Chapter 8: News
Ceara ran through the fires, searching for her grandmother. She found her among many pagan children. Ceara could hear Diedyia teaching them the ancient Druid mysteries that she herself knew by heart.
"Grandmama, come quickly," Ceara breathed. "A rider has arrived. He's in terrible condition. This is beyond my skill to heal."
"Go fetch my chest from the house. It should have everything I need. Is there anyone with him?"
"Ebekah is there now. Did I mention that the rider is Savin?" Ceara saw a mix of emotions cross Diedyia's face. She began to run towards the house when Robert caught up with her.
"What's going on? Do you know that rider?" Robert was thoroughly confused and trying to make sense of everything.
"In answer to your questions, yes we do know him. That is Savin, Ebekah's betrothed. We haven't seen him since the attack on Donegal. Ebekah's been worried sick about him."
Without saying another word, Ceara bolted to her family's round house. Quickly searching she found the chest her grandmother wanted. They both headed back, wondering what kid of news he bore.
When Ceara and Robert returned, they found Ebekah and Savin finishing a very emotional reunion. Handing Diedyia the chest, Ceara stepped back and let her grandmother work. Back in Donegal, Diedyia had been famed for her healing skills. Her survival through many clan wars had only fine tuned her natural ability. Watching Diedyia, Ceara saw many years worth of skill being put to good use.
Slaving and binding Savin's wounds, Diedyia asked if he was well enough to eat. "Wait a minute, why am I even asking that question? You're an Irishman, of course you're well enough to eat!"
Ebekah came forward with a plat of food and a tankard of water. She refused to five him any alcohol because of his current state. She sat by him, making sure that he ate and enough of everything. Ebekah was not going to let her newly found betrothed to be taken away again.
Ceara watched her sister, a small bit of envy and jealously building up inside her. 'Why can't I have something like that? What does it take for someone like me to find a love?' Someone could have argued that Ceara had someone in the form of Sir Robert the Bruce, 17th Earl of Scotland, but she would argue that a commoner like herself has no place to love a noble. She spoke the truth, but many would have been able to overlook that fact if Robert gave up his noble title and lived as a commoner or granted nobility to the O'Nochlans.
Robert looked at Savin, trying to get a feel for what kind of person he must be. He figured that Savin had to be a substantial person if the O'Nochlans were willing to accept him. Savin looked up, aware of the intent eyes on him. Slowly, he drew a breath and addressed the Bruce.
"Ye stand there, almost as if analyzing who I am. Why?"
Robert let out a laugh and explained himself. "I'm just trying to figure out what there is about you that the O'Nochlans' see. But besides that, do you have any news from the outside?"
"Aye, I have news, but I'm not sure how well it will go over. But, since ye asked, I will tell ye. A Rebel by the name of William Wallace has begun a rebellion. Supposedly he married in secret, and the English lord found out about it; th8is he killed Wallace's wife to lure Wallace. Filled with rage, he attacked the garrison and slew the magistrate. All to avenge the death of his wife. He moves with an army, ever steadily south towards here. They should be here by midsummer, if my sources are right." Savin's face clouded, knowing what may happen if things got out of hand.
"Where then, did you acquire all of these lovely wounds?" Ebekah questioned. Her face was a picture of pure concern. Savin, slightly amused by his beloved's concern, laughed.
"My dear, some are old from the attack on Donegal. Many however, are from when I was being tortured in an English prison. A fellow prisoner had told me that you all had been there only three days before me. I must say that it's kind of ironic."
Ebekah's eyes widened, amazed at how Fate was playing their lives. She resolved to let Fate play it's hand, but she was not about to let it ruin her life. "Savin, rest. You've been through enough."
A bob of red hair came walking through the crowd of onlookers. Never being one to take fights and wounds well, Myechiyel had stayed far away. When he had heard that it was Savin, he ventured forward. "Uncle Savin?" ventured the little boy. "Ye be alright?"
Considering that Myechiyel was only three years old, his speech was surprisingly good. He had surpassed the local children in learning English. He had always spoken Gaelic with the family.
