The Children of Lir Read online

  “The swimming will be done tomorrow,” he sighed. “We shall feast for their champion and those who have not drowned.”

  “Are you not glad to have your family returned?”

  “I am glad, of course.”

  “Yet?”

  “Yet I would have more time to ride alone, with you. I have enjoyed our time together.”

  “You are alone with me now,” I reminded him.

  He took a slice of bread from my hand but did not raise it to his lips.

  “Why have you not married, Aoife?”

  “I have not married, and neither has my sister, my lord.”

  “Ah, I hear she is promised to Eoghan of the Long Hill. Besides, that is not an answer to my question.”

  I knew that the mystery of my silence would draw him closer, so I waited a while before answering.

  “I have never felt loved,” I replied, casting my eyes to the bread in my lap.

  “Yet you have loved? I have heard those sounds when passing by Youghal’s hut.” I turned my head away and he reached forward, placing his hand over mine. “Forgive me. I did not wish to offend.”

  “You have not,” I said, turning back to him. “That is simply a different kind of love.”

  “What kind of love would entice you to take a husband?”

  “A permanent love. Not one that is hot or hurried, stolen in the night when there is no amusement left beside the fire. Something truthful and honest, something felt only between two people, not between one man and every woman he chances to meet.”

  “Youghal is untrue?”

  “No, he is true to himself, as am I. My lord, I take my pleasure too, which is why I know that Youghal’s love is seasonal.” He was thoughtful for a while, picking crumbs from the bread and sprinkling them absently on the grass. “Here, my lord,” I said, rising to my knees and taking the flask of fresh milk I had brought. “Quench your thirst and drown your thoughts.”

  I raised the flask to his lips a little too fast and some of the liquid escaped, spilling down his chin.

  “Forgive me,” I said, though he laughed.

  He seemed so perfectly at ease, and I was swept. I leaned forward and kissed his chin, licking the milk from my lips. When I drew back, his smile was gone. He stared at me with such intensity I could not meet his gaze, so I leaned in again, kissing again, again licking the nourishment from his skin. As I leaned a third time, he moved his mouth to meet mine.

  We made love there in that ancient place, his hand grasping my hair as I straddled him, pushing him deeper and deeper, rocking like the motion of the sea, swimming beneath its lusty depths with the selkies. So far from anywhere, I cried out unashamed and the birds took flight from the trees.

  Our desire for one another was terrifying.

  Sorcha

  The coast had been such a wonderful distraction. Those men with their broad shoulders and rippling muscles, throwing themselves beneath the silver waves whilst we watched from a shaded awning. I had not felt stirrings in myself like that since Bébhinn the Bright-eyed kissed me against the cow shed three summers ago.

  Even Aodh set aside his hunting spear to grace us with his presence. He and Caílte stood in the water watching as though they had their sights on a wild boar, whilst Fionnuala and the twins chased each other across the windswept grass between the dunes. I had never seen them so at ease, and was glad beyond words we had come to Sidh-ar-Femhin for the Feast of Age. Perhaps it was because of these distractions that I failed to see what was before me. Those stolen glances, those shy smiles and whispered words. If I had not been so distracted with my own small pleasures, perhaps I would have been able to foretell what was to come.

  It was Lughnasadh, the final day of the Feast of Age, when the champions were crowned with barley and thrust high on the shoulders of their fellow men. Celebrations began at dawn, the druids upon their mound, uttering sacred words whilst opening the necks of two-score cattle. The blood that pooled at the base of the mound was smeared on the faces of new-born infants, the sick and infirm, then washed clean with water drawn from the silent pool in the forest.

  Great fires were stoked high and left to smoulder, embers fit for roasting sweet flesh, whilst potboilers were collected and thrown into troughs to heat fruit-flavoured mead.

  Abcán the dwarf was in his element, reciting dirty jokes and lifting the skirts of any woman who was not mindful enough to step aside. A few of the warriors began drinking too early and were to be found sprawled beneath shaded huts, nursing shining black bruises, still mur-muring the diord fionn in their stupor.

