Dirty Little Secrets

There was a Fae beauty in her singing and her voice with its sweet notes carried far into the hills and echoed ’round them. The air became filled with a breathless trembling, for twilight was full upon them, and the Windlass Mountains were a twilight place, where secrets lie deep and riddles are born.

As the wind swiftly whispered through the trees, some of the stars began to fall like a soft rain amid the hills. The two riders stopped and watched the rain of stars, their hearts filled with wonder, for neither of them had seen such a thing happen in many ages, though both had lived a very long time.

A glistening silvery blue light appeared in front of them on the hill. Within the light was a form which shifted and shimmered, at last coalescing into solidity. Before them knelt a being, slender as sap wood, yet full as the boughs of an alder tree. His face was heart shaped, his eyes the deep brown of the forest’s marrow, his ears curved back and pointed. His hair was the hue of the oaks, golden as boughs, dark as bark, the sweet green of leaves… all mingled and falling in tangled curls about his shoulders.

“The songs we have sung are countless,” he said in a gentle voice, “but for all we have sung and heard sung, surely there was never a fairer voice than what these old ears just heard. Well met, Fae lady, for mortal you could never be.” His words carried clearly the dozen or so feet that separated them, his voice filled with otherworldly nuances that had the unreal quality of a dream unwinding before them. Graí nickered softly and sniffed the air, it smelled of cedars and of oaks and of gathered dreams in the night’s birth. Áine could feel the blush warming her cheeks.

Lodan seemed to read her thoughts. “Well said, and contrary to my lady’s humility, to that I must agree.” Áine looked over at Lodan and smiled. She remembered a night by a riverbank, how the quiet was broken by the sound of his piping. She remembered too, that Lodan’s music had lightened her heart and kept her venturing deeper into these mountains. She turned to look at the stranger, still kneeling there on the ground in front of them.

She smiled again, and then noticed that she and Lodan seemed to be surrounded by similar kneeling folks though a bit further away, whose appearance had silently become manifest. “Arise, Daoine dé Reanna [people of the stars], for there is no need for deference among us, here on the Isle of Dreams,” she spoke softly in a musical voice to them.

With one motion both she and Lodan dismounted from the Eacha, and were greeted with warm handshakes which turned into hugs, for these were the Grey Elves of Twilight, who another storyteller had called the Sindar; They were born of the stars, and They would eventually return to the stars in their never-ending wheel of existence.

They camped that night on the hilltop around a blazing fire, sharing tales and singing songs and reciting poetry until it was nearly dawn. Then they rolled themselves up in their blankets and slept a deep peaceful sleep.

Áine chuckled. “Oh, that was a good one! I suppose it’s my turn now, eh?” Lodan nodded. “But what if I can’t come up with a story as good as that one?” He just smiled and gave her That Look. She knew what That Look meant. She thought for a few minutes while they were riding, then started speaking…

“Once upon a time, there was a young man named Triscatal. He was a mighty warrior, a broad-fronted, shaggy-haired man and his face was so fierce that it was said that in battle, he killed by his very glance. His two brothers, who were much more handsome fellows, teased him all his life about how ugly he was, that he would never find a wife, much less have children… they teased him so much, that he grew into a surly man who seemed always angry at everyone and everything. He especially wanted nothing whatsoever to do with women, and he made sure they knew that.

“It soon got so no one in his village could stand having him around, but everyone was afraid to tell him, and so they did their best to avoid having any sort of confrontations with him, for he was a very strong and muscular fellow. Eventually, though, his father mentioned that he’d likely be much better off if he stayed away from everyone, and so he took one-fourth of his father’s herd and moved to an island in the middle of a fierce river. Triscatal built himself a house of stone and wood, and made his living by cutting down trees and floating the huge logs downstream into town, where he could sell them for a good profit. He spoke to no one but the sawyer when he was in town, picked up whatever supplies he needed, and always went back to his island immediately after his business in town was finished. He didn’t even visit his mother and father, much less his brothers.

“He was alone in the world, and he liked it that way. He was free to be as wretched and miserable as his heart felt, and no one could complain about it if he was… and he often was. There was nothing he liked better than to stomp around and take out his anger towards the world with his ax on the trees. He was a very good tree cutter.

