The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan Page 6

  “Killian is…or was Lairgnen’s mule. He was with Lairgnen up at North Head.”

  The phooka rose from the boulder, wriggled, and shaped-shifted into a magnificent black mare, fifteen hands high. Trotting over to Killian, she stood muzzle-to-muzzle with him.

  After about ten minutes, the black mare returned to the boulder where Pádraig sat, wriggled again, and shaped-shifted back into her dark-maiden form.

  “Well?” the young wizard asked, hopefully.

  Siobhán sat back down next to him. “You were right, he was there, but didn’t have line-of-sight to your friend, who he really adored, by the way. The troubadour tethered him to a tree by a small pool of water where there was some grass, then continued alone on foot. That was the last Killian ever saw of him. The only other thing he remembers was an occasional rumbling from beneath the ground. He seems to think that interested Lairgnen.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much. Oh, and Paddy, he’s developed a liking for you, too. He thinks you’re funny. Sort of like the troubadour. He told me he hopes that nothing bad happens to you like what happened to Lairgnen.”

  “An occasional rumbling? From underground?”

  “That’s as close a translation as I can give you. Sorry, that’s all I could get from him. He doesn’t know anything else.”

  “At least, it’s something. Thanks, Siobhán, I really appreciate it.”

  “Anytime.” Reaching over, she put a hand behind Pádraig’s neck, pulled him tightly against her, and kissed him full on the lips.

  The young wizard didn’t fight it. He simply placed his hands on her waist, closed his eyes, immersed himself in the aroma of fresh water-grass, and returned the kiss.

  When Siobhán finally released him, she said, “Remember what I told you at our first meeting those many years ago? That I sensed not only a great power in you, but a great purpose as well? Though I still know not what it is, nevertheless, I still sense that it is just. Be careful up North, Paddy. And if you need me, you know how to contact me. Submerse yourself in whatever loch, pond, stream, or body of fresh water you’re near. Clear your mind completely of everything, except our kiss. And, as I did the last time, I will hear you and I will come to you. Are you clear on that?”

  “I think you’ve made it quite clear to him, Ma,” came a voice from the direction of the flat rock in the phooka-pool. The top of Uaine’s jet-black hair, her ebony pointed ears, and her yellowish-brown eyes were all that could be seen on the other side of the rock.

  Hollyday - Bear 7th

  Árainn Shire - Ráth Árainn

  At the beginning of the forenoon watch, the coach carrying the Countess Kyna and the Lady Máiréad, as well as the two wagons with the ladies’ retinue and personal belongings, started to move away from the keep at Fort Árainn, under the watchful eye of their military escort of Security Forces of the Northern Shires. If the weather held, the party hoped to make it as far as Fort Cairbrigh later that night, then up to Fortress Béarra by the next evening.

  Although born at Fort Árainn when her father, Eógan, was Chieftain of Árainn Shire, Máiréad had never thought of this place as ‘home.’ When she was but three years old, Déaglán, her father’s younger cousin and King of the Western Shires, had been elected by the Assembly of Shire Chieftains to be High King of Cruachan; and he, in turn, had elevated her father to Earl of the Western Shires, in effect making Eógan Acting-King of the Western Shires in Déaglán’s absence. Máiréad and her parents had then moved to Fortress Tulach, the only home she could truly remember.

  Máiréad knew that Eógan still loved Árainn Shire, packing up the family and visiting at least once every season. Even now, as she watched him talking with Ruari, Steward of Árainn Shire, and the Revered Murchú, the senior journeyman wizard in the shire, she could see the contentment on her father’s face. Still, no matter how many times she had visited Fort Árainn over the years, to her, it was simply a cold, damp place at the foothills of the Sawtooth Mountains.

  Kyna’s countenance, however, exhibited not the slightest hint of contentment at visiting Fort Árainn. Although granted the title of ‘countess’ when Eógan was elevated to earl, her mother, Máiréad realized, enjoyed being a countess much more than being the wife of a mere shire chieftain, and these visits were a constant reminder of her former status.

