closed was when Cruachan’s two moons—Silver Nightingale, the smaller and closer one, and Golden Owl, the one larger and farther away—were both full. Aligned together, the double full moons caused higher than normal tides and fierce waves. To protect the harbor from being swamped during this time period, a watergate, through a series of winches and pulleys, would be cranked over to a small opening in the rock on the Callainn Shire side of the inlet, effectively sealing off the harbor from the raging Sea of the Evening.

  A sea-currach had just exited the harbor without the aid of a pilot. Its swallow-tailed, white flag mounted on top of the mainmast displayed the image of Blessed Island—a conical, steep, rocky island with twin peaks. Once clear of the harbor, sailors raised the square mainsail and headsail, both of which also sported the same image that was on the flag. The six oars were pulled in, and a member of the Cruachanian Defense Forces turned the tiller and swung the boat southward, heading it toward where the five new student wizards would begin the adventure of their lives.

  Coming fast from the north, three other sea-currachs entered into Pádraig’s magnified view. The red flags at the top of their mainmasts exhibited a tríbhís having its left and right legs in black and its top leg in gold—the emblem of the Security Forces of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires. The mainsails and headsails also displayed this same emblem. As the sea-currachs reached the inlet to the bay, two oarsmen from each boat quickly pulled down the sails. The remaining four oarsman stuck out their oars, braking the forward motion of their boats and allowing them to coast to a stop in the harbor inlet.

  After congratulations all around, the oarsmen rowed their currachs into Saltwater Bay, turned them around, and maneuvered them back out to sea, straining against the wind, as they headed in the direction from which they had come.

  The far-seeing exercise quickly took its toll on the young apprentice wizard. Closing his eyes once more, he fought the nausea and light-headedness that had come with expending so much of the life-force with which An Fearglas, the Deity of Cruachan, had blessed him. Slipping off the boulder, Pádraig now sat on the ground with his back supported by the rock, so that direct contact with the elemental forces in the earth could recharge the essence within him.

  Still somewhat faint from the experience, he, nevertheless, took a measure of comfort in the fact that with each practice session, he was able to maintain the far-seeing spell for just a bit longer than the previous time. Shivering, he again pulled the cloak more tightly about his body and replayed the events of the morning:

  He had ridden all night from Liatroim Shire, in the Kingdom of the Eastern Shires. He had just finished his eight-month assignment under the tutelage of the Venerable Fergal, Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Eastern Shires and Guardian of the Blue Stone. As had his mentor, Taliesin, with the nine shires in the Kingdom of the Western Shires, Fergal had had the young man spend one month with him in Sruthail Shire, then a month each with the senior journeyman wizard in each of the other seven shires.

  The experience the apprentice wizard had gleaned from the two master wizards and those fifteen journeyman wizards had been invaluable. Where one may have excelled in lore and law, another was gifted in healing. Others were skilled at spell-casting, while some were adept at shape-changing. Pádraig looked forward to the next five months where he would be assigned to the Venerable Odhran, Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires and Guardian of the Red Stone. He also secretly yearned to see Máiréad again, hoping that the seventeen months since the two of them had graduated from the Academy had tempered her animosity toward him.

  Arriving at the Citadel of Cruachan just before dawn, Pádraig had searched out his father, Finbar, who was there with his elfin friends, Brynmor and his son, Cadwgawn.

  Spotting the threesome, the young wizard couldn’t help but notice that, as his father had moved into late middle-age, his tanned and weathered face had developed a few more wrinkles, and quite a bit of gray had crept into his brown hair. With the farrier’s contract from the High King to tend the horses of the Security Forces of the Kingdom of the Western Shires as well as the Cruachanian Defense Forces, Finbar’s body, though, was as trim as ever. Pádraig was well aware that under that gray, wool cloak, cotton tunic, and leather breeches was the same well-muscled body he had always known, and he had to smile.

  Looking down at his own attire, Pádraig thought: You can take the boy out of the forge, but not the forge out of the boy.

  He was dressed exactly like his father, although he wore his light-brown hair below his collar, whereas Finbar’s was shorn short.

