Dawn Of Ireland: Captive Heart Part 20

I was so taken by her words that I stood and went to her, and I kneeled next to her on the rocks. "What you are saying is a great comfort to me, Simmi. Can it be? Can it be that she wants me to be here, that she is asking me to heal her through these captive women?"

"Yes, Caylith. I think it is not only possible. I think it is probable."

I was laughing and crying at one and the same time. "Then I shall redouble my efforts to make potions. To carry them, to clothe them, to love them as I love her."

Persimmon reached out and grasped my shoulders, and then she drew me warmly to her chest. "You see, Cay? The healing process has begun in you also."

"Thank you, my friend. I have much to be grateful for, and much to regret." I spoke quite without thinking about the words I had let slip out.

She quirked her head in puzzlement. "Tell me. What do you regret? Do you speak of me and Murdoch?"

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked her, and I felt myself flushing deeply. I drew back, still kneeling in front of her, but I could not meet her clear eyes.

"Do you regret bringing Murdoch to me, Caylith? I have wondered about it for a while, and I have come to a few conclusions. But I would rather hear it from you."

"I would rather not even talk about mymy kinsman. He has rendered a valuable service, for it was he who found out about Tory Island. And I am grateful."

"You talk as though you were trying to convince not me, but yourself." Ah, Persimmon was a very wise young woman, and I knew that I would not be able to smooth over this conversation with glib words.

"Then let me be completely honest with you, Persimmon. I brought Murdoch to your door because I felt he needed a-a real woman in his life. One who could befriend him without the, ah, the complications of a husband and a family. And I have regretted it ever since."

"Why?"

"Because I am not G.o.d. Because I am not a pony trainer, someone who can teach others to turn in circles at my command. Because I have interfered in other people's lives out of my own selfish interest, and I feel a great hatred for myself. And I would rather not talk about it anymore." I jumped to my feet and turned away from her, my hands over my eyes, trying to will myself not to show any more of myself than I had already bared, like a wanton undressing before the eyes of a stranger.

Her voice was close behind me. "Very well, Cay. You do not need to say any more. But would you listen while I speak?"

Without turning around, I nodded my head. She deserved at least that much, and a great deal more from me.

"Your instincts about me and Murdoch were right. We were-we are-attracted to each other. It took us less than a week-from the day you introduced us to the day he had to leave with the others-and in that time, we learned a great deal about each other." She stopped talking, and I turned to look at her.

"Please sit here, Cay, while I tell you what I need to say." I obediently sat cross-legged, keeping a watchful eye on my herbs but already fascinated by her words.

"I learned about his early life, his love for Trawbreaga Bay. His life on the great continent with his delightfully stern and ribald teacher. His love for his father, and then his slow feelings of revulsion, even hatred, for the man he thought had killed his mother. Oh, yes, Caylith, I learned a great deal in a very short time. I saw, and I understood, his raw need for love. And so I gave it to him. To a man I hardly knew."

It was Persimmon's turn to sigh deeply and bow her head. I watched her with a growing affection and understanding. She was silent a very long time and I waited for her to find her voice again.

"We talked openly about you, Caylith. There could be no denying the gut-deep emotion he felt for you-and possibly still does. And I could understand that, too. Suddenly a beautiful woman enters his world, and she saves his grandmother from a slow death. She redeems his fallen father, and she restores his family to their rightful dignity. Who would not love her? I love her myself, for the way she has helped my own people and my fellow pilgrims."

And then she raised her eyes to me. I saw her admiration for me, and yes, the kind of love that I myself felt for a few women in my life-Brindl, Brigid, and Magpie.

"I swear to you, Persimmon, that I never once encouraged him. Never."

"I know, Cay. You do not have to tell me. The truth is plain to see. His own overwrought emotions took control, and he actually sundered his friendship with you, in spite of loving you, for he could not stop himself."

I reached out my hand, as if to touch her face, although she sat too far away. "I am profoundly sorry. Oh, I am sorry-"

"Cay, there is no need to apologize. I think you love him also, though not in the same way. I think you suffer as much from your parting as my dear Murdoch."

"What do you think will happen?" I whispered.

"I feel that something positive will happen. First, he set himself on a booley-a search not just for an island but for himself. Whatever happened on this desolate, lightning-wracked sh.o.r.e, I am hoping he really did find a solution deep within himself.

"And second, Cay, he is now with his father. He now understands part of his father's complex motivations. How can Murdoch help but love and admire Owen Sweeney? He is a hard man, but a deeply loving man, and Murdoch and he can now reach out to each other. I think that now is the beginning of a new life for both of them in several complicated ways."

"If you do not mind my asking-what did you and Murdoch decide between yourselves when he left?"