  Glancing out the window of the carriage, Máiréad returned a final goodbye wave from Aoife, Ruari’s wife. Aoife had always treated her well, looking out for her over the years during their seasonal vacations.

  Máiréad smiled slightly, a measure of contentment coming over her, as well. Her upcoming marriage to Prince Liam would bolster both women’s positions. She would see to it that, even when she and her husband moved to Fortress Tulach, and Liam assumed the position of Acting-King of the Western Shires, her father would continue to hold the title of Earl of the Western Shires. Where he and Kyna would live was another matter altogether, most probably at the Citadel of Cruachan in the Central Federal Region. However, Kyna would retain her title of ‘countess’ and Aoife would continue as the wife of the Steward of Árainn Shire.

  As the carriage neared the fort’s entrance, Máiréad’s gaze came to rest upon the empty forge. The man having that portion of the farrier’s contract was currently over at Fort Cairbrigh. Without warning, the young lady’s thoughts returned to a time some ten years into the past—New Year’s Eve at Fortress Tulach:

  Together, hand in hand, Máiréad and Pádraig ran out from the edge of the overlook wall to the rampart, down the steps to the ward, and joined the crowds in a spiral dance, weaving in and out among the small bone-fires and around the large central one, laughing and shouting and forgetting about any worldly cares.

  Small children, some with animal masks and others who had used pieces of burned wood to make their little faces look like skeletons, pretended to be hungry ghosts, begging for handouts. Every so often, Máiréad would stop and toss a handful of farthings into the group. Then she and Pádraig would continue their dance, while the squealing children scrambled for the copper coins.

  * * *

  Their souls cleansed in the ceremonial smoke of the bone-fires, the teenagers once again retreated to the relative privacy of the overlook.

  After another 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 replied, 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, saying nothing in return.

  Why did that thought push its way through?! Máiréad irritably questioned herself, putting both hands on her temples in an attempt to suppress the memory.

  For over ten years, ever since the Venerable Taliesin had chosen to sponsor Pádraig to the Academy for the Spiritually Gifted instead of her, Máiréad had tried to hide the hurt and anger by walling up all the pleasant memories and feelings she had ever had of her former soul friend. However, the mental wall had not so much been constructed out of stone or iron, but more on the order of wattle and daub. And now, after all these years, it was as if cracks were beginning to form in the daub, allowing the memories and feelings to slowly seep out into her consciousness.

  Again, another old memory oozed out from where it had been secreted away.

  She had been
riding with Cian, Reeve of Árainn Shire, those many years ago, searching for the kidnapped farrier and the prince, and had not detected any sign of them. That night Máiréad lie there thinking of Pádraig and of the past few days searching for him:

  I know you’re out there somewhere, my anam cara, she thought, tears filling her eyes. But I just haven’t been able to sense you. I’ve tried, Paddy. Honestly, I have.

  The tears now spilled, unchecked, down her alabaster cheeks.

  With that memory, a pent-up feeling also escaped from one of the crevices in her memory wall. It was in answer to the question she had asked herself just moments before:

  Why did that thought push its way through?!

  But now, the Lady Máiréad knew why. The answer was simple. She had never stopped loving her soul friend.

  A single tear trickled from her right eye, snaking halfway down her cheek before being flicked away by a finger from her gloved hand.

  * * *

  No sooner had the carriage disappeared through the main gate, than the look of contentment, worn as a mask for his daughter’s benefit, disappeared from Earl Eógan’s countenance.

  “In a few days we should know,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And may An Fearglas help us if it turns out that we’re wrong, because there’ll be no turning back, then.”

  Ruari and Murchú nodded their agreement, and all three made the ritual act of submission.