  The elfin artillators never seemed to change. Brynmor, tall and sinewy, wore his long, blond hair in a horsetail, and the enigmatic countenance on his pearlescent face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Nor did it show the lines that gave away Finbar’s age, even though he had fought alongside the farrier in the War for Independence many years before.

  Cadwgawn could have been Brynmor’s twin, rather than his son. Both elves dressed in buckskin with brown cloaks. The only differences were that the elder elf was slightly heavier and had just a few facial creases near his eyes.

  After Pádraig had exchanged forearm grasps with all three, Finbar said to him, “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it this year, Paddy.”

  “Rode all night from Liatroim Shire,” the young wizard replied. “No way would I miss this.”

  Ever the concerned farrier, his father raised an eyebrow and said, “I assume you took proper care of the horse?”

  Pádraig dutifully replied, “Yes, Da. Walked him around to cool him off, rubbed him down, and saw that he had clean straw in his stable, as well as fresh food and water.” The young man then added, “Just like you taught me.” Not seeing the elderly troubadour anywhere nearby, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Lairgnen?”

  Finbar tightened his lips, narrowed his eyes, and gave a small shake of his head.

  Pádraig read the body language correctly. It said: ‘We’ll talk about it later.’ Nevertheless, he felt a bit of disappointment. It had been Lairgnen who had given him his first set of elbow pipes and lessons; and, the young wizard always looked forward to seeing the elderly man and playing duets with him—he, on his pipes; the troubadour, on either a second set of pipes or the lute or tin whistle.

  Atop the hillock outside the citadel stood a cromlech, consisting of three megalith stones arranged in a partial circle—one facing northeast, another east, with the third stone facing the southeast. Each stone had a hole drilled through it that pointed toward the exact center of the partial circle. In that center, a hole had been dug in the ground and lined with rocks. An oak log, decorated with holly and ivy branches, had been placed upright in the rock-lined hole and soaked in lamp oil.

  Next to the log stood Déaglán, High King of Cruachan. An aide held a brazier nearby, so that he might keep his royal majesty warm on this frigid, winter morning.

  Looking out over the assembly which had gathered there, all facing the southeast and watching for the first hint of sunrise on this the shortest day of the year, Pádraig’s heart skipped a beat as, in the torchlight, he spotted the Lady Máiréad along with her mother, Countess Kyna, standing with Queen Ginebra, Prince Liam, and the rest of the royal household.

  The young wizard willed himself not to wave, but, at the same time, wondered if Máiréad had spotted him, as well. As much as he hated to admit it, he hoped she had. She looked radiant in her dark-blue ruana embroidered on its edge with black, endless knotwork. Its ermine-fur-trimmed hood had been thrown back, revealing flame-red tresses that cascaded down over her alabaster skin and onto her shoulders.

  The wait turned out not to be long. People began to point and shout as the eastern sky turned from black to purple to violet, then from violet to light orange. As the sun broke over the horizon and began its rise, the observers became more vocal and switched their gazes toward the southeast-most megalith. Finally, as sunlight cre
pt up the side of the massive stone, cheers began to break out when the rays reached the hole, and a single beam of sunlight shined through upon the center of the oak log.

  At that point, Déaglán took the brazier from his aide with his left hand and raised it high. A sudden hush came over the crowd. Pointing with his right hand to the beam of light on the log, he called out in a loud voice, “Behold the light of An Fearglas! Blessed be His holy name!”

  The entire company repeated the exhortation, then performed the ritual act of submission by bowing their heads slightly and touching their foreheads, chests, then their mouths with the first two fingers of their right hands, as they declared: “May His tenets be always in my mind, in my heart, and on my lips.”

  The High King touched the burning coals from the brazier to the side of the log, the lamp oil caught fire, and flames rose up the entire height of the tree trunk.

  The crowd cheered. Many in the company hugged and kissed each other.

