Sacrifice (9 page)

“Maybe, but they're my sheep. I was there when each of them was born. I take care of them, watch them, shear them, and I'm the one who gently eases them from this life when the time comes. They know me. I can't just drop them off at some stranger's farm.”

“Could you bring them to Grandmother's house and watch them there?”

“That wouldn't work. She isn't set up for sheep. You don't have the pens or anything else they need. Besides, they're happy here.”

“Riona,” I said, “there is a vicious, determined murderer roaming these woods who is hunting nuns and sacrificing them in horrible ways. I understand your love for your animals, but are they worth your life?”

“I think you overestimate this druid killer, Deirdre. He got away with killing two women who lived without any protection, but I've got five dogs who would rip out someone's throat at my command. I also know how to use a sword. My father was a warrior, just like yours.”

She refilled our cups and took another drink.

“And besides,” she continued, “I can't give in to fear of the druids. I've lived with it my whole life.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dari.

“My grandfather was a druid sacrificer,” she said. “He left this home before I was born, but I heard the story from my parents. When they had been married just a short time, they decided to become Christians. They had attended the monastery school together and loved the life of the church, but would never have dreamed in their youth of defying their
parents and leaving the old ways behind. But by the time they came of age and married, only my grandfather was still alive. He lived here with them and served the Order at ceremonies all over the province. He was a formidable man, they say, tall and powerful. It must have taken a great deal of courage for my father and mother to tell him that day that they were joining the church.”

“What did he do?” I asked. I had heard bits and pieces of this story from my grandmother over the years, but never the whole tale.

“He stood up from this table and raised his arms to the sky. Then he called on the gods to curse them, to wither their crops, to decimate their flocks, to render my mother barren, to make them suffer every possible torment for the rest of their lives, then to die wrapped in flame, along with anyone they loved.”

“Dear Jesus, that's horrible!” Dari said. “What happened then?”

“He walked out the door and never returned. I was born four years later, but not before my mother suffered three miscarriages, and the two of them almost starved after their harvest failed twice and the flock was wiped out by a blight. They thought everything was fine after that and the curse had run its course, but when I came home from the monastery to visit them one day, I found their bodies in the charred ruins of the old barn. I don't know how the fire had started or why they couldn't get out, but I buried them in the meadow and moved here myself to tend the sheep.”

“I heard that your grandfather left Ireland years ago,” I said.

“Yes, I heard that too. They say he went to Argyll in the land of the Picts with the Dál Riata. I heard later that he had gone to the northern isles. He may still be alive somewhere. I don't know and I don't care. He was a wicked man who killed my parents.”

Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“I can't let him win. I can't let this farm go to ruin because of a curse or a mad druid on the loose. Deirdre, you know I love you and Aunt Aoife. I have nothing against the druids. Every one of them I've ever met was kind and generous to me. But there are some bad apples in your basket, like my grandfather, who use whatever powers the forces of this earth have given them to cause pain and death.”

Dari and I both put our hands on hers.

“Riona,” Dari said, “I understand. I'll tell Sister Anna why you won't come to the monastery. She won't like it, but I'll tell her you're well protected here. Is there anything we can bring to you?”

She wiped her eyes.

“No, thank you. I'll be fine. This has just been a hard time with the deaths of Grainne and Saoirse.”

Dari and I bade her farewell and walked down the path to my grandmother's house in silence for a while before Dari spoke.

“Do you think she'll be safe?” Dari asked.

“Yes, I hope so. No one is going to get near that house with those dogs.”

I looked behind me to the southwest.

“The sun is getting low in the sky. You and Kevin had better get back to the monastery before Sister Anna sends out the king's guards to look for you.”

“True enough. Will you be all right? I hate to leave you.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Be careful tomorrow with Finian. He may be a fanatic, but he's as cunning as they come.”

“Don't worry, Dari, I'll be fine. He would never hurt a fellow druid.”

Chapter Ten

F
inian lived alone on the edge of King Dúnlaing's territory in a hut tucked away beneath an oak grove in the shadow of an ancient dolmen. Some Christians called these piles of giant rocks druid altars, but they were never used for sacrifices. The stories passed down from long ago said they were the tombs of famous kings.

I had known Finian for many years, but I would never have called him a friend. He was a few years older than me and had been one of the best students at the monastery school. His parents were not Christians, but neither were they particularly devoted to the old ways. Many non-Christians sent their children to Kildare, and we never tried to proselytize them. Part of our mission of service was teaching, and we
were happy to provide a free education to anyone. Reading, writing, mathematics, science, literature—these were our subjects, not religion. Father Ailbe taught special classes in the Christian faith after school for students who wanted to attend, but these were optional. Finian, however, was always there, listening, asking questions, and debating the finer points of theology with Father Ailbe. Most of us assumed he would be baptized when he finished school and perhaps even become a priest, but one day when he was seventeen he disappeared. It wasn't until months later that we heard he had joined the Order and was training at a druidic school on Rathlin Island off the northern coast of Ulster. When he returned home to Leinster five years later, he was a sacrificer and a committed member of a small traditionalist group who sought to purify the teachings of the druids of all outside influences. I had seen him occasionally over the years at ceremonies. Kings would often call on him to perform the most important sacrifices, since he was more skilled than anyone else at the dispatching of animal victims and the interpretation of their entrails. Whenever I had tried to speak to him at these events, he always turned away.