"Myech, don't worry. I'll be fine. I just need to rest." Savin's eyes fell on Ceara who stood in the back of the crowd, Robert beside her.
"Ceara, what's wrong? Your face looks like ye just saw death's door."
Ceara stood silent, and no one understood why. She stood there, eyes wide, swaying back and forth. No one knew it, but Ceara was having an active vision. In her mind, and playing before her eyes, she was seeing yet another event of the future. It was an echo of an earlier vision. Two large armies were arranged against each other; one English, one Scottish. This time however, the Sight took things further. She saw the battle carried out in full, blood soaking the ground. Then something new happened; she could feel the pain that the warriors were suffering. Ceara fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Over and over she gave a heart wrenching scream, similar to a banshee's. Everything was silent; nothing even stirred the slightest bit. Ceara could normally bear pain, but not the pain of thousands.
"Don't touch her," Diedyia warned when someone tried to help Ceara. "Touching her, especially when she's like this, and the Sight is upon her, she could die." 'Why is she feeling the pain? This has never happened before, even to people who have had the Sight longer than she.' While Diedyia was lost in her thoughts, the Sight slowly released Ceara from its grasp.
Lying on the cool, moss covered ground, Ceara slowly regained control of herself. Normally she should have been able to free herself from the Sight's grasp, but this time she had no control over her mind or body. Silently, Ceara whispered a prayer, 'Goddess, I pray that I will never have to experience something like that ever again. I freely do Your will, but that was too much. I am but a simple mortal vessel.' She could almost hear the Fates laughing at her humanity. With shaking limbs, Ceara tried to stand. Robert the Bruce came over and placed a supportive arm around her.
"You know," he said, talking as though nothing had happened, "Once tomorrow comes, I'll have to go back to being a noble." There seemed to be a hit of remorse in his voice.
"What a loss. And here I was thinking that maybe you would never return to that life again. Ah, cruel Fate." Ceara was grateful that he was not asking about what had happened.
"If I don't go back, then who would be there to keep the nobles from tearing Scotland and each other apart?" They had come to a rocky section that Robert knew Ceara would not be able to navigate. So, almost effortlessly, he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way home.
Sighing, Ceara pointed out, "It's too bad that Beltane had to be interrupted. Things were just getting started."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I think that I've learned something. From now on, Pagan holidays will no longer have to be held in secret. It's not fair." Robert put her down, holding her shoulder until she regained her balance.
Ceara was saddened to leave the safety and comfort of the Bruce's arms, but she knew full well that something like this could never last. Besides, it was not what she wanted; he had nobility, she did not want any of it. She paced the floor of the roundhouse afraid to go to sleep. A footstep sounded behind her and she whirled around, prepared to fight. Peering through the shadows, she recognized the rest of her family.
"Ceara, could you help us get Savin settled? I realize that you're weak, but I think you can manage." Diedyia's tone was curt, almost reprimanding.
Myechiyel was told to get the spare pallet out of storage. Ceara and Ebekah helped Savin lie down without undoing his mending wounds.
In a low voice he asked, "Who was that man who was carrying ye, Ceara?" The question was innocent and gentle, so Ceara had no problem answering.
Upon hearing the explanation, Savin let out a low whistle. "So tonight that man was playing the part of a commoner, just to better understand the common way of life and Pagan tradition?" A mischievous glint caught in his eye. "Are ye sure?"
Despite the small complication that Savin was not exactly related to the O'Nochlans, Ceara had known him almost her entire life. Remembering all of their childhood moments, she gave him a sisterly shove. "How can you even suggest such a thing!" she playfully demanded.
"Oh just the fact that ye hardly left his side," Savin shot back. Though he was twenty two years old, he had a habit of acting like a five year old.
Diedyia watched from a distance, shaking her head. "All right, time to go to bed."
Right on cue they all whined, "Aww, de we have to?"
"Yes, now before I have to start treating you like the age you are acting!"
Hearing that outburst, it registered in their heads that they should cut it out before all hell broke loose. Ceara lay down, but refused to sleep. Common sense told her that the Sight would never do what it did tonight again, but the unrealistic part of her mind said there was a possibility. She stared out the window, not knowing that in a few days time her vision was going to come true...