  When dusk finally fell, the druids started brewing up their cauldron of dark juice, a secret recipe of bark and berries that opened the gateway to the ancestral realms. I did not partake myself, for I preferred to keep my feet solidly in the present. I reasoned there would be enough time to speak with the spirits once they called me to them. For now my place was that of a watchful guardian, ensuring my wards remained safe in the land of wakefulness.

  When people drank of that soup, their eyes became pools of tar, bottomless and unfathomable. They would sit as still as stones for hours on end, or whirl by the fire, spinning and spinning without losing their balance. In my youth I had supped of it and dreamed myself a tree, with roots clawing down to the centre of the earth and great branches that encompassed the whole of the sky, the stars twinkling flowers that bloomed there, their pollen falling on all below, blessing the clans of Éire. It was a pleasant dream, but when you walked with gods you could never be entirely sure where they might lead you. I had heard others tell of darker worlds, bubbling with molten rock, ringing with the screams of trapped souls.

  I had no desire to enter such a place, for I knew that my own terror would wash away any wisdom learned there.

  Those who were not travelling beneath the mound, took to feasting upon the plentiful bounty, their jaws cracking nuts, tongues stained with wine, chins slick with warm fat. I had eaten my fill by the time the dancing began, and could barely support my own weight. I lay by the fire watching Fiachra and Conn poking at embers with sticks, marvelling how they had grown over the past year.

  Between the flames I chanced to see Fionnuala, swaying to the rhythm of the drums, mirroring the steps of a young man dressed in green and grey. He was handsome, his jaw square and his forehead high. They looked a pretty match, and I wondered with a pang of sadness how her life would be once we returned to Sidhe Fionnachaidh. How hard it would be for all of them to leave this place of joy and abandon, to resume their lives of solitude.

  Lir had given no indication of when we would leave Bodb’s caiseal, and I had no mind to press him. In truth, I had hardly seen him that week. He did not come to the coast to watch the swimming, and when I returned to collect fresh supplies, I was told he was either hunting or sleeping.

  “Sorcha, my dearest!” Ailbhe said, falling beside me with her lover, Eoghan of the Long Hill. “Oh, we must rest from dancing. I haven’t another step in me.”

  Ailbhe and I had become close during our time together. She was such a warm woman, in heart and voice. Eoghan was much the same, a sprightly young man with a mischievous grin and a golden laugh that assured you he never meant harm. Their foreheads beaded sweat as they sucked down cup after cup of barleycorn beer to revive themselves.

  “Have you seen Fionnuala?” she asked, nudging my shoulder.

  “Yes. Who is that man she dances with?”

  “Conall of the Red Rock. His family are pureblood Men of Dea and very wealthy, a relation of Nuada Airgetlám. He dances very well, don’t you think? Music in his veins.” I raised my eyes to search for them again, but their steps had taken them away from the fire. “He saw her at the coast and was bold enough to approach. They have been whispering and smiling ever since.”

  “Could it be love?” I asked, a note of apprehension cooling my curiosity.

  “Ah, Sorcha. She is barely old enough to kiss, and she is wise enough to wait. Give her time, allow her a little pleasure, f
or she has been deprived it so long.”

  I spoke of the concern that gnawed at me. The nagging doubt that Lir’s good mood would not hold once we began our long journey home.

  “Yes, it has been on my mind also. Aobh’s children have come alive these past weeks. Their mother’s happy spirit shines through them, brightening the whole fort. It breaks my heart to think you may soon leave, and I have no way of knowing when we shall see you again.”

  “Perhaps they should stay here?” Eoghan suggested, so casually he made it sound reasonable.

  “Yes, whyever not?” Ailbhe agreed. “There is more than enough room, and my father would embrace them as his own. It is time Fionnuala and Aodh learned of the world beyond Lir’s walls. They are hungry to explore.”

