Lion's Blood Page 2

  Their spiritual upbringing had been a compromise. They had been weaned on stories of both Jesus and the forest folk, the Tuatha de Danann and the Nativity, the Gospel of Mary Magdalene and that of Ana, mother of the Irish gods. Nessa tended more toward the ways of the Druids, Aidan more toward Christianity—it made for fine, fierce family arguments.

  But however much the siblings quarreled and bickered, the two shared secrets that no other living creature would ever know: Where Aidan hid the Druid stones won last Festival (since his mother wouldn't let them in the house). Who had given Nessa her first kiss (Geirig, the stonecutters son). What bend in the Lady held the fattest frogs, the ones who fairly jumped upon the nearest spear.

  Nessa helped him heave the net up onto the dock and into their wheeled cart. "Looks like a good pull," she said.

  "Good weight in it," he said, strutting a bit. Together they could just manage the load their father had drawn up with seemingly little effort.

  Every cook and carpenter seemed to be chattering as they pushed their way toward the squat, thatched shape of the communal smokehouse. "Thought you weren't coming back tonight," Nessa said. "You'd miss the dancing and the games." She dropped her voice a bit. "I think that Morgan would have cried."

  "Go on, now." His voice mocked her, but beneath that facade lay interest. Morgan ran faster than any of the other girls in the crannog, her bare feet seeming almost to float above the ground. But she ran just a little faster whenever Aidan chased her, and many of the adults nodded and chuckled when they saw how he never caught her, which frustrated him all the more. And more than once Mahon had suggested that one day, Morgan might let him catch her after all.

  He caught a glimpse of her as they trundled the net to the smoke hut. She was in the midst of some chasing game, elusive and feathery-swift as always. Heart-faced and red-haired, slender as some forest creature, she hid behind a low peat wall, but he spied her. She knew that he saw her, and raised a slender finger to her lips, begging silence. His face grew long and stern, as if considering whether or not to give her her wish. As the clutch of pursuing boys and girls ran by he said nothing to betray her position, and her thankful smile was radiant.

  No words were said, but he was suddenly certain, and unexpectedly pleased at the thought, that one day soon Morgan would indeed let him catch her.

  And then . . . ?

  Chapter Two

  Deirdre held Mahan's arm as they walked back to the home his grandfather had built with his own hands, the single large room they had shared as husband and wife for a dozen years. She knew her man's every mood as well as she knew her own, and something about his face, his laugh, the evasive shift of his eyes, warned her that he was troubled.

  "Bees buzzing between your ears?"

  His eyes refocused, found her. "Pulled something out of the Lady today," Mahon said. He did a little hop-step as they walked, dodging one of the big yellow mongrel dogs that ran freely through the streets, belonging to everyone and no one.

  "And what might that be?"

  "What?" he asked absently. Deirdre suppressed a flash of irritation, knowing that his mind was simply wandering again, as it often did. If anything, it meant that some aspect of the recent discovery had seized his imagination so strongly that he had tumbled into the depths of some strong speculation.

  "What you found, silly," she said.

  "Oh, that." His face was a mask. "Maybe nothing. We'll speak of it later."

  She looked up at him, curious and unconvinced, as they entered their home. Irritation would profit nothing. Patience might. In time, they would speak of it, and any other things that occupied his mind.

  Any discomfort of the day had been forgotten, and town festival held sway: not so elaborate as the spring dance not two weeks ago, or the annual gathering of chieftains and kings. But on this day eighty-four winters past, the O'Dere crannog had been founded: the first child had been born. On the day of that birth, the land was officially declared alive and fertile by the forest-dwelling druids who arrived, unbidden, for the occasion.

  And every year the fisher folk and herdsmen, the farmers and hunters who called the crannog their tuath, the core of their five generations of

  mothers, sons, and cousins, gathered to celebrate its birth with song and dance and merriment.

  Aidan walked the periphery of the great central fire, where cook-kettles bubbled and the village shared its bounty. On a night like tonight, no one would go hungry. Tonight's celebration had brought guests from the tuath a day upstream, as well as families from small farms in the northern woods, and Eastern marsh folk who traded with O'Dere and came on this night to rejoice with them.

