Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series) (19 page)

She played a variety of sorrowful tunes, including 'The Mackintosh's Lament', which she had learned from two of those she now mourned; she ended, surprisingly, with 'Amazing Grace', sung in a full, rich, absolutely beautiful contralto that carried as well as the single pipe accompanying her from somewhere inside Wilderdeep. As the sun lowered in the western sky, Ailill sang a handful of other songs, each as resounding as the first, as heartfelt, the Gaelic words in the last sounding sad and sweet, different from the previous songs of the
caithris
translated to what appeared to be a recounting of each man's lineage. The change in timbre was clear; this was a song of love lost, unfamiliar to the men who had since, with great reluctance, gone back to their work.

Micah paused once more to listen, sensed Jacob do the same without having to turn around. James had ordered that nine small piles of wood be constructed in an out of the way spot in the low meadow, just inside a circular arrangement of large flat stones as high as a man's knee; the piles were meant to duplicate the funerary pyres of Ailill's lost friends; the brothers stood one on either side, a faggot clutched in each filthy fist. Their eyes were trained on the summit, on Ailill's flaming tresses, fanned out about her in a fiery nimbus with the last lowering rays of the sun.

"Tis her own
amhran
she sings just now. Nay the usual one, '
Mo Gealbhan
',
for her naming ceremonial. This song Ailill composed by herself at thirteen, after she learned the truth o' her birth, as
she
knows it." The ancient woman with the diamond eyes stepped up to the outer edge of the would-be bonfire, her features sharpened with the shadows creeping dusky-blue fingers over the hills and valleys. She looked like a cat, a wizened feline with a white mantle, eyes swirling in the pale depths with an iridescent hue. Jacob stared at her hard, attempted, without success, to place her unnaturally young face because something deeply buried tingled just at the surface, a knowing that he had seen this old woman before ever setting foot on the mount. Unblinking, she stared back, into his dark, beautiful, unutterably sad eyes.

"
Fair as the glens, hearts golden and true
," she translated, "
dark as the wood, where first I saw you; Eyes, like midnight on a cold, moonless moor, love through the ages do I see in those depths; a vow writ in stone, in blood, in bone; of fealty, of love; I stand alone; awaiting a tierce, my Princes of auld, to stand with me, to see me through. Everlasting, everafter, my lifeblood for you. Three Sons for three Sons, as three Princes before, guardians of Sidhe, the gift of Danaan, avowed of Riada, in unity, eternal, one Queen for three Kings, now; evermore
."

The notes died away, Ailill's voice silent for long moments though she did not move as the sun set at last; the ancient queen turned an opaque gaze toward her young heir. Uncertain what to say to the rather poetic lyrics, what to think, Jacob and Micah looked at one another. It seemed as if this Fallon character expected them to know the meaning behind the words, to understand the reason for the composition, but the truth was that, however beautiful the song, it was as alien to them as the taste of freedom they had only known since coming to this place, this land of plenty. Jewel Mountain was, for them, a veritable utopia to which they'd only just become accustomed. The presence of the odd old woman, the seeming change in James and Annie over the past few weeks, people they had come to care for, as well as the addition of Ailill, with all her mysterious ways, her abnormal strength and vast degrees of knowledge- she was a child prodigy in every sense of the word- sadly, each of these people threatened to destroy the dream-state in which the brothers moved through their life, their only true escape from a tyrannical father-figure, from painful memories far too deeply buried to recount.