  “Fionnuala could never be parted from the twins, and Lir could never be parted from his children,” I sighed.

  “Not even until summer?”

  “Not even for a day.”

  We fell silent for a while, swept up in the dancing and laughter, contemplating the whole sad affair.

  “Where is my sister?” Ailbhe asked eventually. “I see so little of her sometimes, I wonder whether she has transformed herself into a deer of the forest, for that is where she seems to spend half her life.”

  I did not know where Aoife had gone, yet before the night was out, I would know the secrets she had kept.

  Fionnuala

  My feet were sore, but I could not sit down. I was afraid that if I stopped to rest, Conall might disappear back into the crowd. I had been recovering in a cove by the coast when he found me. The twins had run me ragged on the second day of the swimming trials, and I was hiding there that they might give me two minutes’ peace to regain my strength. I was sitting on a rock with my feet pushed down into the sand, relishing the cool of the water and the grit between my toes.

  A shadow fell across the sun, too quick to be a cloud. I glanced up to find one of the handsomest men I had ever seen. His features rivalled Óengus’s for their startling valour. There was not a blemish on him, and the heat of the day had not turned his cheeks red as it had the warriors and the drunks who forgot to take shelter.

  “My lady,” he spoke, so softly I hardly heard him. “Do I disturb you?”

  I shook my head and he took a step closer, the light beyond forming a halo against his dark-brown hair.

  “You are Fionnuala, daughter of Lir?”

  “Yes, but you have me at a disadvantage—”

  “Conall of the Red Rock.”

  He came right up to me and offered his hand, helping me to my feet so that my face was level with his shoulder. He smelled of the salt air and sun-blessed grass.

  “I have been watching you,” he told me. “Playing up there with your brothers. Are you hiding?”

  “Yes,” I replied, barely able to keep my voice steady. “They can be quite demanding.”

  He laughed, his pleasure rippling over me in waves.

  “I have four younger brothers myself. I know how tiring they can be.”

  Blushing, I stared down at my feet, half sunk beneath the sand.

  “Listen,” he said, placing his finger beneath my chin and drawing my face to his. “Today is the last day of the championships. Tomorrow there will be feasting and fires. Will you allow me to dance with you then?”

  Every inch of me felt alive, as though tiny fish were nipping at my skin, causing it to rise to his touch. “Yes,” I managed. “I would like that.”

  “Until tomorrow.” He smiled, and was gone.

  There, alone in that cave, I wondered whether he had simply been an illusion of my exhausted mind. Perhaps he had been a vision brought on by the beating sun, or perhaps someone had tainted my mead with the druids’ juice.

  I told no one of that encounter, lest it prove to be a foolish want. Yet the next night, just as the sun began to fade, I found myself beside the fire, his shadow across mine.

  “You promised to dance with me,” he whispered, so close to my ear I felt as though his voice were my own thoughts.

  Taking his hand in mine, we began to measure out the drums, our bare feet meeting the earth like heavy rain, our spirals mirroring the rising smoke from the flames. It was as though I had gained a second sight. Everywhere I looked I recognised the courting dances of couples, palms pressed against one another, eyes drinking in desire, breath brushing against cheeks, causing blushes to rise.

  Had I entered some secret house, leaving my girlhood at the door? Each time Conall passed before me the air between us felt warmer than the air around, tempting me towards him with feather-soft seduction. At times I felt I would die if the music ever stopped.

  Then it did.

  The moon was far beyond its highest point when Sidh-ar-Femhin fell silent. Deep hush ate up the furthest reaches of the fort, a few bards failing to understand through their honey-hollering lips that their voices were no longer required. With a final twang of strings and the chaffed death of a flute, all eyes turned towards Bodb.

  He came dressed in his finest red furs, tails and paws waving from side to side as his muscular mount strode towards the centre of our gathering. In his wake, two black horses followed. My father rode upon one, dressed in dark leather trimmed with white. My aunt, Aoife, beside him in rich blue, her hair flowing like midnight down her back.