"He told me he would return to me. He did not know when. He said I would be able to see the truth as though it were writ in fire on his brow. And so I wait." She leaned toward me, and again I reached my hand out to her. We sat as Brigid and I had one day, our hands clasped in friendship, understanding each other deeply.

At last I rose to my feet. "Simmi, you have entered my soul the way a gruit enters my sore bones. I feel healed inside, as though I had drunk a potent herbal tea. And speaking of that, may I offer you one of my special brews?"

Laughing, she accepted, and we sat sipping gruit together, basking in the sun of a new, cloudless day.

After I had completed my potion making and put away the herbs, Persimmon went in search of her sister and my other companions. After a while, the eight of us were sitting in a rough circle around the cheerful fire haven, and Quince stood looking at us. "My friends, let me say again how much we appreciate your caring. Your deep sense of compa.s.sion is the one ingredient that will set these captives free at last."

"Well spoken, Quince," said Brother Jericho. "Their freedom will come from within, when they are touched by the love of our Father through your own love. G.o.d bless you, one and all."

I saw that Persimmon was letting her sister direct the meeting, as though to underscore both their separateness and the confidence she felt in her twin. "I think we need to talk frankly about what we can expect when the women arrive, and how we can deal with it," Quince said, looking at each of us in turn.

"First, we must all steel ourselves to the sight of raw human misery. You saw the way it affected Silver Weaver the day he told us about finding the captives. He could barely speak, and he turned his eyes heavenwards as though to beg G.o.d's help in telling us. I am sure no amount of inward preparation will blunt our emotions when we see them. But please-be strong. Stay strong for them."

I remembered the way Mama looked the night she was released from the shieling in Sweeney's yard. Even though she had been released, in a way, for the prior three months, still she was so weak she could not stand without me. She had stood smoothing my hair again and again, as if the feel of me was her final and only salvation. And as soon as she tried to stand on her own, she had collapsed into the dirt like a sack of brittle bones. My throat closed up as I thought of that night, and only my earlier conversation with Persimmon kept me from crying outright.

"Next, there are but seven women among us, and yet fifteen women to care for. That means at some point, you men will have to gaze on unclad strangers. You may find yourselves helping them in their sanitary habits, and, ah, and tending them intimately. Even you, Brother Jericho."

Luke and Jericho looked at each other, and each man seemed a little flushed. But Luke's voice was firm. "I once-once had an invalid mother, with no father or other family to help. I think I know what to do."

Brother Jericho said, "I have dedicated my life to helping those who need it most. You can be a.s.sured that I will be a competent nutrix alii, a nourisher of others."

Even though Klaus and Konrad-my cheerful Knock-Knick-could not understand a word, I thought we would not have to teach them how to help other people. They had done it most of their adult lives.

Quince continued. "Those are the most important points I needed to make. And now I call on my dear sister to speak a bit also."

She sat, and Persimmon took her place. "Quince has brought up the most crucial points. Let me add only this. As soon as the rescuers bring them back, she and I will take charge right away and divide the women into two groups-those needing the most care, and all the others. I would like to ask you, Caylith, to help Quince and me. The most extreme cases will no doubt need your poultices and potions immediately."

"Of course," I told her.

"And speaking of Caylith's potions, I want to remind you all to stay well. You will be giving up your protection from the rain, you will be depriving yourselves of sleep-all the activities that may bring sickness down on you also. At the first sign of weakness-a cough, a sniffle, a weak stomach-will you promise me to seek out Caylith and ask for a draught of potion? I just had one myself, and I feel ten years younger."

Persimmon was young and vibrant, the very picture of robust health. Her words were met by a ripple of laughter and murmurs of a.s.sent. She looked around. "Please ask any questions that may be plaguing you. No doubt is too small to bring up now."

Brindl spoke up. "What happens as soon as we return? Where are the women to stay? Who is to care for them then, until a center may be built?"

I finally spoke the fugitive thought that had been scratching at my mind for a while. "Brindl, I have an idea. It is only a sprout-a fledgling of a notion. But I will share it as soon as it grows up a bit."

"You sound like Jay Feather did, before the taking of Ravenscar," she accused me with a grin. That was almost three years ago, when Jay had the beginning of an idea-to let the oversized, k.n.o.bby-billed swans descend on the watchtower like avenging angels.

"And my idea is just as bird brained," I teased her back. "Give me a while, and I will tell you later."

We broke up then, each of us finding a task or a diversion to take our mind off our friends and loved ones, who we hoped were already on their way back with fifteen rescued women.

Yes, I will heal these women, I thought. And through them, I will heal Mama. It is only a matter of time.

Chapter 26:.