“One day, while he was in town conducting his business, however, a fair-haired young lass named Sinead, who had just the week before moved into the village, spotted him in the farmer’s market. Sinead noticed how everyone in town seemed to try to avoid Triscatal. She couldn’t understand how people could be so rude and unfriendly towards him just because he wasn’t handsome, though she didn’t think he looked that awful. And so she decided that she would follow him and try to get to know him, because everyone, after all, needs at least one friend in the world, even someone as disagreeable as Triscatal.

“She followed him back to where he crossed the river to get to his island, but she couldn’t cross the river as he did, it was too fast and the current was too strong… and she was a petite young thing, certainly not strong enough to fight the current in a boat by herself. Sinead called out to Triscatal. He turned around and saw the girl, waved her off, and with a grumbling voice like thunder he yelled, “Go home, I don’t need your kind here!” But she stood there on the bank of the river with her hands on her hips defiantly.

“Triscatal turned his back on her and made his way back to his house on the island. The next week, the same thing happened. “Go home!” he yelled, “You don’t belong out here!” Three or four times more she tried, but she got nowhere with Triscatal. And then she didn’t follow him anymore.

“The next week, however, when Triscatal was getting ready to bring the logs downstream to town, he found a crude little sailboat made of wood on the shore by his boat. It was just some sticks tied together into a raft shape, but in the center was a tiny mast with a sail made of paper. He picked it up and examined it closely. The sail was a note from the girl, Sinead. He didn’t think much of it, and tossed it aside.

“But the next week… there was another sailboat… and the next week, another. Each sail was a note from Sinead. In the notes, she talked about herself, her dreams, what her life was like… what she was doing each week… sometimes she wrote poetry… sometimes a story would be written on the sail. It got to the point where Sinead’s notes were something Triscatal looked forward to each week. He never saw her on the shore, but each week, there would be another boat with another note… and little by little, his heart softened towards Sinead. The sailboat notes went on for years, one each week. Triscatal could hardly wait until the next week to see what she would write.

“And then one day, the notes stopped coming. He thought that she must have forgotten, or something came up. But the next week, again, there was no sailboat with the note for a sail. Triscatal didn’t know what to think about that, but he was determined to find out what happened to the girl, so he ventured upstream along the shore to where he thought the notes might be coming from.

“Halfway there he found her, lying face down in the ice cold water. Sinead had drowned trying to use her father’s boat to come and see him. He turned the body of Sinead over and looked upon her beautiful face, and at once he felt a deep stabbing pain in his heart, for he realized that he loved her very deeply, but now she was dead.

“Triscatal unsheathed his sword, turned the blade towards himself and impaled himself on it and died, lying right next to Sinead. Triscatal’s father found him a few days later. And in Triscatal’s house, the friends of his mother and father found every sailboat Sinead had ever made… and they read every note… and they wept.

“They buried the bodies on the island together.”

Áine grew very quiet, and as the sun was setting, and the stars were just beginning to twinkle in the sky, she said, “This was the last note that Sinead had written.” And Áine began to sing a song.

The next few days were spent preparing for the journey to Akkadia. They prepared packs for the Eacha with their clothing, foodstuffs, blankets and other essentials. At last they were ready to depart on the morning of the third day. As they were leaving, they placed spells of enchantment and protection over their home and the surrounding lands and waters, so that it and the birds would remain safe until their return.

For several hours they rode through the mountains in silence. The Eacha were considerate of their riders and gave hardly a jostle as they traveled. They stopped by a stream at midday and spread a blanket on the grass under a willow tree, where they ate lunch. When they’d finished eating and had packed everything and were mounting up, Lodan said, “I have an idea. let’s tell stories to each other as we travel, it will make the journey go a little faster.”

Áine smiled, “Alright, you start, since it was your idea.”

“Ahhh… ye got me there, lass,” he laughed, “alright, I’ll start…

“Once upon a time, as all good stories start, there was a beautiful maiden named Sinánn who was crouched behind a hedge, secretly watching some wizards doing incantations in a grove of hazel trees near a water well made of crystal. As the wizards put the final touches on the ogham runes incised into the crystal well, the chief among them touched the base of the well with his long alder wand. Immediately water rose and fell in a graceful arc, fracturing into a million tiny diamonds in the first slanting rays of the dawn. He then touched each of the seven hazel trees that surrounded the fountain, linking them to it in a protective circle. The leaves on the trees began to shake violently, the berries pulsed and throbbed and almost before their eyes, the hazelnuts swelled and hardened.