  “My family, my kin!” bellowed Bodb. “This Feast of Age has been one of the finest in living memory. Tailtiu has been honoured by your bravery, your strength and your jubilant spirit. To share this occasion with brethren from near and so far brings tears of happiness to an old warrior’s eyes.” Shouts and cheers rose from the crowd until Bodb waved his hand to calm them. “Yet it seems even as we fight and feast, the Fates are never at rest.”

  My father and Aoife were positioned by Bodb’s left flank, my father’s hand reaching out to lace her pale fingers between his. Before they even announced it, I sensed what was to come. Grandfather did not speak of the sorrow that had gone before. He did not bring up his dead daughter’s name or mention the years of solitude my father had resigned himself to. He simply ploughed ahead, true as an ox.

  “I stand here now, on top of the world, ready to declare before all the elements, before the beasts and the birds and the flowers of the forest, that the houses of Lir and Bodb Dearg are once again to be united. The Lord of the Sea has asked for the hand of Aoife of Aran, and I have granted it with all my blessing.”

  The roar of the crowd rose tenfold as my father raised Aoife’s hand high into the air, their expressions almost arrogant in their intimacy.

  Instinctively, I looked for Aodh.

  Aodh

  No.

  This could not be.

  This could not be and I would not allow it!

  I had been kneeling in the dirt with Caílte, playing a game of pebbles and pips, when I felt the crowd draw back. When the music stopped, I stood on a log to see, excited at first to watch my grandfather in all his finery. He was an imposing Master of Ceremonies, and I was proud to be his kin.

  Then I saw who rode beside him, and my thoughts fled.

  Like Fin, I had a premonition. Why else would they be dressed that way? Why else would my grandfather call for silence? I watched as though a star gazing down to earth: my father raising up Aoife’s hand, claiming his wife. Long after, every detail of their hands remained with me. No more than a moment, which stretched forever in my mind as I screamed for this not to be true.

  “Aodh?” Caílte asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  I brushed him aside and ran from that place. Once again the hare, wild and untamed, fleeing for freedom, barging through crowds, shoulder-to-shoulder, out along the ridgeway, high above the walls. I felt as though my heart had torn free of my chest and I was running to catch up with it, to try to reclaim myself.

  So blind was I that I missed my footing and fell to the ground, painfully twisting my ankle. I rolled to a halt and sat there, cradling my foot at first, and then myself. Wrapping my arms around my
shoulders and rocking as though my mother still held me in her arms.

  “Aodh!” Caílte called.

  He fell breathless beside me, reaching out to comfort me, but again I thrust him aside.

  “Let go of me!” I howled.

  “Aodh, what is it? What has you so upset?”

  “Didn’t you see? Have the winds scratched out your eyes?”

  “Yes, I saw. Your father is to be wed.”

  “You don’t understand. You don’t understand anything,” I repeated, sobbing into the crook of my arm.

  “Then help me to understand.” When I did not reply, he placed a hand across my shoulder and leaned in a little. “Is it that you miss your mother? Aoife will never take her place, I’m sure, but perhaps your father—”

  “You know nothing of my father!” I screamed, my tears turning to rage. “You know nothing of the way it has been these past years. You know nothing of how silent he has been, how he hardly spoke to Fin and me. How he moved us beyond the walls of his fort just so he didn’t have to hear the twins cry. How he never smiled once at anything we said. How he crawled on his belly, crying out our mother’s name. You know nothing of what we endured.”

  Caílte drew back, shocked by my outburst.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry too. That he should cast off all those years as though they meant nothing. That he should leave us in the hands of nursemaids whilst he hunts for a wife. That my mother’s name means nothing anymore. I’m sorrier than you can ever imagine that we came to this place.”

  “Sorry that you ever met me?” he asked, quietly.

  I stared at him then, my anger briefly forgotten.

  “No,” I replied. “No, I am not sorry I met you. You have been my truest friend.”