  Pádraig watched as Máiréad embraced Liam and kissed him passionately. After a moment, the young wizard had to turn away, even though he always knew that this would be the way his two friends would end up. He even remembered a conversation he had had with Máiréad some ten years earlier. It had been New Year’s Eve, and they had retreated to the relative privacy of the overlook at Fortress Tulach in the Kingdom of the Western Shires:

  After a long and tender kiss, Máiréad put her head on Pádraig’s chest, sighed, and said, “You know how I feel about you, don’t you, Paddy?”

  “You forgot the last word of that sentence, Meig.”

  Looking up at him, she cocked an eyebrow. “Last word?”

  “‘But,’” he told her, kissing her on the forehead. “I sensed a ‘but’ there.”

  Taking in a deep breath through her nose and letting it out slowly, she gave him another squeeze, then sat down on the overlook wall. “You know it can’t ever be, don’t you?…Us?”

  He simply smiled at her.

  “I’ll be promised to a chieftain’s son or to a prince. More than likely to Liam the donkey-prince. But…” She left the sentence unfinished as her shoulders slumped in resignation.

  “But never, ever, to a commoner,” Pádraig finished it for her.

  She looked away toward the raging sea below, saying nothing in return.

  Returning the brazier to the aide, Déaglán once again raised his hand for quiet. When the din had subsided, he said, “This Mid-Winter Day is a time for rejoicing. As the days now grow longer, we await the renewal that will come as Spring approaches. But, it is also a time of self-reflection and planning for the future—our individual futures, the future of each kingdom, and the future of Cruachan. As our das have done and their das and granddas before them, we conduct the Roghnú. In the cathairs of each of the three kingdoms, our young men and women will have their life’s work determined by today’s selection process. Some will be coopers. Some will be wheelwrights. Some will be millers. Some will become apprentices in other trades. Some will join the armed forces and become soldiers and sailors. Today at our Roghnú, here at Dúnfort Cruachan, we will witness the selection of five possible future wizards.”

  A semicircular table had been set up facing the southeast, looking directly at the burning oak log. Each of the four master wizards in attendance took their places, standing behind the table—Arch-Wizard Faolan, Guardian of the Green Stone, in the center.

  Fergal, Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Eastern Shires and Guardian of the Blue Stone, stood to the right of Faolan; and, Odhran, Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires and Guardian of the Red Stone, was positioned on the end, to the right of Fergal.

  To Faolan’s left was Taliesin, Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Western Shires and Guardian of the Black Stone. Next to Taliesin was an empty space. However, that space would soon be filled.

  As a precaution in case of either a natural or man-made disaster, all five master wizards never appeared together at the same location. This safety measure assured that, if a catastrophe did occur, at least one master wizard would be able to continue on and teach others the craft. On this Mid-Winter Day, Coinneach, Guardian of the Purple Stone, and Master of the Academy, had been chosen as the designated survivor. He would make his selection known by scry from his round tower on Blessed Island.

  Each of the four members of the Sodality of Master Wizards, who were physically present, removed their seeing-stones from their belt-bags and placed them in indentations on the table in front of them. Emptying their minds of any distractions, they gazed deeply into their stones.

  Within seconds, the four orbs began to glow; and, within ten seconds more, an apparition of Coinneach appeared in the empty spot next to Taliesin, the image so palpable it was as if the wizard were actually standing there in person.

  “Seirbhís a Tír, my brothers,” Arch-Wizard Faolan said, in the language of the ancients.

  “Agus Rí,” the other four replied.

  ‘Service to Country and King’—the first tenet of wizardry—having been uttered, High King Déaglán looked over to the members of the Sodality and said, “Your service is much appreciated. Now, to the selection process for the five gifted ones who will be sponsored to this year’s class at the Academy for the Spiritually Gifted. Master Coinneach, whom do you choose?”

  * * *

  After the master wizards had each made their selections and the crowd had erupted with cheers and applause, Déaglán again raised his hand for quiet. When the assembly had silenced completely, he said, “Before the merriment begins, we have one more piece of business to conclude at this year’s Roghnú.” The High King beckoned toward the members of the royal household.