Ceara ran through the fires, searching for her grandmother. She found her among many pagan children. Ceara could hear Diedyia teaching them the ancient Druid mysteries that she herself knew by heart.
"Grandmama, come quickly," Ceara breathed. "A rider has arrived. He's in terrible condition. This is beyond my skill to heal."
"Go fetch my chest from the house. It should have everything I need. Is there anyone with him?"
"Ebekah is there now. Did I mention that the rider is Savin?" Ceara saw a mix of emotions cross Diedyia's face. She began to run towards the house when Robert caught up with her.
"What's going on? Do you know that rider?" Robert was thoroughly confused and trying to make sense of everything.
"In answer to your questions, yes we do know him. That is Savin, Ebekah's betrothed. We haven't seen him since the attack on Donegal. Ebekah's been worried sick about him."
Without saying another word, Ceara bolted to her family's round house. Quickly searching she found the chest her grandmother wanted. They both headed back, wondering what kid of news he bore.
When Ceara and Robert returned, they found Ebekah and Savin finishing a very emotional reunion. Handing Diedyia the chest, Ceara stepped back and let her grandmother work. Back in Donegal, Diedyia had been famed for her healing skills. Her survival through many clan wars had only fine tuned her natural ability. Watching Diedyia, Ceara saw many years worth of skill being put to good use.
Slaving and binding Savin's wounds, Diedyia asked if he was well enough to eat. "Wait a minute, why am I even asking that question? You're an Irishman, of course you're well enough to eat!"
Ebekah came forward with a plat of food and a tankard of water. She refused to five him any alcohol because of his current state. She sat by him, making sure that he ate and enough of everything. Ebekah was not going to let her newly found betrothed to be taken away again.
Ceara watched her sister, a small bit of envy and jealously building up inside her. 'Why can't I have something like that? What does it take for someone like me to find a love?' Someone could have argued that Ceara had someone in the form of Sir Robert the Bruce, 17th Earl of Scotland, but she would argue that a commoner like herself has no place to love a noble. She spoke the truth, but many would have been able to overlook that fact if Robert gave up his noble title and lived as a commoner or granted nobility to the O'Nochlans.
Robert looked at Savin, trying to get a feel for what kind of person he must be. He figured that Savin had to be a substantial person if the O'Nochlans were willing to accept him. Savin looked up, aware of the intent eyes on him. Slowly, he drew a breath and addressed the Bruce.
"Ye stand there, almost as if analyzing who I am. Why?"
Robert let out a laugh and explained himself. "I'm just trying to figure out what there is about you that the O'Nochlans' see. But besides that, do you have any news from the outside?"
"Aye, I have news, but I'm not sure how well it will go over. But, since ye asked, I will tell ye. A Rebel by the name of William Wallace has begun a rebellion. Supposedly he married in secret, and the English lord found out about it; th8is he killed Wallace's wife to lure Wallace. Filled with rage, he attacked the garrison and slew the magistrate. All to avenge the death of his wife. He moves with an army, ever steadily south towards here. They should be here by midsummer, if my sources are right." Savin's face clouded, knowing what may happen if things got out of hand.
"Where then, did you acquire all of these lovely wounds?" Ebekah questioned. Her face was a picture of pure concern. Savin, slightly amused by his beloved's concern, laughed.
"My dear, some are old from the attack on Donegal. Many however, are from when I was being tortured in an English prison. A fellow prisoner had told me that you all had been there only three days before me. I must say that it's kind of ironic."
Ebekah's eyes widened, amazed at how Fate was playing their lives. She resolved to let Fate play it's hand, but she was not about to let it ruin her life. "Savin, rest. You've been through enough."
A bob of red hair came walking through the crowd of onlookers. Never being one to take fights and wounds well, Myechiyel had stayed far away. When he had heard that it was Savin, he ventured forward. "Uncle Savin?" ventured the little boy. "Ye be alright?"
Considering that Myechiyel was only three years old, his speech was surprisingly good. He had surpassed the local children in learning English. He had always spoken Gaelic with the family.
"Myech, don't worry. I'll be fine. I just need to rest." Savin's eyes fell on Ceara who stood in the back of the crowd, Robert beside her.