Their life had been harder than was necessary, they knew; lonely from day one. Without each other, neither could have come to this point, this
almost
happiness. And neither, not once in their young lives, had ever felt so complete as they had since Ailill came along. Her talk of leaving had been hard to hear without arguing against it; her tears, devastating. As one, they wanted nothing more than to stick by her, to comfort her in what was obviously a terrible grief. And yet, there was still that small, selfish voice... the one that wished to remind them both that Ailill's first tears had been shed, not for her dead friends, but for a man she had never mentioned throughout weeks of nattering just to pass the time, through one hell of a long, talk-filled night. She had slept between them last night, innocent though that proved to be- in the middle of recounting the tale of the Tuatha DeDanaan, an ancient race who had crossed the Western sky in great ships, searching for a beautiful new homeland in which to settle, Ailill had fallen asleep. She'd slipped away so quickly, pulled down into dreams in which she whispered a constant, night-long, ancient tongue. An eerie thing, that, listening to her talk to the ghosts of her dreams as if they were truly there; they'd not the heart to tell her they knew the story, Ireland's own tale, when she awoke this morning, clear-eyed and smiling, only to be set upon by her own father, forced into a verbal battle of wits and worth that had infuriated the girl; humiliated her. And now this. The sadness of her grief, her beautiful music a last goodbye to friends, comrades; soldiers fallen in a battle that, apparently, raged ever on. Ailill did not look the part of a seasoned warrior, but she played the part as well as any man; too well, in fact. That was why it was so startling when a flicker of motion on the periphery of the meadow caught the dark eyes of both young men.

It seemed she had suddenly appeared there, when a moment before Ailill had been standing atop the highest peak, the summit of Jewel Mountain. Same as that first day, when Micah had followed her up the mountain trail, her flesh was painted blue; her fiery hair remained loose this time, flowing down her back like a flaming bridal veil, but her clothing was gone, her naked body marked with intricate designs, symbols of ancient origin; over her muscular arm flowed folds of a robe or cloak, the same deep blue of her tear-reddened eyes when they met first Micah's, then Jacob's sympathetic gaze.

Without a word, Ailill stepped up to the mini pyres, yet to be lit, and raised her face to the heavens, eyes closed. A half-whispered chant took up the next few minutes, her face blank, as if she were in some sort of trance as she walked
deiseil
about the outer edges of the circle of stones; the repetitions of both chant and march had a soothing effect, a surprising occurrence given the overt paganism of the ritual. She stopped suddenly, right hand raised as if about to salute, then her thumb and forefinger met, made a small circle through which she peered hard at the brothers for long moments. They peered back, ignoring the slight gasp of surprise from somewhere behind them; apparently Ailill was not supposed to have seen them, or perhaps it was the fact that she had unintentionally seen them first thing that had caused such a noticeable stir of unease to ripple through the Mackintoshes of Jewel Mountain?

"The Histories prove correct; 'tis one face that I see throughout aeons," she muttered softly, turning away. When she donned the robe, all but disappearing beneath the shapeless folds, Ailill turned back, her gaze trained on the two men who would now and everafter be a part of her life.

"
Teine Sith
," she fairly hissed, and the piles of dry wood erupted in flames as high as her hooded crown.

"Och then lass, ye've truly done right by the fallen lads. Do ye close yon wee door and sober up a bit now, aye?" Ailill's grandmother, whom she had rudely taken to calling Fallon as the night wore on, when she deigned to acknowledge the woman at all, cast a censorious stare in the direction of her granddaughter who was, apparently, already deeply in her cups.

Shooting the woman a baleful glare, a look that clearly stated
'bugger off',
shrugged, swallowed down the last of the spirit in her mug, and threw her head back, spewing a tight stream of melodic Gaelic to the sky. Roughly translated, her oath seemingly meant nothing; the true meaning behind "Oh! Sweet Brigit of the Timeless Age, your own progeny cares naught for those whose lives are lost in her stead. The time for change slips ever closer, most ancient of queens, and yet, the changeling of old rues the day sovereignty is passed on, for what a mess it shall be to clear away", was, in its own way, crystal clear. Jacob nearly laughed aloud at the way Fallon's attractive features hardened with the insult. He felt badly for Ailill but wondered if it was wise, the way she had chosen to lash out at these demanding elders, her family; if he had taken the cutting tone with which she spoke to her own grandmother, if he'd even attempted it for a moment on Kiah he would surely have been knocked for a loop first thing... probably far worse.