  Yewday - Bear 9th

  Callainn Shire - Ráth Callainn

  As Pádraig entered the main gate at Fort Callainn, the bell in the keep tower sounded twice, followed by a pause before it rang once more, signaling an hour-and-a-half into the evening watch.

  The twenty-four-hour Cruachanian day was divided into six four-hour watches. The bell was struck at every half-hour of each watch, with four sets of two strikes on the bell (eight bells) marking the end of each watch.

  The young wizard had hoped to find the fort’s forge unattended, but saw flickering lamplight seep out through the gaps in the shutters.

  “Well,” he told Killian, reaching down and tousling the mule’s ears, “maybe the farrier will put me up for the night. Otherwise, I’m going to have to bunk with you in the stable.”

  As wizard and mule proceeded toward the forge, the door to the building opened, and a man with an oak piggin walked a few steps out into the ward and sloshed the water from the bucket onto the ground. He looked up at the visitor and, squinting in the fading light, said, “Paddy?… Paddy, is that you on that mule?”

  “Colm?” Pádraig called out. “So you have the farrier’s contract for the Kingdom of the Northern Shires. Good for you. I was hoping that maybe you could put me up for the night.”

  “Come on down off of there, Paddy. For you, I’ll put you up for as long as you want. If it weren’t for you, that rascal Lorcan would have hanged me for sure. Besides, you can have the place to yourself. I just finished up here for the day, and I’m riding home to spend the night in my own bed.”

  Colm lived in Callainn Shire, with his own forge and home down on the point near the harbor.

  * * *

  Years before, Colm had been framed by Lorcan, Reeve of Gabhrán Shire, for the murder of Tadhg, who had the contract for farrier services in the Kingdom of the Northern Shires.

  During a casual conversation in The Rope and Anchor Tavern, Tadhg had mentioned that he was taking care of half again as many horses as he had the year before for the security forces in the kingdom, most of them way up north. Unbeknownst to him, those horses were for the rebel forces who were plotting with the Northmen, their former overlords, to stage a rebellion and break away from the Confederation.

  The next day, Tadhg’s body was found in Gabhrán Shire, murdered from a blow to the head from a farrier’s hammer. Because Tadhg and Colm had had an altercation in the tavern the night before, Lorcan arrested Colm.

  When Pádraig thwarted the rebels’ plans to kill Prince Liam, the revolt had fallen apart. The young wizard, a much younger farrier at the time, had gone on to prove that Colm was innocent of Tadhg’s murder, and that the killer was, in fact, Lorcan, himself, in league with the rebels, making sure that Tadhg would not speak of the additional horses to anyone else.

  * * *

  As Pádraig dismounted and tied Killian’s reins to the hitching post outside the forge, Colm continued. “And as far as having the farrier’s contract for the kingdom, I’ve got only part of it.”

  “How so?”

  “Don’t rightly know. They’ve got it divided three ways. I’ve got Callainn and Gabhrán Shires. Another farrier has Árainn and Cairbrigh Shires. And they’ve contracted with a third farrier to cover just Béarra Shire by itself. Go figure. But, I’m not really complaining. Two-fifths of a loaf is a lot better than none.”

  “I admire your attitude,” Pádraig told him.

  “Hey, I owe it all to you, Paddy.” Noticing the red mantle, Colm caught himself and said, “I mean, Honored Sir. Congratulations, by the way. I had heard that both you and the Lady Máiréad graduated from the Academy in record time.”

  “‘Paddy’ is just fine between friends, Colm. Let me get Killian over to the stables and taken care of for the night, then we’ll talk a little more before you leave, if you have the time.”

  “For you? All the time in the world. Come on in for a minute while I put a few things away and grab my cloak. Then, I’ll walk over to the stables with you. Do you know Jarlath, the head groom here?”

  He turned and headed back into the forge, with Pádraig at his heels.

