Celtic Storms (13 page)

“This day I shall marry Easal, who will become your new Laird.“You shall all, each of you, pledge your allegiance to our union and this war we are to undertake by blood oath!”

“Blood oath?” inquired the priest.

“Yes,” whispered Naelyn in his ear. “We shall each of us cut the palm of our right hands and drip our blood into the cistern. When we have all done it, Odetta and Easal will partake of our offering and they shall gain great power with the gods.”

“Wickedness,” replied the priest.

“The greatest form,” replied Naelyn, smiling eerily.

***

Breacan MacCahan rose from table and trudged towards his youngest son Payton who slumped glibly across the bench in front of the hearth.

“I ask you to do this for your brother, Payton. He needs you and you know I cannot send Parkin at this time, when we are beginning construction on the piers. It must be you and you will take fifty or so of our strongest unmarried men with you.”

“Father, explain to me one more time, what I am needed
for
,” said Payton, reluctantly.

“It is not for you to question me son; it is for you to simply do my will.”

“Why the need for the men, father?”

“To protect your brother and his new clan.”

“To protect them from what, father?”

“Why must you ask so many questions, Payton? You try my patience.” Breacan hovered above his son, an angry scowl upon his face.

“Now rise, prepare for your journey and I will send word that you are on your way.”

“How long am I to remain at my brother’s service?”

“Until he says otherwise!”

“And will that message come on the wings of a falcon?” asked Payton snidely.

“What do you know of a falcon?” asked the Laird, heat rising in his face.

“I know that I have seen such a falcon, that it often rests outside your balcony overlooking the battlements. I know that I’ve seen you bring it inside and that later, you send it outside and it flies away. I’ve seen this happen many times over the years, father. And – I assume it is the same falcon, although I cannot surmise how it happens to remain alive after all this time.”

“Payton – I warn you. Say nothing of this falcon to anyone. Do you understand me?”

“Aye father. I will say nothing to no one, if you tell me what is going on.”

“Payton, this falcon is a messenger sent from the O’Malley clan. There is threat of war upon their clan and I am sending you to assist your brother. That is all.”

“I think not, father. I have heard rumor there is magic involved here and I’ve no doubt that the O’Malley’s do not know the full truth of my brother’s identity.”

Breacan grabbed his youngest son Payton by the nape of the neck and forced him to rise from the bench. His hands shook with anger and fear and he struggled for words.

“Payton, you will do nothing and say nothing at this time that may cause your brother or the O’Malleys any harm. Your curiosity will get the better of you and you may find your own life in danger if you cannot control yourself.”

Sweat rose on Payton’s brow and he grew limp in surrender to his father’s grasp. He raised both palms and held them out in a display of submission and his father let him loose.

“Now - enemies we have – all of us. Do not make an enemy of me, my son.”

Burke Lands – Odetta’s Monastery

“Why Father MacArtrey, you look quite peeked and pale. Tell me, have you never seen a man killed?” inquired Odetta.

“I have witnessed the travesties of war. I am familiar with bloodshed. I have never seen it done to a beloved family member, if that is what you mean,” the priest replied.

“Beloved family member, indeed,” Odetta cackled. Easal erupted in laughter and Naelyn stood before him with the dagger awaiting his palm.

“Father, it is time,” whispered Naelyn. “Let me have your hand. You are the last.”

The priest reluctantly walked forward towards the altar and the waiting cistern. Before she could roll his sleeve to clench his hand, Naelyn gasped.

“You – you already bleed!” she shrieked.

“What?” cried Odetta. “Let me see.”

Odetta reached towards him, grabbed the priest’s arm and raised his sleeve. Blood dripped from his right hand and he swayed as if he were about to faint.

“What have you done?” shouted Easal.

“Throw him in the dungeons!” commanded Odetta. “And find that boy!” With that, Father MacArtrey dropped to the floor of the chamber, trickling blood pooling around him.

“What do you mean, my lady? What has happened?” inquired Naelyn.

“Can’t you see, he added his own blood to the cisterns, the ceremony – is invalid. We have no promise of victory at war.”

“What?”