  Crouching behind a barrel, Aidan caught snippets of conversation. Dearg, a black-bearded fisherman who lived next to the bridge, gestured broadly, spilling his mug of ale as he bragged. "Three days!" he said. "South along the coast, and found a shoal so rich we had only to dip the nets and they fair broke our backs."

  His companion Conn, the quick-tempered graybeard who minded the smokehouse, laughed at him. "If you'd bent your back to the nets you might know that."

  Conn's big-bellied younger brother Lir chortled. "Too busy giving orders to pull," he agreed sagely.

  Aidan started as his father squatted next to the men. Mahon grabbed the goblet from Dearg, quaffed deeply, and slammed it back into his friend's hand. "Ah, lay off," Mahon said. "Someone has to keep you lazybones at work."

  His voice was playful, but Aidan knew his father, and sensed that there was something serious in his mind. "Tell me, lads. While about, did you see anything of. . . unusual interest?"

  They passed the flagon from hand to hand. Aidan fought his urge to lunge from the shadows and make a grab for it, knowing that if he did, the topic of conversation would instantly shift to imaginative methods of punishment.

  "Of what sort?" Conn asked.

  In reply, Mahon pulled the gold-hilted blade from his belt. Aidan's blood quickened. As he had suspected, there was something special and secret about the knife. And he had found it! Was it magic, perhaps? Surely it was the blade of a Druid king.

  Lir's eyes went huge. "Where in heaven did you find that?"

  "In the Lute," Mahon replied. He held the blade up so that it reflected the firelight. "Gold was shining in the sun, but. . . see? No tarnish on the steel?"

  The men exchanged quizzical glances. Dearg held his hand out for the knife, weighed it in his palm, made a few dexterous turns and then handed it back hilt first. His sun-creased face seemed to darken. "A strange and curious thing. What do you think, Mahon?"

  Mahon rested one knee upon the ground. "I don't know," he said. "I have a memory, but can't place it. Maybe on the next trading trip upriver, we could ask the seanchai if he's ever seen such a thing."

  Aidan hoped that his father might take him along. The seanchai were magical folk, who held the history of the entire Lute River in their songs and stories.

  The other fishermen nodded agreement as Deirdre appeared from around the fire, where she had been speaking to some of the other women. The flute music wafted across the fire, seeming to pick up heat as it passed. She balanced her fists on her hips saucily. "Will you stop talking? The boats are in, life is good, and your wife needs a dance."

  She lifted one small fist and extended it to her man. The fishermen laughed and waved him away, and she pulled Mahon to his feet as if he were a great salmon reeled from the river.

  A beautiful red-haired woman was playing fiddle. Aidan had heard that she lived in the forest by herself, but he did not know her name. It was whispered that she was a witch, and perhaps it was true. He did know that the spell she wove transformed the night into a living creature, alive as the forests or the river.

  Two couples performed a slow, lovely jig to her music while the children clapped and the men passed a jug. Deirdre pulled Mahon out and they danced joyously, while Aidan and his sister, Nessa, watched. They laughed along to the music and the motion, and more dancers joined the celebration.r />
  In the torchlight, their young faces shone with unfettered joy. Aidan caught a flash of bright red hair to his left and Morgan emerged from the light, all youthful promise and hope, the baby fat just beginning to melt away, leaving the mesmerizing curves of a healthy young woman. Again he felt that sense of bonding, and some part of him knew what everyone else in the tuath seemed to know, but the knowledge eluded his conscious mind, was present only as a mild and distant yearning.

  Morgan stepped closer, her feet making little patterns on the ground. He wanted to jump up and chase her, to play the old games that they had played since before remembering. But something in her teasing smile said New games, Aidan. New games coming. And then the tension broke like a bubble in a brook, and he barely saw Nessa's hand as it flickered out, stinging his cheek. "Go dance with her, then!" Nessa said.

  Morgan jumped back, startled a bit. Aidan and Nessa traded slaps, an old and fond game. Eyes watering, Aidan on some level realized that he welcomed the interruption, the respite from the secret in Morgan's eyes.