"Och, Raffy... the sweetest lad," Ailill said after a moment, choosing to ignore her grandmother and finish with the lengthy toasts, given in the order the deaths had taken place. "I kent all along how ye burned for me, sweet wee Raff; nivver awed by such great presence as Herself, nay, ye were a
normal
lad; for that alone I am grateful. Though ye did wish badly ye'd kissed me, that day I showed ye how to find your path in the wee leavings at the bottom o' yer mug." She laughed softly, a husky sound, her voice all but used up after hours of singing, chanting, speaking kind words, final goodbyes, without respite. "Ah, but I saw that which ye couldna fathom, aye? Ye became the braw warrior I promised ye would when first ye picked up a swordie and took yer place in my ranks, Rafferty Angus Ian Connolly MacDougal Mac Morna. I shall always remember how ye looked in yer first practice battle, the way ye grinned at that damn fool, Rabbie MacGwinn, before ye skewered him through the thigh; no but a wee flesh wound, true, but ye had the look o' a hardened criminal down to an art form under my own proud tutelage and he, actin' as the enemy that chill, rainy day, och aye, he let out a skelloch to wake the deid when ye snarled, whimpered like a frightened wee lass before the whole class when ye bared those pearly whites." She laughed aloud, hiccuped a bit, and two fat tears rolled unchecked down her blue-tinted cheeks. "In grief do I find the strength to conquer all, Raffy... darlin'. I shall remember everafter the green o' yer een, the black o' yer soft hair, and when next I set eyes upon wee Rory I shall give him that kiss ye always wanted and tell him how brave ye were to fight the enemy, no in the name o' the Tribe, but for masel' alone."

In silent salute, another shot disappeared, the sharp, tangy reek of whiskey wafting slowly through the small circle around the smoldering fires. Ailill's eyes were closed while she drank, hooded when at last she opened them to stare through her grandmother; she made no attempt to hide the fact that she wished the woman gone.

It seemed a bit of a surprise, the way Ailill acted toward her family; if they would have bought into the attitude of open despisal, Micah and Jacob might have believed that she truly hated them all... but there was that flicker in the back of her sapphire eyes, that heated glow which showed a deeply buried pain, a sense of humiliated outrage. It showed itself with the regularity of the
pop
and
sizzle
of a pine knot hidden somewhere beneath the flickering flames. The night was too hot for a fire, too damp and sultry even for summer. Sweat poured off the brothers in rivulets, soaked the long lengths of jet-black hair until it shined like patent-leather about their ears. They, as well, wished for Fallon to leave; wished to talk to Ailill, though each man doubted he could find any words of comfort. She was in a rare mood- sad, angry, and full of memories of which they weren't a part. It had not been hard to pay attention to the small details of the unexpected, and completely alien, tribute. Ailill commanded attention with her very presence, her voice rich, husky as she recounted the full, lengthy names of each man lost to her, the accomplishments and small tidbits which had been endearing to her, personal things that gave them an inkling of just how much she loved her brothers in arms, and how that feeling had been reciprocated.

That last one, though... she had not wept again since first learning of what had happened in her absence, until she came to the final farewell- a mere boy, from the sound of it, younger than she. The need to cry, to sob her heart out, was there in those pink-rimmed eyes. No sooner did the older woman silently slip into the gathering dark, a quarter hour later, than the heart-shaped face crumpled, fell into the small, delicate hands in her lap; her hair, bright copper in the light of the fire, fell forward, covered her hands, her arms, trailed the ground below her tiny feet; the long curls trembled with the force of her grief, the necessary upwelling of silent tears wracked her small body for long moments.

Uncertain what to say, to do, Micah watched her in uneasy silence; seeing such untold sadness in the tiny beauty caused a lump to form in his own throat, not easily dislodged. Glancing up, he noticed that his twin had turned away slightly. Jacob's body was tense, muscles taut as piano wire, his face, painted with eerie shadows cast by the flickering flames, was stony, his eyes shiny with unshed tears... he was as affected as Micah by the girl's seeming despair, and having a harder time controlling his own sympathetic pangs. Sliding a long, narrow foot over the dew-damp earth, Micah nudged his brother's toe, a look of appeal in his eyes. As if by unspoken agreement, each grasped one of her small hands, drew closer on the stone bench, enfolded her in the strength of two perfectly matched pair of arms, and reveled in the soft warmth, the feel of her as she clutched them both closer. They held her without thought of want, or desire; without expectation, and suddenly, as if it had been predestined, Ailill became their anchor, as they had been hers.