“The chief wizard raised his arms and said, ‘See here, the Fruit of Knowledge.’ The other wizards murmured amongst themselves as the old man went from tree to tree inspecting the fruit. ‘They are all perfect; our task is complete.’ He leaned upon his long staff of alder and his hard grey eyes softened as they stared into the morning sun. ‘It is the beginning of the end,’ he said. With the sun at his back, he walked away from the small grove surrounding the crystal well.

“‘How long will it last?,’ asked one of the younger wizards. ‘Until humankind learns to breach its defenses,’ replied one of the older wizards. He gestured towards the grove. ‘We have gathered together the entire knowledge of the Sídhe in those seven trees and in the fruit they bear, we must not allow it to fall into the wrong hands…’ Their voices faded as they passed beyond the maiden and disappeared amongst the trees.

“Sinánn waited until she was sure they had gone before coming out from behind the hedge. The sun sparkled off her dark hair and she raised her hand and shielded her eyes from the sun. Slowly she walked towards the grove. Even from a distance it radiated magic and power. The trees were more delicate than normal hazels, their branches longer and the colors of their leaves more vibrant… only the fruit seemed the same. But the fruit of the trees contained the Seven Branches of Learning… the entire knowledge of the Sídhe.

“And it was hers for the taking.

“Sinánn grinned and thought to herself that if she only had all that Knowledge to herself, she could destroy the rest of the Sídhe folk and rule the younger race of Man. And she would be immortal. She stood beside the well, touching the crystal blocks. The well was surprisingly warm to her touch and soft, rather like skin, yet the water itself was cold, ice-cold. She knew that the wizards did not intend to leave the grove here; she knew that they intended to shift it beyond the world of Man to a place apart, where it would be accessible only to someone with great knowledge and magical power.

“She put her hand in the water, and felt delight at the tingling sensation that engulfed her hand and forearm. She could feel the power of the place crawl over her body. With a shiver she reached out her hand to pluck one of the hazelnuts… and the well seemed to erupt in all directions. An icy hand gripped the maiden and dashed her against the ground again and again. She retched as foul water forced its way into her lungs, choking her, drowning her.

“The maiden panicked, her arms thrashed wildly and her legs scrambled to keep her upright, but the grove was gone; the well was gone; there was nothing there but a world of ice-cold water, which burned her throat and eyes like fire. She was lifted higher and higher in the column of water. She tried to scream, but there was no sound. The water continued to rise, and rise… until suddenly, it fell. The huge wave carried the shattered lifeless body of Sinánn south and west, cutting a deep and wide swath through the lush countryside, until it reached the Western Ocean.” Lodan paused for effect.

“And then?” Áine asked.

“Oh,… it was a magnificent river… the Shannon,” Lodan grinned at her.

Later that evening Áine and Lodan were relaxing in the library, a warm fire burning in the small fireplace in the corner. Áine sat at the desk writing a list of items to bring with them on the trip to Akkadia. Lodan was comfortably seated in the overstuffed chair, smoking a clay pipe filled with aromatic tobacco.

“I think maybe we should take rooms at the Hart & Ale while we’re there, Lodan. I haven’t met the new DreamMistress or ShadowMistress yet, and I’d hate to impose on their hospitality before we’ve even had a chance to get to know each other.”

“Aye, I don’t know many folks there either,” he said, “I’ve kept away from the city for so long, I doubt anyone there would remember me… no telling how long has passed really… just the same, I’d rather not have a grand entrance or anything like that.” He puffed on his pipe and blew circles in the air that seemed to dance ’round the room.

“Well, we could probably skirt around that, if we put our minds to it,” Áine smiled, “there’s plenty of out-of-fashion clothes in this place, and with a little glamoury we could alter our appearances enough that we wouldn’t be easily recognized. Besides, it might be fun to see Akkadia like that.” She leaned back in her chair, thinking about it. As she did that, the chair slid a little ways backward and it’s leg became stuck in a crevice in the floor and nearly toppled her out of the chair.

“Whoa! What’s this?” she quickly recovered her balance and stood up and turned around. Looking down she noticed a patch in the floor where the boards appeared to be loose, the chair leg was stuck in there. Lodan came over, moved the chair aside, and had a look. He felt along the edges of the floor boards and lightly tugged at one, which caused a small section of the floor to lift up, revealing a hidden compartment below the floor.

