Crt an Mheadhon Odhche


History: An account mostly false, 
of events mostly unimportant, 
which are brought about by rulers mostly knaves, 
and soldiers mostly fools.
~ Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary


     Nicholae pillowed his head on her bare thigh, sighing softly. His breath sent a shiver over
her silky, heated flesh. She trailed her fingers through the mass of his midnight hair and smiled.

     "You amaze me, woman," he whispered. Her easy laughter echoed in their dark
bedchamber. "Truly, I have never known another like you."

     Her mirth ended with the collapse of her smile; her face took on a grave countenance.
"The women of your time, asthor, are merely wailing, simpering slaves to your crusader
appetites. You have made them weak, glorify and berate them for being and doing that which
you have commanded them to."

     "And the women of Hibernia are not so?"

     "Of course not. The Voluntii were wise and free."

     "In their lusting?"

     A giggle escaped, her eyes brimmed. "In everything. Pray, do not misunderstand me, the
tale of Eire was not idyllic. It was fierce and harsh. But it was more than this barbaric age we
now travel through."

     Nicholae dragged himself up to the intricate headboard and rested his head on a closed
fist. "Are all the Voluntii like you?"

     "Nicholae, asthor, no one else is like this. No one is like us, how could Dimitri have
seduced my soul otherwise?"

     "You have never spoken of it."

     "Not a single breath."

     "Will you break your silence with me?"

     "If you wish."

     "I wish to know every part of you. Each dark recess of the whole."

     She chuckled, "Pretty words, lover. Where should I begin?"

     "To save my overtaxed intellect, ma chre, the beginning."

     "How then shall I begin? This epic tale of Marrauha the first dhampir of Eir? She was
born, perhaps - or she was reborn, a phoenix out of her own ashes."

     "I want to know you."

     "Ah. A dangerous quest, my brave and foolish young chevalier. For to know me is to
know the deepest darkness..."

     "I have already known the deepest darkness, and conquered it."

     Laughter again burst from her swollen lips, "You have conquered nothing, whelp, not
freely given.  Do you wish the tale, or no?" He nodded wordlessly. "As you will, then. There was
no war in those times, not as you know it. No large scale combats. Our wars were feuds,
miscommunications whose truths were lost to the ages. But we were warriors and our fiannas
bravely fought their battles and raided with pride."

     "Truly?" his look was a bit skeptical.

     "Hush, and I'll give you a tale you'll not soon forget. You see, the time of bronze had
melted into the age of iron when the prophecy was made. It was foretold by the Priest at Emain
that a child would be born in death to determine the fate of the land of Eire. The gracious,
generous Ard R, Padraic mac Cormac meic Airt meic Conn meic Rotha meic Find meic Ailill
meic Rdis meic Eogan o Bres dl Tailtiu of the Tuatha de Voluntii made his home on the land
to the west of Slige Midlachra, the great road that connected his stronghold at Temair with the
center of the Druidic High Council at Emain Macha. The Tuatha de Voluntii was not weak in the
land of Eire; their large herds of white cows, black bulls, and healthy brown calves roamed the
land further than any eye could see. The men of the Voluntii fianna were the bravest and most
generous in all the land, and Padraic was first among them. He fostered fifty sons within his
home and denied no enemy its hospitality. His wife, Nessa nic Damin, was the most sought
after among women; her gentle touch was as strong as his bravest warrior. She stood eye to eye
with Padraic; her fair skin held a light brushing of freckles. Her thick hair hung to her waist and
shone such a bright yellow that she never used the lime-wash on it. The golden locks were
braided into an intricate diadem crowning her with glory and trailing three thick plaits woven
with silver whose tips met at the small of her back and were caught together at the ends with a
gold clip. Her eyes were a most unusual shade, a deep emerald that perfectly matched the green
foliage of the landscape. A golden torc sat at her neck and a grey and blue cloak caught up at the
shoulder with a silver triskelion brooch. She wore a knee-length purple tunic with a silver,
fringed girdle decorated with bronze ornaments. Golden gauntlets covered both arms and each
finger held an alternating ring of gold and silver. Silver anklets adorned each ankle. Her father,
Damin mac Dre meic Conn meic Delga, a bard of not some little renown, was loathe to part
with her, his greatest treasure, and so became, with the added benefit of this wealth, the olave of
Eire. 

