The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy (87 page)

Rhiann felt the shuddering of Eremon’s arms in her grasp, and she took his face and gently but firmly turned it up to her. ‘And to you, husband, I say this. Those who will guard the Source need a leader, a man to protect them with his righteousness. That was your role, that was what She asked of you all along, to help us all make a fertile place where children can grow, where the lore can be nurtured and passed on.’

‘I can never raise a sword again!’ Eremon suddenly burst out, his eyes tightening with anguish. ‘For I chased war blindly, like a madman, and in the end it took him … and her, the child,
it took her, too
!’

Rhiann brushed the tears from his cheek with her thumb. ‘It is not your skills of war we need,
cariad
. It is your wisdom, your soul sense, your gentleness, your strength, your eyes, your hands, your heart! It is not to challenge your kin that we go to Erin, but to find a place, a quiet place away from battle to nurture that which the darkness will seek to destroy. Is that not worthy of a life?’

Eremon stared up at her, and Rhiann saw the faintest flicker deep within their starlit depths, of an understanding that could grow. Yet the pain was so bitter. ‘
Is it?
’ he said hoarsely. ‘Is it enough?’

‘My love.’ Rhiann drew his face up to her and kissed his cold nose. ‘You travelled in the Otherworld with me,’ she whispered. ‘You know it was real; that we lived there, you and I, though our bodies slept here. So you know this, too: that though those we love sleep in the ground, their soul-flames have already flown to a place of great bliss, and there they live in the light.’ She pressed her lips to his eyelids, one by one. ‘And they do not wish you to walk in darkness,
cariad
, they wish you to raise up your face and honour them with your joy.’

Eremon gazed up at Rhiann, his hope warring with his pain. Yet he had no chance to fumble for a reply, for there was a muffled sound from behind them now, and Rhiann turned. Linnet had been drawn forward by her words, and now she fell to her knees, raising her arms to the sky. In her face, Rhiann recognized the trance of true prophecy, as she had seen it few times before.

‘If your heart will be cleansed, prince of Erin, then hark to me, for the gods give you something that will be enough even for you!’ Linnet’s priestess voice was deep, her whole body trembling with the fire of her vision. Imperceptibly, all the men drew back, as she closed her eyes, the moonlight seeming to pool there in a silver glow around her. ‘For a kingdom of Dalriada is born this day, and it will span the sea from Erin to Alba. It will spring from two lines – that of Eremon mac Ferdiad, and Conaire mac Lugaid –and in the years to come the lines will mingle, and from that mingled strand will come the greatest kings of Alba! Yet there is more.’ Linnet paused, flinging out one hand towards Rhiann, her eyes opening, terrible and fierce in their joy. ‘From your line will come she who brings nations together.’ The other hand reached to Eremon. ‘From your line will come he who rids Alba of the Romans for ever! Hark that Rhiann’s vision was no vision alone, but truth. So shall it be.’ Linnet’s hands dropped in her lap, and she bowed her head, breathless.

Slowly, Rhiann stood from her crouch and walked towards her aunt, resting one hand on the back of Linnet’s hair. Her head shook slightly beneath Rhiann’s fingers, as Rhiann looked around at her friends and family, their faces expressing shock and sadness and bewilderment. ‘My aunt speaks the words of the gods. We will take this boat now and sail to Erin, and all who wish to come with us are welcome.’ Her eyes came to rest on Caitlin, and she read there the torn anguish. ‘Yet remember what was said. Those of us in Erin will be joined with those in Alba, as one kingdom, our blood mixing so that we are one people. This is also how we will serve the Source, for the sea is not very wide, and the crossings will be many.’

Beneath Rhiann’s hand Linnet at last stirred, and Rhiann stooped to help her to her feet, beckoning Fola to hold her aunt’s arm. Yet it was Caitlin who moved next, coming directly to Rhiann with Gabran in her arms, her back straight, though her cheeks were marked with shining tears.

‘Gabran is meant to be king at Dunadd,’ she whispered, raising her chin, the night wind stirring the hair over her shoulders. ‘So that must be my home, too. For once it is safe to emerge, he will need me to guide him to his Hall.’ Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together. ‘It is what I promised Conaire, there in the mountains.’

