Chapter 2 #3
He didn’t need to step out when the first man reached the clearing. Darragh rose high like the greatest warrior and trampled the man to the ground, leaving the other who had come behind him to fly at Kylin.
First, he had to drop the cauldron. No way to fight and hold the thing at the same time.
But as he started to drop it, he lifted it instead, hurling it at the man who raced toward him with his sword extended.
The man fell as if the cauldron had weighed as much as a millstone. He lay knocked out.
Kylin approached him, ever wary, but the cauldron lay at his side and when he knelt to seek a pulse, however light, he found that the man was dead.
The other, trampled by Darragh, lay groaning, bloody.
Kylin walked toward him as Deidre came out of the woods from the north, stunned, but her strange sword at the ready.
He looked her way and shook his head, walking toward the injured man on the ground. Deidre hurried to him, tense, worried.
But there seemed to be no others with the two.
And when he knelt by the man who had been trampled, he saw that there would be no help for him; Darragh’s one hoof had caught him hard in the head, crushing his skull and eye, and his second hoof had caught him in the chest, leaving a gaping hole by his heart.
The man was dying. But he looked at Kylin with his remaining eye and whispered, “Die, traitor, son of a traitor, die!”
His eye closed.
He was dead.
Kylin rose, looking at Deidre.
“They were coming for you. Did you tell anyone what you were doing today?” he asked her.
“No, not even my father!” She shook her head. “Or my brother. I just told one of the women of the court that I’d be gone a bit and that she and the others should spend the day tending to the wounded!”
“They followed you.”
“Why?” she whispered. “I heard him. He called you a traitor, and the son of a traitor. Perhaps . . .”
“No. Before Darragh reared up to attack, the fellow there that just passed shouted to the other that he was to find you—and take your sword.”
“They are both dead,” she whispered, wincing. “Why are men so eager to fight and die?” She looked at him. “But you found the cauldron. And . . . you killed that man with it?” she asked incredulously.
“The sword and the cauldron. They make one hell of a duo of weapons!” he admitted. “Gifts from the ancients or angels, I know not which, but I am grateful. Except that I wish . . .”
“That we weren’t going to need them,” she finished for him.
He nodded grimly. “So. We have the sword and we have the cauldron. But now that we’ve found the cauldron, what are we to do?”
“Warn the others,” she said quietly.
“Right. There is a huge battle coming. A great invasion. The Romans didn’t even invade here! Of course, in some of what was written, the effort did not seem worth it.”
“Because it was too difficult for them to get past the shore,” Deidre murmured proudly. “Nor did they travel to the far Gaelic lands in the north of Briton, they did not attack the Scotia and the Picts. Instead, they decided to build walls against them.”
“But a great tide is coming here. We both feel that is going to happen,” Kylin reminded her.
“And what we must do is warn people, gather a great army to take on whatever is coming.”
“There is one problem with that,” he said.
“And that is?”
He shook his head. “You want it to be a defined ‘we’ and ‘they,’” Kylin argued.
“But it is not that simple. Some of the kings here . . . well, you know. Some want greater power. Riches. Land. They are willing to band with a foreign enemy to get it. Conversely, you have many people here who are descendants of those who came from different places throughout the years who are loyal to this land, and only of this land. But who is who in this mix of people? If a dream would explain what is going to happen, it would be quite wonderful!”
“Perhaps a dream can’t tell us what will happen—because that is up to the will and strength of men. And women, of course,” she said.
“And now . . .” Kylin stopped speaking.
It was strange. The world was a physical place. There were trees and grass, and despite the fog he could tell the day was ending. There were dead men lying in the clearing. Darragh still stood at attention, as if he dared not be at ease and chew upon the grass again.
It seemed that the air had taken on something else. As if a fog had fallen, and yet it wasn’t wet or damp.
It seemed to be . . . shimmering. As the sword that Deidre held shimmered, as the cauldron, black as it was, seemed to shimmer.
He felt a presence in the air. Could it be an ancient god or goddess? An angel?
Turn. Seek further.
“Kylin?” Deidre said. “Kylin, what is it? Is someone else coming, someone who might attack?”
He shook his head.
“A minute!” he begged softly.
The fog was deepening, and it wasn’t a usual fog, it was like silver crystals in the air. And he could suddenly see . . .
A vision from a distant time, a man with long, silver hair and a beard to match; he was clad in a strange dark robe and he was standing over a cauldron and from the cauldron, he pulled something long and shimmering.
The ancient being in his vision turned to him, spoke directly to him. “Turn!” he commanded.
