13. Command from the Hidden Court
Command from the Hidden Court
Come the sun's setting, Tuathal found a bit to eat and drink, then dressed properly for a visit to a noble court.
After some thought he put one the silver torc with gold ends claimed from the lord of the ford's goods and treasure.
If a gift were demanded, it would serve and serve well.
Likewise the blue and brown cloak. Too, the pieces held no tie to his kindred, unlike some of his finery.
When true darkness fell, and the faintest stars came into view, Tuathal departed.
He slipped out the hidden gate and nodded to the guard.
The boy frowned but did not speak or move.
Tuathal walked down the narrow path, then turned north, toward the bog of sacrifice.
Once away from sheds, stables, and other people, he hurried east. As night's mists grew thicker, he sensed a shift in the air.
Ahead loomed the standing stones and the mound.
Night sounds of birds, grazing cattle, and a little wind stirred in the silence. Something splashed in a stream pool. The water murmured, telling tales of floods and fish, perhaps. He walked quietly. Eoghan would not set a watch, would he? No, because he studied the skies, not the ground.
The end of the mound grew darker. Tuathal gathered himself and walked into the blackness. Silence surrounded him, and absence of light weighed on him. Ahead, at last, he saw a faint gleam. He slowed his steps as he came to a great hall.
Swords of golden metal, shields, helmets, and other prizes of war gleamed on the walls.
Torches hung from shining holders, oil lamps as well.
Weavings of brilliant colors and intricate patterns graced the spaces between the bronze.
The richness made the court of the high queen of the Brytheen, or of Fiachta, look as a shepherd's hut.
Only the fabled halls of the southern high kings might rival the greatness around him, and that only if they truly existed.
Dimly he saw fine men and women seated or standing at tables laden with a cups and platters overflowing with a great feast.
A presence, stern and commanding, watched from the platform of honor.
He bowed low to the dark chieftain, then straightened and proclaimed, "Great is the honor of the lord of this hall, and greater still his generosity.
As the king asks, I have come, most gracious King of the Mounds. " He bowed once more.
A deep, rolling voice that he felt as much as heard replied, "Well met indeed, Múinti allav. Be welcome as a guest among us. Please." A mighty arm clad in embroidered cloth of a shade he'd never seen before gestured to a seat and cushion. "Tell us of the news since the turning of the year."
He dared not refuse. He bowed a third time. "My thanks for the welcome, most noble king. Truly, the tales of your glory and honor are as nothing against the sight of such a wise and brilliant host." He sat, removed the clarsach from its case, and checked the tune. Words sifted, he began.
"Soft lay the winter on the lands, soft the snow falling on fields well harvested.
Twice storms hosted from the sea, spreading Manawn's waters over the land, then drawing back to the sea.
The raiders of the north passed east this year, troubling the lands of the Brytheen, but two bears of the north appeared in their place, white furred and mighty.
" He paused, letting the murmur of surprise rise and fade.
After recounting further events of the winter and early spring, He chanted, "Word came that one then called Pyder had brought a curse upon his lands.
He refused hospitality to those who were due, and failed his duty to the land itself.
Water rose, grain refused to grow, and his beasts weakened for all that they had plenty. "
Unhappy murmurs filled the hall, and the dark king leaned forward, intent, after speaking to the green-clad woman now standing beside him. "We," the king gestured to all in the hall, "sensed as much."
Tuathal nodded, and the harp's notes darkened, turning into a war song.
"A curse lay on lands to the south, and an insult lay over the lands around us.
The lord of Dunath and his men went south come spring, to right the injustice and warn the lord of the ford of his proper duties.
" He sang the tale of the raid and return, the race.
He sensed excitement and pleasure from the warriors and women, for all that they remained quiet.
"Alas, one warrior failed his sword, broke his oath." Hisses greeted his words, and he sensed a deeper frown from the shadowy figure on the seat of kings. "He brought back what was forbidden, and carried a curse with the goods. His blood was not sufficient to undo the harm."
"No." The word filled the hall. The anger in the short word almost drove Tuathal to his knees. "A true sacrifice must be made, one greater than the blood of an oath breaker."