     Time progressed in Padraic's land as it always had, the sons of the Tuatha de Erdin and
Tuatha de Ebdani fostered in Padraic's house; the Tuatha de Blanii to the south and the Tuatha de
Darinii to the north were as restless as the Voluntii. One season the Darinii raided two hundred
heads of Padraic's cattle. The Ard R raged at the audacity of the Darinii. No one from the highest
noble to the lowest slave escaped his wrathful fury at their success. His annoyance at the Darinii
victory was heightened by their temerity at the flaunting of his customary right to compensation.
He sought vengeance on those who would raid his herds without even paying the tribute they
owed him for herding the stolen cattle through his lands, forgetting for the moment that his
fianna had raided many of those same heads only a few moons earlier. The Darinii had raided
with five divisions of four thousand men collected from the entire area of Ultu, the northern
province. Padraic praised the skill and bravery of his fianna and sent messengers for only three
divisions of three thousand, the first among warriors in Eire, namely, Maine Corb, Maine
Anlan, and Maine Scannal. He sent other messengers to the sons of Epert, namely, Fergus mac
Cernach, Conall mac Cernach, Medb nic Cernach, and Iban mac Cernach. These men too, arrived
in number three thousand armed, with their wives.

     The first band had fair-yellow hair plated in three locks that reached to their waists. They
wore red cloaks with gold brooches at the shoulder and pure white shirts that reached to their
knees. They carried swords with oval guards and silver handles.

     The second band had bright-yellow hair that stood up in short spikes over their heads.
They wore cloaks of green with grey shirts that fell to their ankles, and gold torcs about their
necks.

     The last band had flowing golden, streaming manes. They wore purple cloaks with bright
red-gold threaded shirts with silver brooches at the neck. The swords they carried were silver
handled with intricate, inscripted grips.

     That night they pitched their camp and stronghold, and the fire-smoke settled like fog
around them on the Slige Midlachra just outside Emain. They stayed a full moon cycle at  
hEachaidh, drinking, feasting, and celebrating in preparation for any harshness they might find in
the journey before them. During this time, Padraic consulted with the druads at Emain. Each of
the three had words of prophecy and wisdom to give him.

     The first druad came to Padraic and told him: 'I see your shirt stained with the life of
another.'

     The second druad came to Padraic and told him: 'I see your enemy's shirt stained with his
own blood.'

     The third druad came to Padraic and told him: 'I see nothing of you or your enemy; I see
your queen stained with the blood of Eire. I see the island whose fate is tied to a child who is tied
to the land. I see three streams conjoined that refresh themselves with the blood of brothers.'"

     "Wait, wait," Nicholas broke into the story, "I thought you were going to tell me your
story."

     "This is my story." 

     "Then why aren't you in it?"

     Maura laughed, "Who I am began long before I was born, Nicholae. This is how my life
came about..."

     "Tell me, is Padraic victorious in this cattle raid?"

     "Of course, he only lost a small fraction of men and drove four hundred head of cattle
back to the herd. They drove the herds to the booley right after the fianna's return, so there was
no worry about return raids for the summer season."

     "So what significance does this Padraic play in your life?"

     "A rather vital part, asthor. He is my sire."

     "Why didn't you start there, then?"

     "This is my story, as it was told to me by the aes dana from the time of my birth. If you
want to hear it, you need to let me tell it my way."

     "I'm sorry, ma chre. It's you I wish to know more of. You will forgive me for my
impatience?"

     "Oui, asthor. I suppose there are some parts of this epic that you do not need to hear.
Those things which I cannot explain to you. Hmmm... There are things about this story I did not
understand the significance of until much later, some almost recently. And so, here is the
prophecy fulfilled: The birth of the child at the height of the moon during the festival of
Ctshamain was scrutinized by the Priests. A collective shiver and feeling of profound sadness
moved through the Voluntii as they heard the horrible wail of the beansidhe echo over the land.
At the end of the long and tenuous struggle for life, the child was a girl and her mother's spirit
began its journey west.