  Morgan watched them, seemed to sigh, and slipped back into the shadows, taking one last glance at him over her shoulder. Even in the midst of the frantic action, he could appreciate the length of her lashes, enjoy the way her hair lay against her shoulder. Something about her called to something within him, and if he had yet to understand, it said to him Don't be afraid, Aidan. I understand well enough for the both of us.

  Night fell softly in the tuath, the music slowly dying away, the adults wandering to their beds or back to the forest, or setting off singing in flat-bottomed boats. Fireflies rose from the edges of the lake, flitting and darting like low-slung stars.

  Aidan, Nessa, Kyle Bora, and his brother, Donough, lay out on the dock, staring out at the lake and the reeds that bordered it. They spoke in slurred voices as Deirdre and Mahon ambled up to them, arms about each other.

  Mahon's expression was one of sleepy satisfaction. "You children stay out of mischief," he said, and gave his wife a squeeze. "Your mother and I are yieldin' to nature."

  Deirdre laid her head on her husband's shoulder, her hand caressing his side. "I saw that little Morgan chasing after you," she said to Aidan. "Red hair means trouble, boy." She gave him a lazy, knowing smile, shaking her own crimson mane.

  "I can handle myself," Aidan said.

  His father grinned ruefully. "I once thought as much. Look at me now."

  "You're the happiest man in the tuath," said round-faced Kyle Boru.

  Mahon snorted. "Too drunk to feel the pain, boy." He planted a smacking wet kiss on his wife's welcoming lips. “Take me to bed or lose me forever, woman!"

  Arms entwined about each other's waists, they wobbled off. Behind them, the children giggled.

  When the adults were safely gone, Kyle and Donough produced an ale jug. Conspiratorial whispers followed, and a soft swift gurgling liquid sound as the jug was upended into one eager young mouth after another.

  Nessa protested indignantly when the boys hogged. "My turn! Don't keep it all for yourselves!"

  "Mine first!" Donough said, jostling for position.

  He took another swallow, then passed it to Aidan.

  Nessa grabbed for it and missed. "Aidan!"

  He clucked at her. "Patience . . ." Aidan drank. Liquid fire rolled down his throat. He turned as if passing it back to Donough again and was deliberately slow to avoid Nessa's lunge. She snatched it from him.

  As she drank and sputtered, Aidan rolled over onto his back. The jug continued to pass from one child to another, and the alcohol took its toll in the form of bleary speech and increasingly animated expressions.

  Aidan gazed up through the clouds at a luminous shoal of stars: the Great Northern Plow, the Small Plow, the Goose. He had heard a Druid claim that the stars were balls of flaming gas. But surely such fires would have burned out by now . . . ? "I heard," he said, "that there are men who sail across the ocean guided only by the stars."

  Donough sighed. "I'd like to see that."

  "So would I," Aidan said.

  Nessa plopped down next to the others, wobbly as a wet reed. "You'll never see anything but lake and river," Aidan's twin laughed. She swept her arm out, pointing at the village and the lake. "This is all you'll ever see."

  Without being able to explain how, Aidan knew that she was wrong, knew that he was meant for bigger things. The Druids said that there was a larger world out there, beyond the tuath, beyond even the ocean, and he was going to explore it. He thought those, and other things, but merely slurred: "I'll show ya. I'll show alla ya . . ."

  Chapter Three

  From the jury of the Northmen, deliver us.

  Ninth Century Irish prayer

  Four hours before dawn.

  The O'Dere crannog was utterly silent now. Even the dogs had curled up into a knot in the shadow of the central fire.

  The children sprawled on the dock were still asleep. There was no one to see the arrival of the raiders. Out of an enfolding bank of mist glided twin dragons. Rearing back like sea horses, stub-winged and fanged, each dragon was perched on the prow of a ship, each ship about fifty hands in length. The ships' oars scooped water and sculled ahead silently, every motion practiced and perfect. They were flat-bottomed, designed for swift forays along smooth, shallow rivers like the Lute.