  Prince Liam, the Lady Máiréad, Countess Kyna, and Queen Ginebra all came forward and joined Déaglán. Liam and Máiréad stood directly in front of their respective mothers.

  “I am proud, this day,” Déaglán said, “to announce to the entire Confederation of the Three Kingdoms the handfasting of my son and deputy king, Prince Liam, to the Lady Máiréad, daughter of my cousin Eógan, Earl of the Western Shires, and the Countess Kyna.”

  Again, cheers, whistles, and applause burst forth from the assemblage.

  Pádraig felt his knees begin to buckle and he struggled to maintain his balance.

  Sensing the young wizard wobble, Cadwgawn said nothing, nor did he change his unreadable countenance any. However, he did shift his position slightly so that he stood shoulder to shoulder with Pádraig, providing a buttress.

  Liam and Máiréad faced each other and grasped each other’s hands, right to left, as both mothers removed the sashes from their gowns. Each stood to her offspring’s right and tied her sash to one pair of hands.

  “The wedding will take place two months from now on Mid-Spring Day,” Déaglán announced. “And may An Fearglas bless this betrothal.”

  The entire company repeated the exhortation, performed the ritual act of submission, then gave the newly-handfasted couple a tremendous ovation.

  Pádraig just stood there, numbness encasing his body. His thoughts, though, returned to another conversation he had had ten years before. This one with his father, Finbar, just prior to meeting Máiréad at the Fortress Tulach overlook on New Year’s Eve:

  “I’m going to join the lads over at the tavern,” Finbar said to his son. “You’re welcome to come along.”

  Pádraig hesitated briefly, then answered, “Thanks, Da, but I’m…I’m supposed to meet someone at the overlook.”

  “Someone with red hair, perhaps?”

  Receiving a non-committal shoulder shrug for a reply, Finbar continued. “It’s nice that you have friends, Paddy. I really mean it. Especially with the way we keep moving around the kingdom. Enjoy it while you can, but don’t make the mistake of thinking that anything more can come of it. The Lady Máiréad will marry another noble. That’s for certain.”

  Emitting a small sigh, Pádraig said, “Yeah. I know.”

  Brought out of his contem
plation by the presence of the crown prince, whom he sensed approaching slowly and quietly from behind him, Pádraig again emitted a small sigh, thinking, Yeah. And that day is today. By way of greeting, devoid of emotion and without getting up or turning around, he said, “Your Royal Highness.”

  “Honored Sir,” Liam replied, equally detached, using the honorific reserved for an apprentice wizard. Still dressed in the fine garments of the nobility that he had worn for the Selection, he plopped himself down on the ground beside Pádraig and pulled his formal dark-blue cape around him. “I left a message with the avener to have you get with me before the ceremonies. I want you to know, Paddy, that I certainly had no intention of blindsiding you with the handfasting.”

  “I didn’t arrive at the dúnfort until shortly before dawn. I got your message when I reached the stables, but everyone was already out at the cromlech. Congratulations, by the way, and may An Fearglas bless your union.”

  At the mention of the Deity’s name, both young men silently performed the ritual act of submission.

  “I know you’re still in love with her, Paddy,” the prince said, after a beat.

  “The two of us have always been in love with her, Liam. I really am serious about offering my congratulations, though. I think we both—actually, all three of us—knew that things would turn out this way eventually.”

  Up until that time, neither young man had looked at the other. Now Prince Liam, Deputy King of the Western Shires, turned to his friend and said, softly, “I had hoped that the years would have mellowed Meig’s feelings toward you.”

  Pádraig let go of a snort. “Tell me about it.”

  “You’ve been my best friend…it seems like forever,” Liam continued. “You saved my life, putting your own in jeopardy to do so. I always pictured you by my side on my wedding day—my right-hand man. I…” his voice caught, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Reaching over and patting the other man’s arm, locking his deep-blue eyes on the prince’s brown ones, Pádraig said, “Say no more about it, Liam. There’s no point in beginning a marriage with a quarrel. But know that I’ll be there in spirit, right beside you.…Right beside both of you.”