“There appears to be something in there,” he said, as he reached down into the hole. He pulled out an ebony box with ornate filigree leaf designs of silver and gold inlaid in the wood. He placed the box on the desk and the two of them examined it carefully. On first appearance it seemed solid with no means of opening it. Áine traced the design with her fingertip, then suddenly pressed down on one of the leaves in the top, and the box sprung open. “How did you…?” Lodan looked at her, and she had this mischievous grin on her face. “I had a box something like this one when I was young,” she said, “it was a puzzle box, and this one seemed similar to that one, so it wasn’t difficult to find the secret to open it. Of course, if you’d never had a puzzle like this before, it might have taken a while to figure out the secret to it.”

Inside the box was a sheaf of parchments, quite yellowed with age. The writings were difficult to make out and were in an archaic language that Áine could only catch a few words of here and there. As she was examining the parchments, Lodan replaced the floor boards, and it was as if there had never been an opening in the floor at all.

“Hmmm… something about the crafting of a jewel…,” she said aloud.

“Well, read it!” Lodan said anxiously, “I want to know what it says, too!”

“I can’t make out all the words,… it’s been a very long time since I’ve seen this tongue in writing… but I’ll try,” she brought the parchments closer to the oil lamp and began to read…

“Long ago, when I was a… ummm… lad?… living in the… something Mountains… something or other… western region of… hmmm, I can’t make that part out… anyway … I heard a tale told… in the deep darkness of something, I think that’s the name of a moon phase… hard to tell… ’round the hearth fire on a cold winter’s night… something about the adults thinking I was asleep and they spoke in whispers?… no… hushed tones… about a jewelsmith who… lived deep within the mountains… whose name was… Gr… Grian… Grianánda? {sunny countenance]… the greatest of his something something craft… in all the Isles. Grianánda… the jewelsmith… loved all green things that grew… something something… hard to read this, it’s faded badly… his greatest joy was to see the sunlight through the… ummm… trees?… no… leaves of trees. It?… an idea!… came into his heart… to create a… jewel… something about capturing the light of the sun within it… so that it should… be lit within and… hmmm… sparkle with the light as green as the sun through the leaves… Grianánda labored for… something… years?… to make this jewel and… at last he succeeded… and all of the… other craftsmen?… for leagues around… something… admired and marvelled… over the jewel… It was said… that those who… looked through the stone?… no… gem… saw things that were…. withered?… or burned… healed again… or as they were in their youth… and that… the hands of anyone who… held it… could then heal… something… something… that they touched… healing from hurt… and then it goes on from there… as I grew in… years?… the tale was… as if stuck… in my head… and I had to know… something… something… tale was true… and so I snuck away one night and went in search of… any word of it or the jewelsmith … within the mountains… journeyed for several years… something… something… got lost… and then found myself in a valley of… deepest green… there’s more here but I can’t make it out until almost the end where it says… I came back to my village to find it burnt… everyone dead… the gem could not bring back the dead… something… something… and I was too late to help them… something… and I put the jewel in the box.”

“There’s nothing else written here. No name on the parchments… nothing,” Áine said. Under the parchments, inset in the bottom of the ebony box lay a small bag made of green silk.

“Let’s see what’s in the bag,” Lodan said, reaching for it.

“Do you think we should touch it?” asked Áine.

“Hmm… you’re right. What if we just pour it out onto the paper to look at it and not touch it? That way we can use the paper to put it back in the bag afterwards?” Lodan grinned at her.

Áine chuckled, then said, “You’re right, I can’t see any harm in that.” So Lodan opened the green silk bag and carefully poured the contents onto the parchment. The green jewel slid out of the bag, across the paper, along the desk and right into Áine’s hand, as if self-propelled. She almost dropped it with surprise, but managed to hang onto it. The stone was set in a silver and gold filigree leaf design, as if caged in leaves, and hung on a silver and gold necklace chain of intertwining leaves.

“Heh, too late, I’ve touched it now,” she said just as a bright green light shot out of the jewel and lit up the entire room for a moment. So blinding was the light that neither of them could see much of anything but green for a short while afterwards. Slowly the light faded and retreated back into the jewel so that it glowed faintly in the firelight.