“Think you nit-wit! He spared the boy, by adding his own blood to the cisterns. We sent to have the boy’s body disposed of but no doubt the boy still lives!”

“But – I saw the wound on the child.”

“Of course you did. No doubt he cut him, he just wasn’t drained fully.”

“Oh, no.”

“What will become of the priest?”

“For now, he can rot below with the others.”

“Wait!” exclaimed Naelyn.

“Whatever for?” asked Odetta. “Don’t tell me you harbor a soft spot for the priest.”

“No, my lady. But if he should perish below we may never find the whereabouts of the missing scrolls.”

Odetta turned towards Easal and summoned her manservant, Gial. “She’s right of course, put him in a guest chamber and send for the healer, we will speak with him when he revives. We must have the scrolls.”

***

The stench of filthy linens, stale beer and rotten wood permeated the air as Kyra and Murchadh entered the chambers of Father MacArtrey. His chamber was nestled inside a small round house with a thatched roof that sat behind the chapel. The door was wide open and the dirt floor was damp from the light rain which had fallen that morning.

“I’ve no idea where he’s gone, but he has no doubt been missing for some time, by the looks of things,” said Murchadh.

“Aye. Not much of a neat keep is he?” she replied.

Murchadh continued, “By the looks of it, I’d say he left in quite a bit of a hurry. Look – the table is over turned, the fire has burned out and it appears there may have been a struggle. I think those are foot prints – it’s just hard to tell with the rain blowing in.”

“It appears he hasn’t lost his taste for the spirits,” commented Kyra as she held up one of many bottles of ale that lay strewn across the floor.

“No doubt of that.”

“I spoke with Moya, his horse remains at the stables. And look – his robes still hang on the peg.”

“Something is amiss here, Kyra.”

“I agree, but now we must go to intercept Deasum and Carbry. I’m not sure what can be done about the priest - we have more pressing concerns,” she replied.

“I’ll fix the table and straighten the mess if you will see to the door. Make sure it can be secured.”

“Aye,” was his short reply.

A man of few words. I like that about you Murchadh. Now, Father MacArtrey ‘tis not my concern the condition of your chambers. However, I will secure your belongings in your absence.

Kyra straightened the table and set the stool upright as she gathered the mugs and bottles of ale together in a pile for waste. When she was done she stood and wiped her hands on her truis and turned towards Murchadh.

“Shall we go?”

“Not yet, let’s burn those bed covers. They reek,” he said.

“I agree.”

Together they turned to remove the linens from the straw mattress that sat upon the wooden platform bed frame. When they made to turn the bed, their eyes locked in astonishment.

“A false top – there’s a hidden chamber!” she cried.

“Open it.”

Kyra carefully removed the disguised top piece centered in the middle of the platform frame. Inside sat a small chest embellished with jewels and scrolls that looked to be very old.

“Open the chest.”

Inside the chest, Kyra found coin, jewels and deeds to lands. “The chapel funds.”

“Aye,” Murchadh nodded.

“What do you make of these scrolls?”

“I’ve no idea.”

The border between O’Malley Lands and Burke Lands

Deasum, Carbry and Patrick all donned their armor belts and swords and shot through the forest like cannon balls seeking their aim. The screaming grew louder as the men struggled through the heavy rains to locate the commotion.

“Mavis! Mavis!” they yelled through the driving rain and sound of thunder.

“I see something,” shouted Carbry, leading the way.

Almost twenty yards into the trees, the boy stood still in the moonlight, grasping a tree and drenching from rain - his face stained with mud and blood.

“Dear God - it’s Bra-Braeden,” said Patrick as he knelt beside the boy who had now collapsed to his knees in shock. His teeth chattered involuntarily and he looked ahead into the distance, almost unaware of his surroundings.

Patrick shook him. “Br-Braeden – where is M-Mavis?”

Silence.

“Braeden – where is M-mavis?”

Nothing.

“Deasum, g-goo on ahead. Carbry, stay h-he-ere with Braeden. No – take him b-ba-ack to c-ca-amp and guard him. D-de-easum, I’m right behind you.”