     It was said that I grew fast, that I had my steps at eleven moons. I consulted with the
druads first when I was thirteen moons, conversed with the aes dana at fifteen moons. At the end
of my fourth summer I was sent to foster with Fionn mac Noisiu meic Suibne meic Derbforgaill
nic Uisliu the brenin of the Tuatha de Vinderii. Fionn and my foster-brothers, Niall mac Fionn
and Erc mac Fionn, were good teachers and I schooled with them for twelve years like any son. I
learned the trade of warriors and the skills of the shanachie. I was told I had the strength and will
of the druad, but lacked the patience to study. The blessing of Tailtiu was with me and I have
carried her favor in my heart. The way of the warrior was always stronger in my being and so, I
fought until I led, like my sire before me. By my seventeenth summer, I held my own lands and
stood as second to no one but the Ard R. I hoped one day to win my sire's place, but that was not
to be. It was in the winter of my eighteenth year when my destiny came forth and swallowed me.
At first I succumbed like a drowning calf, but by the time Dimitri came, I had grown fins."

     "Marrauha, the Blanii tribute has arrived."

     "Good." Marrauha slid off her mount and handed the reigns to a waiting daer fudir. "He's
been ridden hard, take care of him." She turned to her young foster-brother, Erc, "Tell them they
may present it to me in the courtyard." He nodded and walked away. Marrauha smirked at Erc's
unconscious scratching. He was still too young for a full mustache, but he tried. She changed
from her grey knee-length riding tunic into a purple one that reached her ankles, and returned to
the courtyard. She sat on the pelt-covered platform set up for her cerimonial use. A prince of the
Tuatha de Blanii, Fergus mac Ceallaigh, presented her with gold bracelets and silver cups, five
sheep, four cows with brown spots and a large brown bull, three female and five male daer fudir.
He brought in the slaves, women first, then the men. Last in the group was a young man, but
different from any Marrauha has seen. Stripped to the waist, he wore no decoration. His trousers
were a dark tan, even tied they hung on his hipbones. His black hair was chopped short in tight
curls over the top and front of his head, but the back was braided into a hundred tiny braids that
hung past his shoulders; the ends were tied with bits of cloth. Marrauha was facinated by the
color of his skin. It was dark, almost as black as his hair; the white of his eyes shone like stars in
the night. She accepted the tribute and extended her protection to the tuath.

     That night she had the dark fudir brought to her bedchamber. She reclined on the palate
of furs and stared at the young man before her. He refused to look at her, but stood proudly erect.
Earlier, she had enquired about him. The slaver told her of a land to the south filled with the
slick, dark-skinned savages. It seemed the dark-skinned people consumed the flesh of their
light-skinned brothers. Savages, as if she hadn't seen the gleam of mad pleasure in the slaver's
eye as he whipped his charges. Perhaps his hunger could be quenched with more sensible food,
she offered him the fruit of her people. He stared at the fruit as if it were poison, then risked a
quick glance at her. Marrauha plucked a bit of the fruit from the trencher and chewed it. She
offered it to him again, and he took a bit for himself. He sniffed the strange food, tasted some of
the juice as it ran down his hand. He stole another glance at her and popped the berry into his
mouth. He waited for the pain to come and when it did not, devoured the rest. She watched him
feast on the food, amused. He was like a child in a man's body. He was well-formed, if not large
like the men she had known. He had been mistreated, she determined, but there was something
more. "I wish I could speak to you. That you could converse with me. What secrets you could
share." He dropped his eyes to the floor. Their dance continued in the same manner every night
for two full moon cycles, until the time of moving. He labored long hours under the winter sun,
without complaint. The herd would be sent  to the booley in a few days and Marrauha was losing
patience. That night, after she had fed him, he spoke for the first time in accented speech.

     "Why do you do these things for me?"

     "You speak my tongue? Why have you never answered me before?"

     "There is strength in wisdom, a wise man never gives away his advantage."

     Marrauha agreed with the logic of his thoughts and told him so. "But that does not
explain why you have chosen to break your silence now."

     "The customs of my people are different. Women do not speak to men who are not their
husbands. They talk only amongst themselves. They do not eat with men, ever."

     "I speak to whoever I please. I eat with whomever I please."

     "You are a strange woman. You do not behave as a woman should. Therefore, I have
concluded that you are not a woman. Now I am free to speak."

     "Free enough to give me your name?"

     He looked uncertain, "Names hold great power."

     "I am called Marrauha nic Padraic. My name holds the greatest power in this place."

     "You speak the truth. This I have observed. If I give you my name, do I have your word
you will not give it to the demons who would strip me of my power and my being?"

     Her eyebrows raised at the seriousness of his countenance. "I give you my word."