  “Yes. I met him some years back,” the young wizard replied, shutting the door behind him and savoring the warmth of the dying embers in the hearth. “It was right after Tadhg was killed. My da loaned me out to the Kingdom of the Northern Shires for a two-week stint, until they could come up with a replacement farrier. Ráth Callainn was my first and only solo go at it. I remember Jarlath as being a good man. Ran a tight ship, as I recall.”

  “Still does.”

  “Whoa!” Pádraig said, gesturing at a variety of large wrought iron keys hanging on the wall. “What do you have here, Colm, the keys to the kingdom?”

  Looking at where the young man pointed, the blacksmith chuckled. “The keys to this little kingdom, anyway.” Colm touched each one as he identified it. “Let’s see. General stores, armory, dungeon, larder, mess hall…and I forget what that one’s for. Guess I should have labeled them. During the time you were here, didn’t anyone come in whining about losing a key?”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “I must get one every other visit.”

  “So you keep spares to hand out?”

  “Templates for myself,” Colm replied. “Finbar must have had to remake keys sometime during your apprenticeship with him. What did he do when someone lost a key?”

  “He had to take the entire lock mechanism apart and re-key it. I’ll have to tell him about your system the next time I see him.”

  “You do that, Paddy. It’s not often that somebody gets one up on your da.” He plucked his cloak from a nail on the wall and said, “C’mon. Let’s get your mule over to the stables.”

  * * *

  After exchanging pleasantries with Jarlath, Colm and Pádraig caught up on gossip while the young wizard saw to Killian’s comfort, using his hawk-billed hoof-pick to clean the mule’s hooves, then rubbed and brushed the animal down, saw that he had plenty of food and clean water, and that the stall had a bed of fresh straw in it.

  As the young wizard took out the cleaning cloths, saddle soap, and leather oil to clean the tack, Colm bid him a good night, telling him that he’d leave the lamps lit in the forge and throw another log on the hearth. Exiting the stable for the ride back home, the farrier also bid farewell to a soldier who had entered to check on his mount before going to supper.

  Emblazoned on the dark-blue tabard of the soldier was a gold tríbhís—the conjoined triple spiral—with a lightning bolt in its center, the symbol of the Cruachanian Defense
Forces. His collar insignia identified him as a section leader.

  Both Pádraig and the soldier looked at each other. Instantly, mutual recognition set in.

  “Eamon?” “Paddy?” they each said, simultaneously.

  As had Colm, Eamon belatedly noticed the red mantle and corrected himself by saying, “I mean, Honored Sir. Congratulations, by the way.”

  “Congratulations, yourself, Eamon,” Pádraig told him, pointing at the soldier’s rank emblem. “I see you’ve been promoted from squad leader.”

  The soldier beamed with pride. “Three years back, now.”

  The young wizard continued. “And, while I do appreciate the use of the ‘Honored Sir,’ ‘Paddy’ is just fine with me. How did things go with Phelim?”

  * * *

  When Pádraig had been the on-loan farrier to the Kingdom of the Northern Shires, Jarlath and Eamon had asked him to have a look at the squad leader’s mount, Phelim, a blue roan, fifteen-year-old stallion whom they felt needed to be put down because of lameness.

  Pádraig had declined to euthanize the horse, and, instead, had used his gift from An Fearglas in conjunction with poultices to reduce the animal’s pain. In so doing, although Phelim’s war-horse days were definitely over, the young farrier had assured that the animal would be able to enjoy his remaining years out in the pasture.

  * * *

  “You gave him six good years of retirement, Paddy,” Eamon replied to the question about Phelim. “He passed a few years back, a contented old horse. I owe you for that. Have you had supper, yet?”

  “I was going to go over to the garrison mess hall as soon as I finished up here, cleaning Killian’s tack. Probably in another quarter hour or so.”

  “I’ll meet you there. Supper’s on me.”

  * * *

  The garrison at Fort Callainn, as with most forts, was actually a dual garrison, housing both the members of the Cruachanian Defense Forces who were stationed there or passing through, as well as the detachment of the security forces of that kingdom who were assigned there.