Rhiann smiled at her, though her heart clenched with one pang of pain. ‘I knew this would be your choice, dear one, and it is fitting.’ She held Caitlin and Gabran close, her mouth next to Caitlin’s ear. ‘And remember,’ she whispered, ‘it is not far for a swift boat across the waves. You will greet us often in your Hall, and we will greet you often in ours, for our kins must become one.’

Caitlin nodded and stepped back, unable to speak, but Linnet came forward herself now, moving with her old grace, and put her arm around her blood daughter. ‘I will stay with Caitlin,’ she murmured, her eyes hidden by the shadow of the boat’s single sail, snapping faintly in the breeze. ‘Daughter of my heart, though it would grieve me to leave either of you, her need is the greater, and my place here.’ Her hand came out to rest against Rhiann’s cheek. ‘And now we can speak in our souls and minds, so the waves sunder only our bodies, not our hearts. I will spend much time at my pool, and this time not be frustrated with what I cannot see.’

Rhiann laid her palm along Linnet’s hand, and the three of them did not move for a long time.

‘I, of course, will stay,’ Lorn broke in at last, his eyes straying with sorrow to Eremon’s bent head. He hesitated for a moment, and then approached Eremon and leaned in on one knee. ‘Good sailing, sword brother,’ he murmured, but at that last word Eremon flinched, and the hand he had been extending to Lorn dropped again to the sand in despair. Bracing himself, Lorn rose and bowed to Rhiann. ‘Rest assured, lady, although I do not understand all of what that prophecy held, Caitlin and the child and your aunt will remain under my protection.’ Then he drew from a belt across his back Conaire’s sword, which he had carried all that way, and laid it across his palms. His pale eyes glinted with a deep grief, yet also a hard, grim strength, and Rhiann realized that the cocky youth was gone for ever.

Rhiann impulsively laid her hand over the unsheathed blade. ‘You saved Eremon’s life, not once, but twice, and for that I am grateful. Your oath has been discharged.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘And do not fear, for I have this to add: you will lead your people for many years, and hold your lands free against the Romans.’ With a bowed head Lorn sheathed the sword, unbuckled it and handed it to Caitlin for Gabran.

Nectan came then, and sank to his knees before Eremon with his bow across his own palms. ‘King Stag,’ the Caereni chieftain intoned, ‘you need someone to guide this boat over the waves to Erin. Let me perform this last service to you, for my people will always keep their oath, until the Goddess calls us home. You earned this, and you hold it still.’

Rhiann’s breath froze, for Nectan sought to return to Eremon the respect he saw as destroyed. And for a long moment Eremon stared at Nectan with wide, pained eyes, his mouth twisting. Yet at last he stretched out his hand – trembling, hesitant – and as he placed it on Nectan’s bowed head, his eyes closed in some surrender. Rhiann let out her breath.

Only two other choices were to be made. Fola declared immediately that she would not leave Rhiann’s side again, and that she was long overdue for an adventure of her own anyway. And when Rhiann turned to Eithne, the glow in her dark eyes as they rested on Rori told her clearly what the maid’s choice would be: to become Rori’s wife in Erin.

As the others said their final farewells, Rhiann approached Eremon, who had now risen on shaky legs. She could not read his eyes clearly, but the faint moonlight showed her the clean lines of his face as she had first seen him, when he stepped from a boat to Alba’s shore. And though his jaw was tense, there was a softness there, too. ‘Rhiann,’ he whispered, his eyes raising slowly to meet hers, ‘I told no one beyond Conaire, but at leaf-bud, a man came from Erin. He had searched for me for moons to tell me my uncle had died.’ As Rhiann gasped, he gripped her fingers. ‘They wanted me to return – as king.’ He stared into her, willing her to understand.

‘Yet you fought for us,’ Rhiann said, wondering. ‘You turned your back on the chance you had waited for …’

Eremon nodded painfully. ‘And I still don’t want it, not now. I don’t ever want to see that Hall again.’

Rhiann’s breath rushed out of her, and she smiled. ‘Nor will you,
cariad
. We will find the quiet place instead, the safe place. It waits for us, too.’ Slowly, she pressed her mouth to Eremon’s cold lips, sensing the uncertain melting of him towards the comfort of her warmth. ‘Come, husband. It is time to show me your green Erin. Show me your home.’