The Real Treasure I reckoned by the sun that we had at least two hours to wait until we saw our companions coming to sh.o.r.e in the small currachs. Somehow, with the help of hand signals and Brother Jericho, I instructed Klaus and Konrad to take their nets and fish for a bountiful amount of fish for tonight's and tomorrow's meals. I made sure I had a large store of herbs already mixed and ready for the hot water, and then I sat by the fire with Brindl and the twins.

We were all trying not to show our anxiety, but I could see by the way we all looked up continually to the sh.o.r.eline that we hoped every moment for a sight of our friends.

Persimmon had taken some of the flax fiber from Knock-Knick, and she and Quince sat making deft movements with their fingers, fashioning a fish net. I envied them the ability to create such a complex object. I remember how Mama had tried to teach me dainty handwork when I was a child, but my clumsy fingers were adept only at holding a make-believe poleax or clutching a hand bow.

"Cay, Brindl-my sister and I are curious about the Tris. Tell us your goals and what you ladies do when you meet each week."

"Our goal? I have never given it much thought, Simmi. I suppose it is to make right the wrongs of our small world."

"Like the Glaed Keepers," said Brindl earnestly. "But five small women are unlikely weapons wielders, and so perhaps we can succeed by sheer surprise."

"Yes," I added dryly. "We can take them down while they are doubled over laughing at us."

"Do you use only shillelaghs, or other weapons besides?"

Between us, Brindl and I explained how we used our knowledge of other weapons-the sword, fighting stick, short ax, war hammer, long knife-and adapted it to the k.n.o.bby cudgel that was the local weapon of choice.

"The shillelagh is the perfect weapon, in a way," said Brindl. "For we weak women may seem to be using it as a walking aid-and in the blink of an eye, it can be gently applied to an enemy's neck or midsection. Or worse."

By now, Luke and Brother Jericho had settled next to us. I saw that Luke, getting over his shyness, actually held Quince's hand openly, as though it were the most natural act in the world. We all pretended not to notice.

"Luke," said Brother Jericho. "Have you run across any history of these parts in your studies or conversations?"

"I have," said Luke, and I saw by his wide grin that a story was forthcoming.

"I, too, have heard a few accounts of the beginnings of Tory Island," said Jericho. "I wonder whether our stories are the same?"

"I think there are as many stories as there are imaginings of men," replied Luke. He began to stroke Quince's hand with his free one, and he knit his brows in concentration. "I hope one day you and I, and our fellow scholars, may begin to write these stories on parchment, so that the myths may be told forever. Surely Father Patrick will not mind if we begin to gather and write down the tales of eire, as well as scriptures and ancient histories from the mainland."

"The Bishop wants to restore and record all possible knowledge," the monk said, looking at all of us. "In that spirit, I hope the students who emerge from our modest school will themselves become part of the effort of saving the past."

"I am such a student," Quince said unexpectedly. She looked up at Luke with luminous eyes. "I think that is a worthy goal. Perhaps if Luke will tell us his tale, I can set it to parchment-with his help."

He looked at her fondly, and he brought her hand up to his mouth, letting it linger there for a few extra moments. "Then let me tell it without delay," he said, and we all laughed, forgetting for a time that our comrades were somewhere out on the turbulent Sea of eire. Luke cleared his throat and began.

Untold generations ago, when the entire world was ocean, there lived a race of semidivine beings who lived under the sea. Their very name, the "Fomoire," meant sea dwellers, and even when the oceans subsided and land rose up, the Fomorians became known and feared as sea pirates.

Perhaps it is not so farfetched as we may think, that later generations of the Fomorians selected the rocky realm of Tory as their kingdom. In those days, the island was large indeed, perhaps half the size of eire itself. Or perhaps it sheared off from the very land we now sit, after the dread dance of the lightning king Eremon. But that is another story for another day.

In those days, Tory was a land of milk and honey, and it was called "King's Tower," for their king had built spires to the sky. It boasted the best pastureland, an unending supply of thousands of kinds of fish, and twice as many kinds of fowl. It had lakes and even rivers, for the land was blessed from the beginning by the hand of Cocal, the king and legendary founder of the kingdom of Tory.

Now in the generations since the Fomorians came to live on land, another semidivine race had sprung up along the coast of a faraway sea, perhaps the distant sh.o.r.es of the Nile or even the Indus. Hearing of the mighty kingdom of the Fomorians, a large company of these men, under the banner of King Nemed, sailed to these sh.o.r.es, seeking their fortune. They sailed in a fleet of forty-four giant ships, and it took four years and four months to reach the kingdom of Tory, for they had many adventures along the way. And they left sons, and their sons' stories, as they voyaged.

When they arrived at last, King Nemed instructed his followers to take the Fomorians back to the bottom of the sea from whence they had sprung. A mighty battle ensued, as you can well imagine, for the Nemedians boasted sixty thousand warriors, and King Cocal had even more.

