6. Turning of Winter, Warnings of Spring #3
He followed the floating path to the open heart of the waters, and bowed low.
"As fire makes metal and power, so water takes power from metal.
Thanks for the making, and thanks for the power," he recited, then cast the small coil into the dark waters.
The wire hesitated, floating on the surface.
Tuathal stared for two hands of heartbeats before the bright red-gold wire sank from sight.
What did that mean? Why had Braha of the Waters not take the gift at once?
He bowed low and backed as far as he dared on the bobbing, slick trackway, then turned and walked to dry land once more.
Only when both feet touched true land did he look back.
That had never happened before. The Lady of Waters had not rejected his offering, true, but why had she hesitated in accepting it?
Had he done something amiss with the gift?
Three days later, one of the low bards Tuathal had crossed paths with twice, Bagla, came to the hall.
The young man had as good a voice as Tuathal's own, but little skill with the harp and drum.
Tuathal listened to the man's words as he described his travels and observations.
The fire snapped, but quietly, as Bagla said, "The lands to the south, along the river? Spring has not reached them yet."
As the arms men murmured on their benches, Bagla continued, "Pyder of the Ford has little pasture that I could see.
The grass has not begun to grow and thicken, and his sheep are thin, with few lambs.
I saw no cattle, but others say that he sent them to the uplands early, because his herders fear that biting flies from the wet lowlands will worry them.
It has not rained more than usual." The dark-haired bard turned his left hand palm up, eyes full of unknowing.
"I did not stop at the hall. The guard at the gate frowned at all who passed by, confirming the lack of hospitality.
It is said that Pyder's lands have weakened since the sun's turning, but others hold that trouble began when he came to the lordship. "
Several of the men glanced to Tuathal. He returned their gaze, expression mild and unconcerned.
What ailed Pyder's lands? Not the mist, that had not come so far north, and others would have brought the warning.
Had Pyder offended the gods? That ... felt more proper, but not entirely.
Tuathal pondered, then chuckled at the tale of the hogs joining the feast in the hall of Cafal the Thick.
Indeed, some wagers were best not made, lest they be taken up by a hearer.
"Come the full of the moon, we go south," Fiachta declared the next day. "The grazing is good, and Pyder of the Ford makes more threats, causing murmurs among the lesser lords. A visit is due."
The air seemed to cool as a harsh, light voice said, "Indeed.
My brothers to the south say that no proper gifts or offerings have been made since harvest." Tuathal did his best to be unseen as the warriors parted for Eoghan, chief priest of the lord of the land.
"The birds pass over and do not stop on their way with the sun, something that has not happened before in that place.
The honey of the hives has no goodness to it, all water. "
Now Tuathal shivered. The awan's curse had settled on Pyder. What else had he done, besides not provide proper hospitality, that even the land weakened with him?
The wise one turned narrow green eyes toward him, and said, "Allav, I would speak with you, and with the king." He left the arms hall, and Tuathal followed at his brother's right hand.
Once out in the open, the priest led them to a space between grain storage huts. He turned to Tuathal. "What saw you in Pyder's hall?" Eoghan demanded, leaning toward him.
"No bronze. That I noticed first, master priest. No bronze, and the servants all went wary, as if fearing a blow or worse.
Only ten benches of arms men in the great hall, and little of his father's wealth remained on the walls.
Too, I saw no women not servants or bond servants.
" Tuathal noted Fiachta's frown. Eoghan's eyebrows drew down, displeasure clear to all with eyes.
Tuathal continued, "Of Pyder himself, he was already drunk when he entered the hall. He claimed the hero's portion, and none challenged, but none seemed pleased. He demanded news, and little remained in the pot by the time I finished telling what I had seen and heard."
Eoghan's eyes had narrowed to slits during the recitation, lips pursing. Fiachta too appeared concerned. The priest frowned yet more deeply, then said, "What libations or praise did Pyder and his men offer?"
Tuathal hesitated. "I ... I do not recall seeing any. I left before the feast ended, as my presence was no longer acknowledged. I did not see or hear any before Pyder entered the hall."
"And no bronze?"
He made the sign of oath taking. "None in the guest chamber, none in the hall. His father had swords of bronze, and bowls, and several mirrors that I had seen or heard others speak of, one from over the eastern waters, perhaps."
"They were not given to the waters or land as a thanks gift or apology," Eoghan said. "Not that my brothers to the south have seen or know of. Not by Pyder, not by his elder brother before he left this life, not by the sister yet living. Nor has he wed, although several have offered daughters."
Fiachta glanced to the side, fingers smoothing his mustache over and over, one foot tapping the hard dirt. "Did he properly wed the land?"
"None know." Eoghan locked eyes with Tuathal. "Could you see signs of such?"
"I did not look. It was not my business, or so it seemed. Harvest was underway, that I could tell from the road."
King and priest shared a glance, eyes hooded. "Even one without a wife must wed the land." Fiachta's words came hesitantly, as if he doubted the law.
"He must, unless he is already a priest of the lord of the land, and we do not number Pyder among our company.
Even with a priestess or a bond maid if she is taken by the power of kingship, as happened with Donnacha and Alewan when we," he pointed to Fiachta, "first came from the western isle to this place.
" Now he gestured down, to the hill and the land around it.
"No man may have true kingship without wedding the land. "
Tuathal searched through his songs and odes. "I know of no king without the wedding, not even in the tale of Leichar the Silver-footed."
"Just so." Eoghan.
Tuathal listened to the sounds of the hall and hill, of men and women working, birds calling from east of the hill. A lamb bleated, and a deeper bleat of comfort answered. The air in the new-leafed trees made more sound than did priest and king.
Should he speak of the awan's curse? Tuathal glanced at the priest's gray-white robe and harsh features.
Why had the awan spoken? Eoghan did not truly believe in awan's power, and did not trust what little he did believe.
Tuathal studied the priest once more. No.
The words had not yet ripened, and he could not answer the questions Eoghan might ask.
"Say the signs if warriors going south will bring ill-fortune, Múinti Eoghan?" Fiachta's question dropped into the quiet.
The priest glanced up at the birds darting and swirling in the gentle blue sky. "No."
Had the priests studied the flight of birds and shape of entrails? Should he ask? He considered all that he knew, and again held his words in their pouches.
Come nightfall Tuathal watched the stars turning over the hall.
The dragon had risen in the east, red eye a warning of the season of strife and war.
The Scattered Clout shone clear, the sign of good weather, its dusty white burden of flour stretching across the sky from land to land.
Who had torn the hole in the clout of cloth to leave such a trail?
He recited the tale to himself as the stars passed.
Brilliant red streaked across the sky, from the north to the south, red like the embers thrown when a burning roof collapsed during a raid, red like shed blood.
He watched, then found his place of sleep.