He did so, but he saw nothing. Nothing!
And then he did.
At first, he had no idea what it was.
It leaned against a tree, gleaming as if it had its own light from within.
“The spear,” he whispered.
“What are you talking about?” Deidre demanded.
“Right there—the spear!”
“I don’t see—” she began.
But he didn’t hear the rest. He walked to the tree and realized that much of the glowing object was covered by a fall of vines. He moved them and collected the spear, bringing it back to where Deidre stood.
“A sword, a cauldron and a spear,” he murmured, looking at her, completely puzzled.
“The gifts of the Tuatha Dé Danaan,” she said. “I don’t know how you saw that!”
“Silver, shimmering, in the dying light,” he explained. “And, if the stories I heard as a boy are right . . .”
“The people of the goddess Danu,” Deidre said.
“They came from four cities that existed to the north of éire—Falias, Gorias, Murias and Firias—and they were as we are in form, they were kings, queens, craftsmen, artists, poets . . . just superior in intellect, in strength, in their knowledge of the earth. They brought with them four special gifts—the Sword of Light, Dagda’s Cauldron, the Spear of Lugh and the Stone of Fal, each from one of their great cities.
They fought great battles, but they knew of the coming of man and the Tuatha Dé Danaan can be found in the bogs, in the great burial mounds.
Perhaps they are angels, Kylin. I don’t know.
I just know that they come when we need them, that .
. . that there is something! And we now have three of their great gifts, the sword, the cauldron and the spear, and all that remains is the stone. And yet . . .”
“What can you do with a stone except stone someone?” he asked dryly. “Then again! When I might have battled fiercely, when two might have come upon me, I never lifted a sword for the cauldron took down one man and Darragh trampled the other.”
“Kylin, we must find the stone,” Deidre said. She winced. “You’re not even really Irish—”
“I am as Irish if not more so than you are!” he told her irritably. “For you and yours were born to this while my father chose it above all else!”
She paused, looking down. “I am sorry. But I can’t help this feeling I have that someone is going to betray the people of this land—”
“Not that they haven’t gone to war against one another upon occasion,” he reminded her.
“Petty battles between minor kings,” Deidre said. “And we both know that something greater is coming. And I am sorry—it is true that you and your father have never proven to be anything but loyal to my father. Still, someone is going to betray the others, join with invaders from across the sea.”
“And it seems obvious that we are to warn people so that they may band together in a greater force than any that might come after us,” he told her.
“We go to Declan McGinn, ard-rí, high king of all éire, at Tara.”
He nodded slowly.
There were many lesser kings across the land, Deidre’s father being one of them. But there was only one high king.
And while any of the lesser kings might seek greater power, more lands, slaves—a way to seize what others had—it was most unlikely that the high king would band with invaders.
“Well, we’re almost at the castle of the ard-rí now,” he pointed out.
“But the day is growing into night. And I never said that I would be gone any length of time. I must return home. You go on. You have the cauldron and the spear, and you must go on. I will return home—”
“No.”
“I will do as I choose!” Deidre said indignantly.
But he shook his head. “Those men came for you. If I fall to an enemy, I will fall. If you fall to the enemy, you might not be killed, you might be taken as bargaining power against your father and your brother, and what might be done to you . . . no. I will not leave you to return to your home alone. We will return together. Darragh will help us make the journey quickly. Come morning’s light, we will start for Tara.
Perhaps your brother will choose to come or perhaps it will be best if he protects the coast. That can be decided when we have spoken with our families. ”
“What if this attack comes tonight?” Deidre demanded.
“It will not. Last night’s losses will weigh heavily if the invasion was a forerunner of what is to come. We will have time. And I will not let you travel alone. Not when men were coming, seeking you—and the sword.”
“Fine!” she snapped, turning.
He let her walk away. Then he took the cauldron and the spear and headed to Darragh.
With his “gifts” secured to the horse’s saddle, he hiked himself up onto the animal’s back and trotted over to where Deidre walked, dipping low to sweep her up into his arms and place her in front of him on the horse.
“Kylin!” she gasped, reaching back to grab hold of him to balance before him, legs dangling over Darragh’s great shoulders.
“We will move much faster this way,” he said flatly.
And that was all, of course. And yet as they marched on, he felt her slim warmth, breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. He was human, certainly no god. And being human, he might be ready to dump her into a vat of icy water most of the time.
But being human he also felt her warmth, her unique and stunning beauty and strength and . . .
Best not to think or feel at all!