“I’ve done it now, haven’t I?” Lodan whispered, a worried look on his face.

“Áine, are you alright?” Lodan whispered, for he could see tears welling up in her eyes, and he thought she must be hurt.

“Aye… I am alright, Lodan…” she sighed deeply, then turned and looked into the flames of the fireplace, her eyes flashing a deep blue-green color. “I am well acquainted with grief, not the least of which is my own,… yet at this moment, I weep not for myself, but for the World of Men… and for every wound that they have suffered… and for the nightmares that have marred their Dreaming…” she wiped her eyes. “In that moment of the green light of the sun coming through the leaves, the sound of mourning was foremost in the great Song, and I could hear it plainly just then… and I saw my place in that Song clearly, as well.”

Lodan was deeply touched, for he understood just what she meant. Áine, you bring strength to their spirits, and you turn their sorrow into wisdom, he said to her in mindspeak. She turned to him, a soft smile coming to her face through shining tears.

“Perhaps I make a small difference, eh?” she whispered, wiping her eyes again. He came over to her and knelt by her chair, then reached up and softly touched her face with his fingertips.

“You make more of a difference than you think, muirnín [beloved], though you hide behind a facade of stone sometimes… yet I can see why… I have hurt you deeply, as others have. It has been a long series of hurts for you,” he kissed her cheek and ran his fingers through her long hair, and then he whispered into her ear, “Is mór an méala é duine a ghrá. [It is very sad to love someone.]”

“Aye, sad and happy too…” she paused, “Níl níos fearr le fáil [There is nothing better to be had],” she whispered back to him, the firelight flickering on their faces. “We’d best get to our bed, my love, it is nearly daybreak,” she said, “and we have plenty to do tomorrow.”

He smiled, and helped her up from the chair. Áine placed the leaf necklace with it’s glowing green gem back into the green silk bag, and put it and the parchments back into the ebony box and closed it. The lid locked with a click. “I must bring this with us to show Dagoba, perhaps she knows more about it,” Áine said, “I’ll go and visit her after we’re settled in our rooms at the Hart & Ale.” Lodan nodded, and followed her out of the library and into the bedroom.

Séasúr an Earrach
Spring, the Season of Sowing

The next day, Áine got busy in the garden, while Lodan went fishing for the day. She’d found some flower seeds in a room just off the opening to the garden. Indeed, the room had bottles of seeds from floor to ceiling, each labeled with genus and variety, as well as any color variations noted. Someone had certainly done a fine job of cataloging all of the various plants, which made her job easier in one sense, but more difficult in another. There were so many varieties, it was difficult to make choices… she wanted to plant them all! And then she opened a drawer and found planting diagrams from many different seasons, and one of these caught her eye as it was ornately illustrated, so she decided to follow that one as best she could.

She spent the better part of the day turning soil over and planting flower, fruit, and vegetable seeds. Some of the flowers she planted were: ór Muire [marigold], goirmín [pansy], amarantas [amaranthus], milis móinéar [meadow sweet], mamaí [mums], dáilia [dahlia], nóinin [daisy], fiogadán [chamomile], coróineach [carnation], and so many others it would take a small book to list them all. There were rose bushes planted in certain beds here and there throughout the garden, and she was anxious to see what colors they might be. The espaliered fruit trees along the wall were already green with leaves, and needed little care, other than an occasional snip here and there to keep them growing along the wires.

In late afternoon, Áine sat down on one of the benches in the garden and had píopa tobac a chaitheamh [to smoke tobacco in a pipe]. She often indulged in the habit, mostly out of pure pleasure but also because it was traditional, and the tobacco in the library was of exquisite quality. I’ll have to remember to bring Dagoba a tin, she’d like this, I think, she thought. Just then, a messenger pigeon arrived and landed on the bench next to her.

“Oh, it’s nice to see you again,” she said as she carefully removed the leather tube from the bird’s harness and took the parchment out of the tube. She began to read the letter from her dear friend, Dagoba, the Bean Feasa [fortune teller].

Dearest Áine,

How wonderful it was to hear from you again! Indeed, I had begun to wonder if you’d found your way off the Isle, but I’ve heard many tales of how strangely time and reality flows in the Mountains you call home. Still, I’m glad to hear things are going well.

