Waves in the Wind (5 page)

I hugged the bundle to my chest, trying to grasp what was happening. “But…”

“Listen to me, Ossian. You are more than a year ahead in your studies here and show even greater promise. Yes, as Master of the school at Dún Ailinne, in my judgment you have rightly earned your new title in only eight years. I had already determined to bestow this honor upon you but the current circumstances require that I do so now in this ill-timed, informal manner. I have already signed the formal decree, and it will be sent to King mac Dúnlainge and sealed in the Royal Court records of Leinster.”

For an acolyte of only twenty years of age to receive this high honor was unheard of, and I stood there like a statue, humbled, unable to form an appropriate response other than to whisper, “Thank you, Master Tóla.”

“Humph, yes, of course. As you know, promotion to the First Order should be accompanied by a prescribed ritual in front of your peers followed by a festival and feast in your honor. Unfortunately, we leave in three days so your ceremony must be delayed until after we return from Tara. Meanwhile, wear this robe, Wise One. Upon this occasion and henceforth, conduct yourself as a Druid.”

Chapter 5

Tara

“Ossian. You wear the First Order robe?” My father sat astride a tall horse in the center of the compound surrounded by a group of mounted, grim-faced warriors. Bronze armor glinted in the torchlight, every warrior heavily armed.

I hid my pleasure behind a humble shrug. “Yes. Master Tóla bestowed the honor upon me just three days past.”

Pride flared in his eyes and he gave me a curt nod. “Come then, Druid. We must hurry! You are ready to leave?”

I walked closer. “Yes father, of course. I need only get my bag.” I gestured toward the warriors. “You have need of this large escort?”

“These are dangerous times. People are terrified by this darkness and many aren’t thinking clearly. Travelers are now at risk from far more than common bandits. King Domhnall insisted upon me traveling with these twenty men. Have you seen Master Tóla?”

“Yes. I’m sure he is aware of your arrival and will be here soon.”

“Very good. Hurry now…get your bag that we might leave right away.”

* * *

Midday torchlight flared and reflected off our warriors’ armor as our calvacade rode through the gate of the wooden palisade surrounding the stone palace of the High King. Horses’ hooves echoed as we crossed the cobblestone courtyard.

The four of us, Master Tóla and his aide Earnán as well as my father and I, dismounted and entered the foyer of the palace. Immediately we were met and ushered into the throneroom, where the four us knelt in a row before King Túathal Máelgarb, High King of Eire, descendent of Niall of the Nine Hostages.

Acrid smoke burned my eyes and nose, emanating from four flaming torches that lit the large, almost barren room. It is a sad day when you eagerly expect to find glitter only to discover dust instead. I sighed at the disappointment of it.

The King slouched in his heavy oak chair as we knelt before him on the cold stone floor. On his right stood an ancient bearded Druid, stooped and leaning on his staff, a Slatnan Druidheacht. A tonsured, stone-faced Christian priest stood on the King’s left, garbed in what I knew to be a bishop’s scarlet robe.

The King himself proved my second disappointment, a burly, most un-kingly, coarse-featured man. The broad golden band encircling his head spoke to his inheritance of power while his grease-streaked beard and dark, unkempt hair falling loosely to his shoulders questioned the purity of his royal bloodline. A common linen kirtle encasing his large girth ended at hairy knees; leather boots sheathed his feet and calves.

He stared at us through drooping eyelids as if with little interest. Finally, he acknowledged our presence. “So, Tóla, you bring news of the darkness?”

“Yes, Your Highness, that and a message from King Illan mac Dúnlainge of Leinster.” Master Tóla removed a scroll from the loose-fitting sleeve of his robe and offered it to the King.

King Máelgarb leaned forward, took it from the Master’s hand and passed it to the ancient Druid. He was not finished with the Master. “Tell me for truth, Tóla. Is it true King mac Dúnlainge has already sealed his borders?”

“I do not think so, Your Highness, for we met no guards along the trail on our travel here. With your permission, allow me to introduce Ciann Mehigan of Rath Raithleann, Druid to King Domnhall. Perhaps he can speak to your question.”

The King’s eyes turned to my father. “And so, Druid, I have heard your name though we have not met. What say you? Were you detained upon entering Leinster?”

My father bowed. “No, Your Highness. We encountered no men of Leinster on our journey to Dún Ailinne.”

“The rumor is not true then.” The King clapped his hands and smirked. “Of course…hah, I knew it for a dirty lie when first I heard it. King mac Dúnlainge is not a man who panics because of a little darkness.”

King Máelgarb squirmed and settled back in his chair as his eyes swept us. “However, unrest already stirs among all the tribes. Without the sun crops will fail, people will face starvation and the resulting turmoil will inevitably spark war! A war over food! A war for survival! I look to you to put an end to the darkness before such terrible things occur.” He turned and nodded to the Druid beside him.

The old man stepped forward. “The synod will not take place here, but upon the ancient sacred heights of Tlachtga, a short ride away. Go there, for preparations have already been made for your arrival. Two days hence we shall join together to offer prayers during a Great Fire Festival dedicated to Belenos and thereby assure that the power behind this darkness shall be overcome.”

* * *

“Why was the Christian priest standing at the side of King Máelgarb?”

My father sat cross-legged on the ground beside me atop the hill named Tlachtga. Above us stretched a small, striped canopy. Nearby, other groups camped, while about us torches held back the darkness.

He waved his hands and wrinkled his nose. “Augh! Who is cooking that vile-smelling meal? By the priest you mean the bishop?”

At my nod, he continued. “The King sent us a message by the bishop’s presence. He intended that we know his power extends beyond our faith and now encompasses that of the Christians as well.”