  Aidan was the first to wake. He peered out across the lake, seeing the silent shapes, but certain that this was a dream following him even after he had opened his eyes. As he watched, the head of the lead ship began to glow with a strange light. Without warning, flame gushed from the dragon's mouth, directly onto the row of coracles.

  Aidan's eyes widened. What a dream this was! Then he felt the rush of heat against his skin, and sat up screaming.

  "Northmen!"

  Nessa and the Bora boys bolted to their feet, grasping their peril in a single glance. For a moment they stood frozen, but as the ships smoldered and the flames licked at the docks, their paralysis broke and they fled back into the village.

  Aidan walked backwards, watching, eyes wide. Since infancy he had heard tales of the dragons and of the village heroes who waged righteous war against them. Had been warned away from mischief with images of terrible beasts that tore and swallowed and carried away forever.

  So even though he realized that these were ships, that what he watched was the work of men, not monsters, something inside him held him transfixed by primordial, nameless dread. The dragon vomited flame again, and another boat seethed with fire.

  Now alien, vaguely human shapes stirred upon the decks. They drew closer to the dock and a grapneled rope flew down, anchoring itself to the weathered pier. Barely discernible in the mist, two-legged shadows emerged from the ships.

  The first thing Aidan saw was that the invaders were giants. He had always considered his father and the men of the tuath impossibly huge, but these creatures were so broad and thick through chest and shoulders that Aidan's father looked almost childlike in comparison. These were not human beings at all. They were ogres, sidhe from hell, who would break their bones and suck their marrow, down to the last screaming child.

  He stumbled backwards as the first of the invaders stepped onto the dock. Aidan was hidden behind a low wall now, but he swore that the sidhe looked directly at him. The dock was aflame, and the invaders walked toward the village as if treading through deep mud, had all the time in the world to breathe between each massive step. One raised a knife. To his horror Aidan realized it was brother to the one he had found in the river just that afternoon.

  The fire's flare illuminated a Northman's face. It was a thing of tusks and snout, more boar than man.

  Suspended dizzyingly between dream and reality, Aidan wheeled and ran.

  His feet pounded the earth. He registered distantly that the village alarm bell was ringing. A few of the men and women tottered out into the street shaking drink-muddled heads.

  Half naked, Mahon himself had emerged, sun-burned chest broad and bare in the dark. "Drow
n me! What mischief is this?" Cuaran, their left-hand neighbor, seemed more awake: perhaps he had quaffed less deeply.

  "Northmen!" screamed Cuaran. "Burning the boats!" He carried a halberd, an evil mating of spear and boathook, equally suitable for splitting a sapling or gutting an enemy. Aidan flattened against the wall as Cuaran ran past, bellowing his challenge. Aidan had seen Cuaran hurl that weapon half a hundred paces to behead a rabbit. Behind Cuaran was Willig, and then Angus, the great bear. Aidan felt a swell of pride and hope: These were the men of the tuath, mighty fishermen, fierce warriors. They would send the Northmen howling back to hell!

  Cuaran's arm drew back hard, and in another moment Aidan knew that he would loose the thunderbolt—

  Then Cuaran's head snapped back, and Aidan heard a sound like a whip cracking. Red splashed between the fisherman's eyes, and he flew backward to land in the dirt. The back of his head burst like rotted fruit, spattering the ground with seeds and pulp.

  Aidan felt more awed confusion than fear. From his shadowed place he saw the burly, animal figures leveling long sticks, heard cracks, saw fire flash like lightning in the sky. A man behind him groaned and tumbled to the ground.

  Were these gods? Or demons, emerged from the mist to hurl bolts of lightning? Hadn't the Druids made sacrifice, sung, songs, danced and prayed and sown sacred seeds to the Tuatha de Dannan? Why, then, this day of destruction?

  The crannog was fully awake now, and several villagers ran to those few boats still unconsumed by flames. Cennidi, the stout fisherman who tied his coracle next to Mahon's, tumbled to the ground, dead.

  Cennidi's son Tirechan tried to save one of the boats, and a gout of fire erupted from the yawning mouth of a dragon ship; the youth became an instant ball of flames, screaming before he twisted jumping into the water.