The battle was inconclusive, and so King Nemed moved his men to the mainland, where they began to overwhelm the land-dwelling Fomorians in b.l.o.o.d.y encounters. At last, King Nemed died. His son Fergus Red-Side decided to return to Tory Island and complete the work his father had left unfinished. By now, the land of eire bore the mark of the conquering Nemedians. Many lake bursts were created at the burial site of their slain heroes, many plains were cleared, and many forts were established. But Fergus, he of unmatched greed, craved the biggest prize of all-the untold riches of the Island of Tory.

And so all the conquerors left for the treasures of Tory, leaving behind only women and children. How could the greedy conquerors know that the women and children were the real treasure and that they turned their backs on it?

When the followers of Fergus Red-Side reached the island, they found that King Cocal had died. In his place, the mighty warrior Conand ruled from the highest tower on the highest mountain.

With a blood-curdling cry, Fergus led his followers over the cliffs and into the walled city where Conand's tower rose almost from the sea. The battle lasted thirty days and thirty nights, and when the cries of battle had died, Conand and his people were strewn like rocks over the desolate sh.o.r.e.

Fergus Red-Side raised his battle ax in triumph, and at that moment a giant wave washed up over the entire island, burying all but the highest tower. When at last the wave receded, Tory Island was only a sliver of land, and Conand and his bravest warriors were become granite statues rising from the roiling sea. Only his great tower remained as a warning to all who would succ.u.mb to overweening greed-step not on these sh.o.r.es, or seek death.

Luke finished his tale, and we all sat in silent tribute to the skill of his storytelling.

Finally, Brother Jericho spoke. "Thank you, Luke. G.o.d has gifted you in many ways." We all murmured in a.s.sent while Luke ducked his head, suddenly embarra.s.sed.

"Myth it may be," I said to my friends, "but in a way the warning has come true. The greed of these pirates shall be their downfall, and Tory Island the last home they will ever know."

"Well said, my friend," said Brindl, and I saw that all of us wore a slight smile, as if already celebrating the downfall of the evil slave traders.

Just then Konrad set up a shout, and we looked to the sea. There, somehow keeping keel-side up, I saw not six but eight small dark objects riding the swelling sea. Our currachs-and those of the pirates? I rose and started to run, as nimbly as my little pear-shaped body and the rocky ground would allow.

All eight of us stood in the shallow waves, straining to be the first to welcome and shelter the rescuers and their precious cargo. Soon the currachs were so close to sh.o.r.e that the large Glaed Keepers could leap from the vessels and begin to tow them to a safe mooring.

As soon as the currachs were anch.o.r.ed-tied to great rocks at the edge of the tossing sea-Liam was the first to emerge, carrying what looked like a sack of sticks. As he drew nearer, I saw to my horror that his burden was a woman. She was naked except for a tatter of cloth around her loins, her arms and legs thin as the kindling we had fed into our morning fire. And her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-ah, G.o.d, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s looked like flaps of skin, like unformed wings of fledgling chicks.

I resolutely kept my eyes raised to his. "To the fire, Liam," I told him. "We have prepared places for them to lie. Thank G.o.d you are safe."

He strode ahead, straight toward our fire haven, and I ran to keep up with him. "A mo ghra, I am alive. But me heart feels dead inside."

When we reached the comforting arm of land that surrounded our fire, Liam tenderly laid the woman on a blanket, and immediately Quince and Persimmon were kneeling over her. Liam put his arms around my shoulders and bowed his head. "She is the worst, Cay. I pray she may live. Dear G.o.d, why did I tell ye we should not punish her tormentors?"

I stroked his hair and his cheeks, incapable of answering his deep anguish with any words. "Caylith," said Persimmon urgently, "bring us your strongest gruit, quickly."

I knelt to the fire where my cauldrons, filled with healing brew, were staying warm in the embers. Quickly filling a metal cup, I brought it to Persimmon, who took it and tipped it to the lips of the woman. She seemed already dead, and my throat and eyes filled with tears as I watched. Quince put a finger in the brew, and she brought her finger to the woman's mouth, rubbing it on her lips and inside, on her tongue. Again and again, Quince dipped her finger.

I did not realize I was holding my breath until I saw the woman's eyes flutter, and I saw her lips trying to form words. I released a huge sigh.

"Cay," said Quince, almost impatiently. "Take over here while we look at the others."

I obediently knelt and dipped my own finger in the gruit, making sure the woman swallowed by stroking her throat as I put the liquid in her mouth. This was the very same thing I had done with Nuala Sweeney, Owen's mother, as she lay close to death on the oversized bed at Ballysweeney back in February.