“It’s little I know of the Christians though I have a learned a bit about them in my religious studies.”

My father glanced around, leaned closer to me and spoke quietly. “I do not want this overheard. Even Master Tóla has friends among the Christian priests. Kindly man that he is, he disagrees with my intolerance of them. You must always remember Christians arrived in Eire for the sole purpose of capturing the minds of all our people.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Their priests are like lepers and spoil all they touch.”

This was a side of my father I had not seen before, and his words washed over me like a cold rain. “Christians have been here but a short time. How is it they have gained such influence with the King?”

“Their priests speak loud and well. They gather about them the disgruntled, the disenfranchised, those who stand to gain the most by radical change. Regrettably, there are many such and the Christians have gained a large following. Most importantly, the Christians speak with the power of Rome at their backs. The King would be foolish to ignore them.”

Despite eight years of confinement within an atmosphere solely dedicated to learning it came as a shock that I knew so little of Eire’s political state. Still, I knew much of Rome and that its power was fading. “I see. Yes, but the Romans withdrew from Pictland more than one hundred years ago—”

“True, but Rome is still a power that must not be trifled with,” he interrupted, “and their priests wield it to their advantage. Just think of it. Before his death their great priest, the one they reverently call Saint Patrick, had the audacity to banish all Druids from Eire. Though of course he had no authority to do so, consider the impertinence of even suggesting such an unheard of thing.”

My father’s critical views of the Christians differed from those I had studied and I was eager to hear his words. “I know little of Patrick. All their priests agree with his decree to cast us out of Eire?”

“Yes, though perhaps to a greater or lesser degree. Some revile us openly and claim our sacred symbol of the serpent represents evil spawned by a demonic spirit they call Satan who lives in the depths of the earth. As for those priests who remain silent on the matter, perhaps it is they who pose the greater threat to us, for silence can be mistaken for temperance and reason.”

“But that makes no sense. They have their religion while we have ours. Why should they care about us?”

“By the teachings of their faith, Christians are obliged to bring all men to their one god. They will not have succeeded as long as one person, one soul still belongs to the Lordly Ones. Ridding Eire of all Druids simply makes their mission that much easier, don’t you see?”

My stomach knotted as my father concluded, “My concern, and one I’ve shared with Master Tóla, is not knowing the lengths the Christians are willing to go to in order to be rid of us.”

“They are our enemies, then?”

“They most certainly see us as theirs. So…” He stopped speaking as the Master himself stepped under the canopy to join us.

I sat quietly, uneasily reviewing my father’s remarkable words as he and Master Tóla began to discuss the synod that was to begin the following morning.

* * *

O Heavenly Father,

O King of Kings,

O Lord of Hosts,

O Creator of All.

With upturned faces we look to You,

With lips of love we speak to You,

With eyes aglow, we worship You,

With ears attuned, we hear You.

We ask Your many blessings upon all assembled here,

We pray mercy for all who suffer within this darkness,

We pray for enlightenment for those who resist Your call,

We pray that they might see through Your darkness and find You.

We pray all these things in Your Name,

O Lord of Mysteries,

We pray that you might consider them in Your Grace.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,

Amen

The Christian bishop, the same man who stood beside King Máelgarb’s chair in his chambers, ended his prayer and stared at us, sixty-six unmoving and unmoved Druids from villages throughout all the territories of Eire. A nearby group of Christian priests and monks who honored his prayer raised their heads.

He ignored his fellow Christians. With his hands clasped behind his back, he began pacing back and forth beneath the great white canopy that covered us all. From time to time he cast glances in our direction as we sat cross-legged on the ground before him.

Off to one side the High King slouched in his chair, perhaps interested though unengaged in the proceedings. The bishop bowed toward him and then faced us. “King Túathal Máelgarb, may the Blood of Christ protect him, bade us arrive here to discuss and overcome the darkness that envelops this land. For two days I have heard the views of the learned Druids who spoke to us.”

Eyes sad, his face long, he shook his head. “Yes, I heard their views though by God’s Eternal Truth I must tell you that I do not hold with them. Now our King demands that I express my own beliefs, those of my church, and in my own poor way, relate to all the Word of God.”

He stood erect, his flashing eyes sweeping us, his voice bold. “We seek the cause of this everlasting night and I say to you, for I know it to be true, there can be no cause other than it has befallen us by the Mighty Hand of God Himself!”

He paused to allow the import of his words to rest upon our minds, though the import, if such there was, had no effect on me. I already knew Mother Earth brought on the darkness, but was interested to see where the bishop would take his argument. He did not disappoint me for he began right away.

“Permit me to tell you a story.” He reached to a large book lying upon a table and lifted it above his head for all to see. “It is a story written within this Holy Book of Scriptures, words written by God’s Own Hand.”

The bishop cleared his throat, placed the book back on the table and began pacing again. “I speak to you of an ancient time, the place…Egypt. There, Pharaoh, King of all Egypt, ruled with an iron fist. He held in bondage the Hebrew people, the people of the Book of Exodus. Among the Hebrews was a man named Moses, a prophet of the Almighty Himself. Moses came before Pharaoh, saying, ‘Lest you set my people free, God’s judgment will fall upon you and all Egypt.’ Pharaoh refused and there ensued a series of ten deadly plagues, God’s reprisal of which Moses foretold.”

I listened intently for, of course, it is true that Druids loved a good story. No doubt, the bishop would link the story of Pharaoh to the darkness, and I was curious to see how he did so.

“God’s vengeance,” the bishop repeated it for emphasis, “God’s vengeance descended upon Pharaoh and all his people.”

He raised his hand, spread wide his fingers and counted, “In the first plague God turned the waters to blood, in the second He caused the sky to rain toads.”