Things have changed a great deal here in Akkadia, and I don’t know how much you’ve heard there in your quiet retreat. Rather than make you face the shock of it all unprepared, I’ll try to give you some of the bigger changes in this letter.

The biggest thing is that the Mistresses of Shadow and Dream have changed. The DreamMistress now is Akila Nuru, who is the daughter of the one you remember. The ShadowMistress is Gjá Draumurönd, who is the daughter of the former ShadowMistress. However, the two are more than cousins, they are also sisters. They have the same father. Gja adopted the Icelandic name of her father, while Akila has followed her mother’s tradition of choosing a second name of her own. You will like them, Áine. They are so much like their mothers sometimes, it’s almost frightening.

The Isle has changed so much and yet not at all. I think you would know what I meant. Grimm is still here, and the MacDanu has returned as has Bjorn. Christopher Angelo has returned as well, but he’s changed so much I didn’t recognize him when he passed me in the town square. It’s only the wind and the cards that told me who that solemn stranger was with the stars in his hair. As far as his sisters go, they still walk the Mists beyond my ken, but I think my heart would tell me if they were dead, and it hasn’t.

It’s still fairly quiet in the streets, but I expect that to change as the Isle drifts closer to the crossroads of Time.

And me. Well, I’ve not changed. I’m older, and have taken to walking with a cane but otherwise… the Lady seems to have work for me yet, for I’ve not been called to the Mists though it’s been a generation since you were here last. I do look forward to seeing you soon! You’re always welcome to stay here, it’s small but comfortable although I’m close enough to the square that it qualifies as the middle of the city. And I’m just as certain you’d be equally welcome in the Castle, or the Hart or wherever you chose to stay. Come on ahead, and don’t worry if you reach me before your next letter does. You’re always welcome.

Love,
Dagoba

A troubled expression crossed her face for a moment, shortly replaced by a soft smile. She came to the end of the letter. “Hmmm… well, this changes a few things,” she spoke aloud to no one in particular, “Akila Nuru, the DreamMistress, and Gjá Draumurönd, the ShadowMistress… no doubt, they will have their mothers’ memories… I will do my best to be of service to them, le searc uirthi [for love of her], Tiernan. I will think on this.”

Áine reached into the pouch on her belt and gave the pigeon a handful of seed, then softly petted it’s head. “You are a good bird, Guilbneán [Little Beak], now go and be with your sisters in the stables, I’m sure they’ve missed you, eh?” And the bird flew off. She carefully folded the letter and placed it in her bag.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. “Ahhh, just what we needed, a little rain to make the seeds grow,” Áine said, and she put the gardening tools away and went into the house. She took a long hot bath, and then began preparing supper. Lodan would be home from fishing soon, and likely he would be soaked to the skin by the time he got home.
—
It was quite late when Lodan arrived home. He was thoroughly soaked from the rain, but he had a curious grin on his face as he walked through the door. He gave Áine a peck on the cheek, then said, “Come and see what I’ve found,” and practically dragged her to the stables with him.

He lit one of the oil lanterns, and Áine peered through the dim light until her eyes fell upon a new resident of the stables. It was a beautiful silver-grey stallion with sparkling eyes, one of the Eacha. He was the foal that Dubhealaín had told her about months before, but he was now fully grown, for time flowed differently in every place. “Lodan, where did you find him?”

“He was on his way here… about a half mile distant,” Lodan replied.

Áine went to the stallion and very carefully reached out and touched his neck and mane, all the while whispering soothing sounds in a sing-song voice. The horse visibly relaxed at her touch.

“What name do you go by?” she spoke in a soft tone.

The stallion shook his head and replied in mindspeak, I was given no name among the Eacha, milady,… it is said… you are to give me my True Name. Áine looked over at Lodan; he appeared to be as surprised as she was and shrugged. Áine looked back at the stallion and replied in mindspeak, It is a great honor to be given such a task. And I thank the Eacha for this gift. Áine carefully considered the situation… a Naming was not to be taken lightly, it could change the fate of the one named.

She petted his neck, making odd motions with her fingers, as if tracing designs in the horse’s coat. She did this for several minutes, her lips moving wordlessly, as if in conversation on some other level, and then she reached up and whispered into the Eacha’s ear so that only he could hear, “I feel that your True Name is Branán, the Prince who serves Raven,” and then aloud she said, “but you shall be known as Graí [grey], the Sire of Horses.” Graí nickered, pleased with his new name.