     "I am called Kamau of the Kikuyu. I was bestowed with the name 'quiet warrior' for my
success in the art of war. My skill is much praised among my people."

     "I believe your words, Kamau. I spoke to the man who kept you, before. He told me that
many men died in your capture. That you were a costly prize. He also told me that you never
spoke, not to woman or man. You must have a reason now for giving up your advantage."

     He shrugged, "This place is not like the others. I am treated well here, given good food
and shelter. Your customs are strange, but I would not return to the before. But I sense something
in the air now. Change comes. I do not understand this. I wish to have this knowledge."

     "The people are anxious. The winter season is ending and soon we will hold a feast to
curry favor of   Belenos, then the herd will travel up to the pasture lands. Our animals will have
more room to graze and mate. Crops will be tended and food will be plentiful." Marrauha looked
over at the sad remainder of their winter foodstuff. Last summer had been a good season, but
supplies only kept for so long. The early thaw gave them the wild fruit and nuts they
supplemented their diet with. The Gods were not so accommodating every year. 

     "When your cattle move, what will happen to me? Will I travel with you, or remain
behind?"

     "What matter?"

     "There are those among your people who would see me ended. I have heard their talk and
seen their looks. If I am not to remain long in this life, I would like to prepare myself."

     "No one will harm you. They do nothing with out my word. I will never give the word for
your death."

     "Why?"

     She spent long moments searching the chamber for an answer, but found none. "My
reasons are no concern of yours. Accept my word that your life is as secure as my own and leave
it be. You have proven that hard work is not beyond you. You will go with the herd, I will send
you with one I trust. He will teach you the tending of the animals. If you prove yourself, I will
release you to the blacksmith."

     "What will this accomplish?"

     Marrauha stretched the tension from her muscles, rolling her arms behind her back before
she answered. "The blacksmith is much favored. The learning of his trade is most difficult, but
once accomplished, you will have an opportunity to better yourself."

     "Why would you do this for me?"

     She shrugged, "It is the way of my people. Perhaps you will tell me more of the ways of
your people?"

     "My life is yours, I will give you what knowledge you wish."
     Marrauha growled, "That was not what I..."

     "Marrahua, a rider comes," Erc's voice called from outside the enclosure.

     "I come," she called in reply, then turned to Kamau, "Remain here until my return." She
scooped up her weapon, left casually next to the piled furs, and stalked outside. "Who disturbs us
at this dark hour?"

     She recognized her sire's messenger as he dropped his head to her shoes. "I bring a
summons from your father. He requests that you return to Temair with your warriors after the
close of the festival."

     "I recognize you, Eogan mac Daoibh. You served the Ard R from the time of my youth.
You are welcome here." She turned to one of her saer fudir and bade them to bring food and wine
for the weary rider. "Sit and tell me the tale of this summons."

     He accepted the hospitality of her home, gratefully. "The Tuatha de Darinii has grown
bold in their raiding. It is said that Eoin mac Floinn, the oldest and truest enemy of your father,
went mad with grief at the death of his son, Naill mac Eoin, at the hand of your father during the
last tain. A short time ago, Eoin raided your father's land. He only took one hundred head of
cattle, but slaughtered six hundred of your father's warriors. There was no honor or glory in this
tain, the numbers slaughtered were yet boys. Your father and his best warriors were solving a
border dispute on the western edge of his lands. When they returned, they found the slain bodies
of the boys strewn on the land outside your father's own settlement. Inside his own sleeping
chamber, your father found the mutilated body of his favorite wife dripping gore on his sleeping
palate. His anger was a site never to behold. He bade me and twenty others go out and gather his
ar-fine and all others under him. He means to wipe out the Darinii, his anger is that great. And
so I am sent."

     "And so I go," Marrauha answered. "As soon as I am able."

     "I fear his judgement is clouded. You must advise him well."

     "I shall, old friend. I shall." Marrauha felt the grief of her father's loss. She wished she
was free to go to him, but her responsibilities tied her to the household until after the feast. She
sent word to the men of her fianna. Preparations were made. The hidden fireball lightened the
sky as she returned to her chamber.  Kamau slept on the rushes at the edge of her palate, his head
pillowed on a bunched fox fur. Marrauha dropped to her bed, exhausted. She dreamt restlessly of
three rivers running sluggish with blood.
        