"Ceara, what's wrong? Your face looks like ye just saw death's door."
Ceara stood silent, and no one understood why. She stood there, eyes wide, swaying back and forth. No one knew it, but Ceara was having an active vision. In her mind, and playing before her eyes, she was seeing yet another event of the future. It was an echo of an earlier vision. Two large armies were arranged against each other; one English, one Scottish. This time however, the Sight took things further. She saw the battle carried out in full, blood soaking the ground. Then something new happened; she could feel the pain that the warriors were suffering. Ceara fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Over and over she gave a heart wrenching scream, similar to a banshee's. Everything was silent; nothing even stirred the slightest bit. Ceara could normally bear pain, but not the pain of thousands.
"Don't touch her," Diedyia warned when someone tried to help Ceara. "Touching her, especially when she's like this, and the Sight is upon her, she could die." 'Why is she feeling the pain? This has never happened before, even to people who have had the Sight longer than she.' While Diedyia was lost in her thoughts, the Sight slowly released Ceara from its grasp.
Lying on the cool, moss covered ground, Ceara slowly regained control of herself. Normally she should have been able to free herself from the Sight's grasp, but this time she had no control over her mind or body. Silently, Ceara whispered a prayer, 'Goddess, I pray that I will never have to experience something like that ever again. I freely do Your will, but that was too much. I am but a simple mortal vessel.' She could almost hear the Fates laughing at her humanity. With shaking limbs, Ceara tried to stand. Robert the Bruce came over and placed a supportive arm around her.
"You know," he said, talking as though nothing had happened, "Once tomorrow comes, I'll have to go back to being a noble." There seemed to be a hit of remorse in his voice.
"What a loss. And here I was thinking that maybe you would never return to that life again. Ah, cruel Fate." Ceara was grateful that he was not asking about what had happened.
"If I don't go back, then who would be there to keep the nobles from tearing Scotland and each other apart?" They had come to a rocky section that Robert knew Ceara would not be able to navigate. So, almost effortlessly, he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way home.
Sighing, Ceara pointed out, "It's too bad that Beltane had to be interrupted. Things were just getting started."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I think that I've learned something. From now on, Pagan holidays will no longer have to be held in secret. It's not fair." Robert put her down, holding her shoulder until she regained her balance.
Ceara was saddened to leave the safety and comfort of the Bruce's arms, but she knew full well that something like this could never last. Besides, it was not what she wanted; he had nobility, she did not want any of it. She paced the floor of the roundhouse afraid to go to sleep. A footstep sounded behind her and she whirled around, prepared to fight. Peering through the shadows, she recognized the rest of her family.
"Ceara, could you help us get Savin settled? I realize that you're weak, but I think you can manage." Diedyia's tone was curt, almost reprimanding.
Myechiyel was told to get the spare pallet out of storage. Ceara and Ebekah helped Savin lie down without undoing his mending wounds.
In a low voice he asked, "Who was that man who was carrying ye, Ceara?" The question was innocent and gentle, so Ceara had no problem answering.
Upon hearing the explanation, Savin let out a low whistle. "So tonight that man was playing the part of a commoner, just to better understand the common way of life and Pagan tradition?" A mischievous glint caught in his eye. "Are ye sure?"
Despite the small complication that Savin was not exactly related to the O'Nochlans, Ceara had known him almost her entire life. Remembering all of their childhood moments, she gave him a sisterly shove. "How can you even suggest such a thing!" she playfully demanded.
"Oh just the fact that ye hardly left his side," Savin shot back. Though he was twenty two years old, he had a habit of acting like a five year old.
Diedyia watched from a distance, shaking her head. "All right, time to go to bed."
Right on cue they all whined, "Aww, de we have to?"
"Yes, now before I have to start treating you like the age you are acting!"
Hearing that outburst, it registered in their heads that they should cut it out before all hell broke loose. Ceara lay down, but refused to sleep. Common sense told her that the Sight would never do what it did tonight again, but the unrealistic part of her mind said there was a possibility. She stared out the window, not knowing that in a few days time her vision was going to come true...