EIGHTY-SIX
When first I had ventured to the hollow hill, it had seemed such a very long journey. Of course, I had been half out of my mind with grief, Cillian’s death fresh on my mind, travelling on foot.
This journey passed swiftly.
Our long-legged mounts ate up the leagues with swift strides, rendering the green isle of Alba smaller than I remembered it. And indeed, after the vast tracts of land I had traversed, it was a small realm.
Even so, the wild spaces were a joy to me. Following the ancient markers, we travelled over hill and dale, through forest and meadow, keeping to taisgaidh paths and summoning the twilight to avoid the notice of fellow travellers. I hunted and foraged, sharing my earliest learning with Bao, showing him what greens, roots, mushrooms, and berries were edible, and which were to be left alone.
With every league that passed, my diadh-anam burned brighter inside me, beckoning me homeward, ever homeward.
I did not count the days, but as we drew nearer to the hollow hill, all my senses were keen and alert.
The forests through which we passed were not so deep and dense as the jungles of Terra Nova, but they were wild and untamed nonetheless. Leading our pack-horses with care, Bao and I picked our way along a burbling stream that flowed cold and clear over smooth, speckled rocks. Beech trees clustered thick, the slanting sunlight filtering gold through their green leaves. Maiden’s-hair ferns grew along the banks, and there were deadfalls angling across the stream, thick green moss growing on their bark.
It was in the hush of mid-day that I sensed the presence of others. This deep in the wilderness, it was unlikely to be ordinary travellers. There was a hint of wood-smoke in the air, and when I strained my ears, I could make out the faint sound of piping notes carried on the breeze.
My throat tightened inexplicably. “Bao?” I whispered.
He drew rein, wiping his brow with one forearm. “Aye?”
I swallowed. “I think they’re here.”
Bao unslung his waterskin and took a long drink, then recorked it. “Well, then. Let’s go meet them, shall we?”
Here was a clearing in a copse of hazel trees, where there was a campfire burning and several figures arrayed around it. One was my uncle Mabon, lounging idly and playing a tune on a silver pipe. One was Oengus, squatting on his haunches and poking at the fire with a long stick.
The last…
I loosed a joyous shout.
The last was my mother, my mother, her dark eyes shining, her face familiar and beloved as she rose to her feet.
I fairly flung myself out of the saddle, taking several swift steps across the clearing, and then she was there, slender and stalwart, her arms encircling me in a hard embrace. “Ah, Moirin mine!” Her voice was husky in my ear, her hands rising to cup my face. “Let me have a look at you.”
Blinking back tears, I drew back so my mother could look at me.
“It’s as I thought.” There were tears in her eyes, too, but she was smiling. “You’ve grown into a rare beauty, my heart.”
“The child was ever a rare beauty, Fainche,” Oengus said mildly, rising. “No one ever denied it.”
My mother laughed. “Oh, hush, you!”
Oengus grinned and embraced me. “Welcome home, child.”
I turned to find Mabon assisting Bao with tethering the mount and pack-horse I had precipitously abandoned. My uncle jerked his chin toward us with a laugh. “Go and meet your wife’s mother, lad!”
For all his insolence, Bao was Ch’in, and respect for family was ingrained in him. He greeted my mother with a deep bow when I introduced them. “It is an honor, Lady Fainche,” he said in careful Alban.
My mother looked him up and down, her face unreadable, long enough that Bao flushed slightly under her regard. “So you would face the stone doorway and seek out the Maghuin Dhonn Herself for my daughter’s sake?”
Bao raised his brows. “Do you speak against it?”
“No.” She laid one hand on his chest. “There’s pride in you, aye, and stubbornness, too. That much I can see. I pray it will be enough.”
My skin prickled. “Do you doubt it?”
My mother turned toward me, her expression grave. “Ah, Moirin mine! You’ve done a thing no one has ever done before, sharing your diadh-anam with the lad and calling him into life out of death. We hope, aye.” She shook her head. “But no one can say what the Great Bear Herself will make of it, not even Old Nemed, who remembers more than most of us have forgotten.”
I glanced around. “Is she here?”
“No.” There was a troubled furrow between my mother’s brows. “Nemed will meet us at the hollow hill on the morrow.”
“But tomorrow is tomorrow,” my uncle Mabon said easily, coming over to offer me a warm embrace. “Today and tonight are for celebrating.” He nodded toward the campfire. “There’s a brace of coneys skinned and ready for roasting, carrots and tubers gathered and waiting for the embers, and a stolen cask of uisghe begging to be breached. So let’s make merry, shall we?”
Oengus gave a decisive nod. “Indeed.”
It was a strange and wonderful thing, that reunion there in the Alban forest. We ate food cooked beneath the skies, scalding our fingers on roasted rabbit-meat. We drank Mabon’s stolen uisghe, the strong, fiery liquid burning a golden trail down our throats and warming our bellies.
We told stories, or fragments of stories, voices tumbling over one another, trying to cram seven years’ of absence into a single day.
Bao watched with a dazed look, overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all. “It is very hard to follow, Moirin. Tell me again how Oengus is related to you?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “But he is family.”
With the sunlight angling low through the hazelwood copse, my uncle Mabon issued a drunken challenge to Bao, wrestling a convenient branch loose and taking a defensive stance. With a fierce answering smile, Bao unslung his bamboo staff and went on offense. Back and forth across the clearing they sparred, their feet churning the loam, until a weary truce was declared.
“You did not tell me your uncle was a stick-fighter, Moirin,” Bao said cheerfully, dropping to sit cross-legged beside me, sweat glistening on his skin. “He’s quite good, you know.”
I eyed Mabon. “I did not know. But he has a way with wood.”
Mabon returned my gaze with a serene smile, hoisting the cask of uisghe to his lips. “Did the bow I made you serve you well, niece?”
“Aye,” I said. “It did.”
His smile deepened. “I thought it would.”
It occurred to me that there was truly a great deal I had yet to learn about the folk of the Maghuin Dhonn.
Sunset gave way to twilight, dusk falling over the copse. Fireflies emerged in the undergrowth, golden lights flickering on and off in an elaborate dance of courtship. Oengus slumped sideways and began to snore. Mabon passed the cask to Bao and followed suit, arranging himself comfortably.
Bao nodded where he sat, his head hanging low, his hands cradling the cask of uisghe in a protective manner.
I glanced at my mother.
She smiled at me. “I like him.”
“Do you?” I asked.
Lifting one hand, she stroked my hair. “I do, Moirin mine. He has a good, strong spirit, and I think he loves you very much, for all that he does not wear it on his sleeve.” She paused, leaning forward to stir the embers of the campfire. “Cillian wanted you to be someone you were not. This one doesn’t, does he?”
“No,” I said. “He doesn’t.”
My mother nodded, adding another branch to the fire and banking the ashes around it. In the low glow, she looked no older than I remembered, her face yet unlined, her black hair untouched by silver. “It makes all the difference in the world.”
“What about tomorrow?” I asked.
She sighed. “Tomorrow is tomorrow, my heart. I do but pray you both return from the ordeal.”
“Both?”
“Ah, Moirin mine!” Her gaze was deep and dark and sorrowful. “You and your husband share a diadh-anam, child. Did you not think you would have to pass through the stone doorway together?”
“No,” I said honestly. “I hadn’t thought on it.”
“Tomorrow is tomorrow,” my mother repeated. “But tonight is tonight.” She stroked my hair again, pressed a kiss against my brow. “And come what may on the morrow, tonight is precious to me. Sleep, and be my little girl one last time.”
Laying my head in her lap, I slept.