The Crowded Shadows (57 page)

“I
…”
he said. “Iseult. I ain’t taken sides against
…”

“Oh, Chris, stop!” She held up her hand, disgusted with herself. “I’m sorry.”

She looked across the clearing to where Razi was speaking to Úlfnaor and ran her hand across her mouth. Christopher stood in silent discomfort by her side.

“I am sorry,” she said again. “It is just, Razi changes his coat and shaves his face, and he is once again my Lord Razi. You,” she gestured to Christopher’s clothes. “You are once again a Merron. To tell the truth, I am envious, Christopher. I have no such armour, and the thought of riding into Albi’s camp, naught but a ragged woman in dusty clothes, makes me feel vulnerable and alone.”

Christopher held her gaze, searching. He lifted a hand to touch the heavy coil of hair pinned to her head. “Let loose your hair, Iseult, roll your sleeves to the shoulder.” Solemnly, he ran his thumb across her cheekbone. “I will give you one of my bracelets, and, as my
croí-eile
, none would challenge your right to wear it.”

Wynter closed her eyes and leant for a moment into his touch. Then she straightened. “Thank you,” she said. “But those things would be nothing more than a disguise, Christopher. I am not Merron, and I never will be.”

There was a moment of shock in Christopher’s face, and Wynter firmly held his gaze, her chin lifting. Then his expression hardened into acceptance and he nodded.

“You are Iseult Moorehawke,” he said grimly. “The Protector Lady. You need no armour to make you thus.” He reached behind her and handed her the reins of her horse. “Mount up, Protector Lady, and let us go.”

He walked from her, his pale cloak swinging behind him, and Wynter turned away before he had even reached his horse. Once mounted, she breathed deeply and took a moment to survey the men and women around her. Then she sat straighter and schooled her features into the aloof detachment of her courtly mask.

I am the Protector Lady
, she thought.
I have work to do
. She clucked Ozkar around and kicked forward.

When she came to a halt at Razi’s side, Úlfnaor glanced absently her way. His eyes went to slide past, but almost immediately he frowned and looked back at her. Wynter held his eye without expression. For a moment, the Merron leader searched her face, uncertain. Then he bowed, dipping his head low so that his long hair fell forward over his shoulders. Wynter saw the shock in his people’s faces and they stared up at her, their eyes wide. She surveyed them without a change of expression.

When Úlfnaor straightened from his bow, Wynter returned his graciousness with a regal tilting of her head. Christopher danced his horse to her side.

“Are we ready?” he asked, his voice hard.

Razi and Úlfnaor exchanged a look. Razi nodded, and together the two leaders wheeled their horses around and led their people onto the trail that would lead to Alberon’s camp.

The language used by the Merron in this book is equivalent to modern day Irish. The most commonly used words and phrases are translated here, except for any that are already translated in the text.

Note
: Apparent inconsistencies in the spelling of some words, like “Domhan” and “Domhain”, relate to the rules of Irish grammar.

abair leo a gcuid airm a chaitheamh uathu
  – tell them to throw down their arms

ach
  – but

a chroí
  – my dear

a dhuine uasail
  – honoured person

agus
  – and

amach leat
  – out with you! Get out!

a mhuirnín
  – beloved/sweetheart/darling

an bhfuil drochghoile ort aris?
  – have you a pain in your gut again?

an bhfuil tú ansin?
  – are you there?

An Domhan
  – the World (the Merron’s version of God)

an Lá Deireanach
  – the Last Day

anois
  – now

anseo
  – here

ar son an Ghrá
  – for Love

bhféidir go n-inseofa dóibh go bhfuil
xxx
anseo
  – perhaps you would tell them that
xxx
is here

bhí Ashkr anseo
  – Ashkr was here

bhí orm mo chac a dhéanarmh
  – I had to take a shit

bígí ar bhur suaimhneas
  – relax, be calm

buíochas leat
  – thank you

cé hé sin?
  – who is that?

ce hiad na ceoltoirí
  – who are the musicians?

cén fáth an teanga coimhthíoch
  – why the foreign tongue?