He was in front of his house at a small stone altar, holding a dove in his hands. His head was shaved in front from ear to ear, in the manner of male members of the Order. He wore the scarlet robes of a druid sacrificer over his white tunic and a gold torque around his neck. What set him apart from every other druid priest I had ever met were his tattoos. On his cheeks and arms were intricate spirals and colored animal figures in a manner not seen in many years.

“Greetings, Finian. May the gods grant you peace this fine day,” I said in the formal manner of address to a fellow druid.

He turned to look at me with his piercing blue eyes and scowled.

“That would mean something, Deirdre, if you actually believed in the gods.”

“May I speak with you, Finian?”

“Be silent until I finish this sacrifice.”

He took the dove and raised it in both hands to the sky, uttering prayers in a form of Irish so old, I scarcely understood the words. Then in one swift motion he took his knife and cut off the head of the bird, letting the blood fall onto the stones below. He then sliced open the creature and removed its liver and other internal organs. He probed them with his fingers for several minutes while I waited patiently. At last he placed the entire carcass of the bird into the fire next to the altar as a holocaust offering.

“Are the portents good?” I asked.

He wiped his hands and knife on a cloth and said a final prayer before turning to me, knife tucked firmly into his belt.

“The signs are unclear today.”

“Do you perform this sacrifice every day?”

“Many in the Order, even sacrificers, no longer perform the morning offering. I find that omission appalling. Why are you here?”

“Have you heard of the deaths of the two nuns of Kildare?”

“Of course. Do you think news like that hasn't spread to the far corners of Ireland by now?”

“Undoubtedly. Who do you think might be responsible?”

“Well, shall we consider this rationally, like we used to in Sister Anna's logic class?”

“Fine.”

“We know that only druids have the knowledge to perform sacrifices. The women in question were killed by means of sacrifice. Therefore the women were killed by a druid.”

“So you agree that there are no other possible suspects, aside from druids?”

“The only other possibility is that a druid taught someone else to perform the sacrifices. I think that unlikely in the extreme. No druid in his right mind, even in the Order's present state of corruption, would reveal such secrets to those who are not initiated. Such a thing has never happened in all the centuries of our race.”

“Which druid do you think is responsible?”

“Instead of playing this little game, Deirdre, why don't you just ask me what you came to ask?”

“All right, Finian. Did you kill those two nuns?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“No.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn't. It's reasonable to assume that whichever druid killed the nuns chose his targets because he resents Christianity. Now, since most druids on this island are all too eager to welcome Christians, I would say the killer takes a narrower, more traditional view. It's well known that I am a traditionalist—or what you undoubtedly refer to as a fanatic—and that I have no love for your church. So if I were you, I'd put me on the top of your list of suspects.”

“But you didn't do it?”

“I already told you that. Is there anything else you want?”

“Yes. You should know that King Dúnlaing has put me in charge of finding the killer. I need to warn you that he will not tolerate a lack of cooperation in my investigation. If you have any knowledge of these crimes or hear anything without reporting it to me, he is likely to consider you as guilty as the killer, even if you never touched those nuns.”

“Do you plan to bring me before the king for interrogation?”

“No. But my warning holds. If you know anything, you should tell me now.”

“Even if I did know something, I wouldn't betray those who believe as I do. I didn't kill the nuns, but I sympathize with the man who did. I understand the anger that would drive a person of faith to kill and risk his own death for his beliefs. If I thought sacrificing a few nuns would remove the stench of Christianity from this land, I would do it in a heartbeat and gladly face whatever punishment was meted out to me by the king.”

“Finian, what happened to you? You were one of the best students at the monastery school. You experienced nothing but love from the sisters and brothers of Kildare. Why have you turned on us? What did we do to you?”

I had never seen the expression on anyone's face that I saw then on Finian's. If it is possible to combine unbounded hatred and infinite delight into one malevolent, triumphant look, that was what I saw.

“You think that I rejected Christianity because of something that happened to me at the school? You think perhaps I resent the way Sister Anna rapped my knuckles with a switch when I passed notes in class? Or maybe that one of the brothers forced me behind the barn and made me perform unnatural acts with him? Not at all. Everyone treated me with great respect and kindness, just as the Gospels taught them to.”

“Then why?”

“Because I realized at last that Christianity is poison. Its message seems so innocent at first—Love your neighbor as yourself, forgive your enemies, look forward to heaven someday. But I want to live in the real world. The truth is that life is a struggle, full of suffering. Whatever joy we experience in life, we make for ourselves and those we love. We can't waste our lives on our knees hoping for better times. We are born in blood and die in pain. To ignore that and believe that a single, all-powerful, and benevolent God controls our fate is both ignorant and foolish. Do you think the wisdom gained over
untold ages and passed down through our traditions is to be cast aside because a Jewish rabbi said some pleasing words on a mountain? Your Jesus claimed that a little yeast leavens a whole lump of dough. Well, Christianity is that yeast and it spreads its oh-so-innocent teachings into our most cherished traditions. Your religion will never amount to anything on this island, but it corrupts everything that it touches.”