Mavis’ screams grew louder as they closed the distance to the stream. The echo of marching water mixed with the thunder and rain made it nearly impossible to discern what was happening. When they stepped outside of the clearing to stand near the water’s edge, they saw her.

In the firm grip of a soldier, Mavis stood looking at something that lay on the ground. Deasum motioned for Patrick to move off to the left, nearly behind where the man stood holding Mavis with his dagger to her neck. Deasum moved forward until Mavis spotted him. He raised one finger to his mouth in search of her silence and he was successful.

Deasum raised his sword with his right hand and walked into clear sight of the soldier. Mavis struggled against the man who tightened his grip on her right arm. A small trickle of blood rain down her collar bone.

“Leave her be,” commanded Deasum as he took small steps towards the man, closing the gap between them. “Release her!” he shouted as he pulled a small axe from behind his back and held it in his left hand.

“This will not end well for you,” he continued. “Let her be.”

Mavis locked eyes with Deasum and gestured with them to her feet, just in front of her as if trying to communicate. Deasum began to stalk his opponent, first left then right he moved; forcing his opponent away from the water’s edge in hope’s that Patrick could attempt a sneak attack.

When the man had finally turned them to face completely away from the stream, Patrick spoke, “L-live or die, my friend. Live or d-di-ie. Your ch-choice.” The man jumped in surprise and Mavis kicked behind her until her foot met his knee cap and he struggled forward, releasing the blade he held at her throat.

“Your ch-choice,” repeated Patrick as Deasum circled behind him. In a futile act of defiance the soldier turned and raised his sword towards Deasum as Patrick lunged from behind; one swift swing of his blade and the soldier stood there for mere seconds – headless – until his body crumpled to the muddy ground.

Deasum turned to find Mavis with her back to him on the ground grasping her neck with her left hand and holding something in her lap with her right. On the ground, in the mud and rain, lay a young boy covered in blood and wrapped in a meager looking cloak. His hair had been freshly shaven and his wrist was slashed open. It had been crudely wrapped in linen cloth and tied off.

Patrick walked towards them to survey the damage to Mavis before realizing what she held. “Dear God, wh-what is this?” he asked.

Mavis ventured to speak before Deasum bade her silent. “We must get you – both of you – out of this rain and tend to your wounds.”

“I’ll carry the boy if you will see to Mavis,” he directed to Patrick.

***

“It’s nice to see you up and about sister,” said Dervilla as Darina headed down the front stairs towards the kitchens. “We broke our fast several hours ago, but I’m sure you will find some pastries left over if you like.”

Darina walked towards the high table and hearth and sat down on a bench beside her sister who was working on a set of maps she had spread open.

“What are you working on Dervilla?” she asked.

“I’m updating the charts on our border with the Burke clan. Lucian asked me to ensure it was updated, and to make a rudimentary drawing for Kyra and Murchadh to take with them. There are a few places where the streams have diverted or dried up altogether since they were last updated.”

“Where exactly are they heading?”

“To intercept Deasum and the group traveling from MacCahan lands. They should have been here already. Our uncle Ruarc grows concerned that they haven’t. Although, a few merchants have indicated the weather has been testy, it seems it’s been storming somewhat near the border.”

“I see. Then I shall have no reprieve?” asked Darina.

“I think not sister. You will most certainly be married shortly,” she chuckled.

“Has Father MacArtrey returned?”

“Nay – he hasn’t. I believe the next order of business will be to find him. If he does not return soon, Lucian shall perform the ceremony.”

Darina rose and paced before the great hearth. She surveyed the room with sentimentality. Portraits of her parents and her grandparents adorned the walls – commissioned by her father prior to his death. Woven tapestries depicting victory at war hung above the entry walls, and the stone floors were dressed in elaborate rugs from India.

“Dervilla, Lucian is a druid,” she said.

“Yes. What of it?” asked Dervilla.

“I am not a druid.”

“Does it matter? Lucian worships the old gods, Father MacArtrey the new god and you worship no god. I see no problem,” Dervilla replied.

“In two nights it will be Samhain, the new year. Do you suspect Ruarc will wish to see me wed on Samhain and by a druid priest?” asked Darina.