She looked over at Lodan, who appeared to be about to say something, “Don’t even say it, Lodan,… I’m well aware of how strange it is that his name sounds just like the color he is… something very magical occurred while I was searching for his Name… and, indeed, that *is* the name of this Eacha.”

Lodan had an expression of wonder on his face, as if remembering things from a far-off time, “Aye, that is the way of it, isn’t it?” he said. “It seems you are learning to blend with the Magics of this place quite well, muirnín.” [beloved] Lodan smiled, the sincerity of that remark evident in his eyes. “It’s time we started thinking about taking that trip to Akkadia, eh?”

Áine nodded, “Yes, in fact, I got a letter this afternoon from Dagoba while you were out fishing.” She told him of the letter and the events that had taken place in Akkadia. Then she added, “Oh, by the way, what did you catch?”

“I let go more than I kept, but I have a few brown trout I’ll put in the smokehouse. We could be ready to go to Akkadia in, say, three days’ time?” he asked.

“Certainly. The garden won’t need much care for a while, I’ve just planted the seeds today. The hens, ducks, and pigeons can free-range while we’re gone, I don’t think they’ll mind too much. Besides, the swans will look after them, I’m sure,” Áine chuckled.

“Good, that’s settled then. I’ll get those fish in the smokehouse, they’ll be finished by the time we’re ready to go. We can spend the next few days making ready for the trip,” he said. Lodan went off to take care of the fish, and Áine lingered in the stables a bit longer.

“Don’t worry, Graí, you’re coming with us. A few days to rest up here… make your acquaintances with Dubhealaín, and then we’re off on an adventure,” Áine smiled, then went off to the kitchen, where dinner was waiting.

Lodan poked his head out the door. “Are ye busy?” he asked in his sing-song voice. Áine’s hair shone like flames in the sunset.

“Not too… why?” Áine replied.

“Would ye come for a walk with me?” he said with a smile that was hard to resist.

“Where?”

“Just come with me,” he teased. Áine went to him and they went back inside the hillside home.

“Ye haven’t fully explored this house, have ye?” Lodan asked.

“Well… no, actually… I meant to… but…” Áine trailed off. He slipped his hand into hers and led her down the hallway. “Wait… I started making a map…” she went back to the library and picked up the map, a quill, and an ink bottle. Áine handed the map to Lodan who stood there studying it for several minutes.

“Ye would have made a fine navigator, a mhuirnín [my beloved],” he said as he handed the map back to her. “I’ve found something that’s not on your map. Come, I’ll show ye.” He led her through a series of passageways deep into the hillside. At last, they came to a wall of solid rock in a deep cavern within the hill.

“I’ve been here before,” Áine said, “and this is where my map ends.”

“Aye,” agreed Lodan, “but this is not the end.”

He pointed at two indentations in the rock wall that were shaped like hand prints. “Do ye see? The runes there along the top say this is some sort of gateway, and those hand imprints are spaced much too wide a span for one person to reach, eh? But look,” he said, still holding her hand in his, “if I put my right hand in this one, and you put your left hand in that one, we can reach them both at the same time.” She looked at him, uncertainly, then studied the runes on the wall.

“Should we?” she asked.

“It’s your house, love, but I say we should try it,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, and as she placed her hand into the imprint, he kissed her very softly.

Mists began to swirl within the room and formed a circle about them, and they could hear murmuring voices coming from a far distant place.

“What is that?” Áine whispered, though she felt she already knew.

“Sian ní infinideacht,” [sheean-nee-infinideekt - the murmuring voices born of infinity] he whispered back to her.

Áine nodded. “Those, I’ve heard before… but not this clearly. In the World of Men, people put their ears to the earth to listen.”

And they both stood there listening for long minutes that seemingly flowed into hours, and if their hands hadn’t been joined, it’s possible they would still be there listening, but because of their physical connection to each other, they were reminded of each other’s presence, and gazing at one another, they could See each other as they truly Are… and they were not self-conscious or embarrassed.

Suddenly the rock wall before them opened silently, and they looked within. Before them was a magnificent chamber made of crystals of many colored gemstones that reached up higher than they could see. Growing up through the center of the chamber, in the midst of a fountain of silver waters with five streams coming from it, was a magnificent Tree whose trunk was so thick that no man’s hands could reach ’round it, and whose leaves were every shade of green that ever was green.