"Exactly as you say, oh noble king. The wise ones read the signs.
Only the gift of a prince will suffice. They do not agree if that gift is a life, or something less common.
" As he spoke, a sense of dreadful anticipation filled him like beer filling a too-small cup.
It was not blood alone that the god of the land demanded.
A sound between a rush of wind and deep hum like the ship's ropes singing filled the hall, then faded. A sigh? The sound of agreement? He had never heard the like.
A cup had appeared beside his seat. Did he dare? It held clear water. He lifted it higher, saluted the one in the seat of kingship, and drank. Water sweet as honey, fresh flavored as the finest spring day, poured down his throat.
"Of that we shall speak later," the shadowy king declared. "The last of the news, then a dance, please, master allav."
"As you desire, most generous king." He played a lighter scatter of notes, and smiled. "A servant saw two cows soaring with the eagles as the swine danced below. The master brewer poured out the rest of that cask." Chuckles and laughter flowed from the listeners.
Bright notes danced from the harp, springing and leaping.
He kept his eyes down, watching the floor instead of the dancers.
Even so, colors and rich embroidered trim twirled into view.
"As the leaps of the salmon, the king of the river, so brilliant the steps of the lords under hill.
As graceful as willows, so limber and flowing, the dance of the ladies in crimson and snow. "
When the song ended, he shifted the tune, softer but not slow, a dance of steps and swirls instead of leaps. That finished, he ventured the song of the harvest, the sound of winnowing and smiths' hammers thumping from the clarsach's box.
"Ah, truly you are a prince among allave."
The declaration filled him with pride and fear in equal measure. Tuathal bowed as he sat, then stroked an arc of ascending notes from the harp and flowed into another dance. When that ended, he allowed the notes to fade away.
The dark king's right hand made a beckoning gesture. Tuathal stood and drew closer. "The ruin of the land touches this domain." Anger flowed under the king's words. "It must be undone."
"Yes, oh wise and generous king." He hesitated, then ventured, "The division among the priests delays action."
How could silence carry such anger and power both?
No rustle of movement or breath dared disturb the power in the King of the Mounds' presence.
Tuathal kept his eyes on the stones of the floor, shades of red, gray, and blue.
At last, the deep voice said, "There are gifts rarer than blood in the lands under the sun, even the blood of a prince. "
He wanted to weep, to flee, to not know, to deny the terrible certainty inside him. Hiding his heart, he said, "So I and one of the priests wondered, oh king of discernment and power."
The anger in the air faded. "Please try this instrument, master allav."
Tuathal dared look up. A clarsach and case, almost the same size has his own, sat beside the seat of kingship.
Wood of black and gold formed the body, the box carved and inlaid with green and scarlet tracery.
As he approached the platform and empty seat of honor, he could see more patterning on the pillar.
The pins and wires shone in the soft lights of the hall.
"Try the tune."
He almost hesitated. To even touch such a fine instrument, let alone play it!
Yet to refuse such a command, in the hall of a king?
He lifted the magnificent harp and returned to his earlier place.
He set the harp against his shoulder and brushed the strings.
Oh, the sound, so rich and pure, all a clarsach should be.
He played a short dance, then part of "Song of the Hills. "
A sigh of pleasure flowed through the hall.
The king nodded. "Too long has it been since a true master touched the strings.
When you depart this hall, leave your own instrument here, múinti allav, take that, and speak with the ...
priests ... of what will lift the curse and undo the ill.
The harp will return when the sacrifice has been completed in full. "
"As you say, oh wise, gracious, and generous king." He began one of the great ballads from the Brytheen court, changing the words.
"Wisdom rare and overflowing,
"Flowing from the throne of a great king.
"Gifts beyond price or telling,
"Telling of the power and might of the king.
"Years will not tarnish nor wither,
"Wither the name of the King under Land,
"The King of the Great Hall of light and of legend."
He flowed the song into one of the age-old tales of the times before the Dalriad set foot on the land.
"Aaaahhhh." The sigh filled the hall, as if all men and women breathed as one. Cheers and cries of praise followed, heady as the finest mead. The shadow king gestured dismissal.