And at last Eremon’s arms came slowly out to hold her close.

The sea lapped softly beneath the dipping bow, silent as the night above, and Rhiann stared back at the receding shore, the touch of Caitlin’s lips still warm on her brow, the scent of Gabran’s hair on her skin. She could no longer see the dark figures on the beach, and she gripped the sides of the boat with effort, cradling the keening grief inside her with the greater light of what she now knew.

As the
curragh
slipped between the dark islands and the white-crested rocks, the splash of the men at the oars was muted suddenly by the voice of Aedan’s harp, its first notes soaring to the stars above. He sang for Rhiann the lament of the beautiful Deirdre of Erin, who had loved Alba well before she was drawn home against her will.

Farewell to fair Alba, high home of the sun

Farewell to mountain, the cliff, and the dun

Where roebucks run free, and dappled does roam

Where my true love did dwell, and the sun made his home

Farewell!

Farewell!

In the darkness, it was not long before the land fell away out of sight, and all they could see was the silvered glitter of the stars on the black water, leading them on to the west.

THE TALE OF RHIANN AND EREMON

F
or years, Rhiann watched him, eyes bright as a hawk guarding its nest.

For she worried that the denial of Eremon’s kingship would be a loss too great to bear after all that had been. And for a long time it was, as, broken and dispirited, they gathered those few supporters still loyal to him and built their own quiet homes far away from royal duns, in a soft, green valley that ran down to the sea.

Yet babes came, and they lived and thrived, and something was healed in them both the moment they held their firstborn son Conor in their arms, and he blinked milky eyes up at Eremon while he lay on his broad chest.

Leaf-buds came and wheeled to leaf-fall and wheeled again, and on the day that Eremon taught their second son Dáire to swim, Rhiann heard the high, tinkling laughter of boys, and saw the three of them – Eremon and their two sons – jumping off the rocks below the village and twirling through the water like seals, brown skin gleaming. And as Eremon’s laughter rang out the loudest, Rhiann knew that what they had found would be enough for him.

As each babe came, Rhiann herself looked into their faces to discern their fates, and never once did the face of a king look back at her, as it had on the long ago birth day of Gabran. She thought Eremon would sorrow at that, too, but he never did, for though their sons’ eyes did not blaze with kingship, they shone with laughter, kindness and strength, and their daughters’ eyes with wisdom, loyalty and grace.

And perhaps it was better that way, for never would those sons ride off to war, and come back on a bier, rent and bloody. Instead they turned their hands to the earth, to growing grain and husbanding the swelling band of cattle. And those sons were beside Eremon all the days of his life, learning his sword skill, though they might never use it; mending harness beside the fire on snowy nights; birthing lambs in coursing rain; breaking the muddy ground with the plough.

And the day that Conor at last grew taller than his father, Rhiann watched them both walking back from the marshes, late in a golden afternoon, geese draped over their spears. They both threw back their heads as they laughed, and the son slung his arm around his father’s shoulder, and they were friends. And if, as the dying sun shimmered, the boy’s hair seemed to light for a moment into pure blond, like ripe barley, who was she to ask why?

All Rhiann knew was that from her body and his had come soul friends as great as those who had been lost, and she knew also that in that moment, Eremon was at last truly content.

Time was a wheel ever turning, however; and ever closer now they came to the end of their path. Yet many good years had passed.

It was Eremon, hale and sound even in his later years, who was the first to grow weary of Thisworld. After a particularly bad fever, and in defiance of every tonic Rhiann could brew, his cough settled in his chest, and his eyes grew bright, his skin tight and burning over his bones. She fought to the last, but even she knew when to admit defeat.

She stayed by Eremon’s bed for three nights, dry-eyed with a deep grief that cleaved her in two. Yet she merely nodded when he asked to be taken to the headland above the village, for he wanted his last sight to be the sea.

Rhiann walked beside the men as they carried him out to where the green turf fell away to the sea-rocks below, and there on the edge they laid him, propped in Rhiann’s arms. At her request they left them then, alone. The evening wind gusted strong and fresh off the water, as sure as they had been in the leaf-bud of their youth. But leaf-bud was no more, or sunseason, and even the leaf-fall years were long over. The wheel turns, death follows life, and the womb of the long dark beckons once more.