cé thú féin?
  – who are you?

conas atá tú?
  – how are you?

croch leat! Agus ná bí ag stánadh
  – push off! And don’t be staring

croí-eile
  – other-heart

dhá luch beaga
  – two small mice

fan liom
  – wait for me

fan nóiméad
  – wait for a moment

féach
  – look

fear saor
  – free man (
Is fear saor mise freisin
—I am a free man too)

filid
  – ancient noble and hereditary title. A filid would be responsible for preserving the history of his people in oral form and then teaching it to the next generation. The preservation of history in its oral form was very much the traditional role, and any moves to write history down would have been frowned upon. The modern version of this word,
file
, has come to mean simply “poet.”

gabh mo leithscéal
  – excuse me

gread leat
  – shove off! Beat it!

iníon
  – daughter/daughter of

le meas
  – with respect

luch
  – mouse

lucha rua
  – red mouse

luichín
  – little mouse

mac
  – son/son of

maith sibh a chúnna
  – good dogs!

mura mhiste leat
  – if you don’t mind

nach bhfuil?/nach ea?
  – isn’t it/he/she?

nach Merron thú
  – are you not Merron?

níl mé ag eitilt
  – I am not flying

níl sé réidh
  – he isn’t ready

níl sé go maith
  – he isn’t well

níl Tabiyb ach ina coimhthíoch
  – Tabiyb is only a foreigner

puballmór
  – the words “puball mór” literally mean “big tent.” Here the word “puballmór” signifies the Merron’s distinctive conical tents

rua ’gus dubh
  – red and black

rud éigin le hól
  – something to drink

sea
  – yes

seachtain deireanach
  – last week

scéal?
  – a shortened version of “aon scéal?”: what’s the story? Any news?

suigí síos
  – sit down (plural )

tá an Domhan do m’iarraidh
  – the World is calling me

tá Ashkr ag fanacht le Sól
  – Ashkr is waiting for Sól

tabhair nóimead dúinn
  – give us a minute

táim beagnach in éineacht leat
  – I am nearly with you

tá go maith?
  – all right?

tá mo chac orm
  – I have to shit

tá m’uain tagtha
  – it is my time/my time has come

tarraing siar/tarraingígí siar
  – pull back (singular and plural)

tá sé beagnach ina mhaidin
  – it’s nearly morning

tá sé caillte
  – he is lost

tá siad ina gcnap codlata
  – they are fast asleep

tá teanga na Hadran acu
  – they speak the Hadrish tongue

thóin caca
  – shit arse

tógfaidh Coinín m’áitse?
  – Coinín will take my place?

With huge thanks to Svetlana Pironko of Author Rights Agency for her protection and guidance. A wonderful agent and friend. Also to my first publishers The O’Brien Press; in particular to Michael O’Brien for his fearlessness.

Many, many thanks to all at Little, Brown who have thrown themselves so enthusiastically into the Moorehawke experience. You guys have been amazing.

Many thanks and much love to Sorcha DeFrancesco (Ni Cuimín) and Phil Ó Cuimín who gifted me their beautiful conversational Irish, and to Gabriel Rosenstock for correcting my spelling and grammar. Any remaining mistakes are all down to my ignorance and are my fault entirely.

Thanks to Pat Mullan, whose kindness and generosity of spirit opened a door I had begun to think was locked for good. And always, thank you, Catherine and Roddy.

Celine Kiernan

Born and raised in Dublin, Ireland, C
ELINE
K
IERNAN
has spent the majority of her working life in the film business, and her career as a classical feature animator spanned over seventeen years. Celine wrote her first novel at the age of eleven, and hasn’t stopped writing or drawing since. She also has a peculiar weakness for graphic novels as, like animation, they combine the two things she loves to do the most: drawing and storytelling. Now, having spent most of her time working between Germany, Ireland and the USA, Celine is married and the bemused mother of two entertaining teens. She lives a peaceful life in the blissful countryside of Cavan, Ireland. Find out more about the author at
www.celinekiernan.com
.