The whisper of leaf on leaf murmured throughout the chamber as Lodan and Áine slowly entered hand in hand.

Lodan spoke to Áine in mindspeak. What do you see?

I see my Mother and my Father before us. They are alive and well, and they are singing the song of the cycle of life… the Song is indescribably beautiful, it’s echoes in this realm are the sound of leaves and of waters flowing. Our kind… we draw our life out of the Source of All Things… the Soul of the Worlds, Aine replied. And what do you see, Lodan?

I see what you see, and there is something else as well… three old women are sitting at the base of the Tree. The first holds a distaff, holding and drawing forth the flax… she represents birth and the past. The second sits at a spinning wheel, spinning the flax into thread… she represents the events of life and the present. The third holds a pair of sharp scissors, she cuts the threads… she represents the end of life and the unknown future. And yet, the threads she cuts untwist themselves and once again become flax. Lodan replied. Áine nodded solemnly.

A voice that is both male and female, and yet neither, entered their minds and spoke to them, it echoed as if a thousand voices were speaking at once, and it was like music.

WELCOME, CHILDREN OF TWILIGHT…

THESE WORDS THAT YOU HEAR NOW… THEY EXIST ONLY SO THAT YOU MAY UNDERSTAND…

The voice faded from their minds. A vision then was given to them. They found themselves in a place of darkness without beginning or end… and yet, they could sense a Presence there… awakening… and as It awakened, tiny strands of light, like wisps of clouds or of starlight appeared in the darkness… and music, as if from a far off place, began to play…

The Beings that were Áine and Lodan turned and looked at each other. They were without form… they were pure energy and pure light of many colors, lying side by side in the darkness… and as they became aware of each others’ formless selves, their energy began swirling like a slow ballet of wispy strands of light… around, into, and through each other… and the music began to build into a theme of endless variations, and of such sweet beauty and utter sadness… and the song they sang together added to the Song, and more energy and light was formed. There were stars twinkling in the darkness… and nebulae… and galaxies… and suns… and planets and moons… and as each thing came into being, the music played on in endless variations… and it was indescribably beautiful.

And then the vision faded from their minds, though they could still hear the music, and they found themselves once again in the chamber, standing before the Tree and the Fountain.

REMEMBER, CHILDREN OF TWILIGHT, ALL THAT YOU HAVE BEEN SHOWN…

“NOW” IS THE PRESENT… OUR GIFT TO YOU… WAITING TO BE OPENED AT EACH MOMENT… THAT IS WHY IT IS CALLED THE PRESENT, AND NOT THE PAST OR FUTURE… IT IS A GIFT… And the voice faded from their minds, replaced by the music of the leaves and the flowing waters. Lodan and Áine stood there speechless, so awed were they by what had just occurred.

Lodan at last found his voice and asked, “Is there something we could give to you in return for what you have given us this day?”

The whisper of leaf on leaf melded with the sound of the five streams, and after some minutes, the voice returned to their minds.

ONE THING… ENTER THE SILVER WATERS AND ALLOW US TO *BE*… FOR A LITTLE WHILE…

Áine looked into Lodan’s eyes, and they both immediately realized what was being asked of them. They lovingly undressed each other, and entered the waters hand in hand, tears streaming down their cheeks. They watched themselves as outside observers… touching each other, exploring each others’ bodies, bathing each other, drinking from the five streams of the Fountain, eating of the fruit of the Tree, and making passionate love. And when it was done, they found themselves again fully dressed and standing in the chamber… and they were profoundly changed by the experience.

And they had no words.

WALK IN BEAUTY, CHILDREN OF TWILIGHT, YOU ARE WITH US ALWAYS…

In silence, they left the chamber hand in hand, and the opening was magically sealed. When they turned around to look back, a picture had appeared on the stone wall. It was a Tree and a Fountain with five streams coming from it.

And there was a man and a woman in the waters.

The passage to the inner chamber had been magically sealed, and there were no hand imprints with which to open it again, but neither Lodan nor Áine ever spoke of this experience. The change within them, however, was unmistakeable. Neither of them would ever feel alone, no matter how far apart they might be, nor would either of them ever feel insecure in their love for each other, for now they Knew one of the great mysteries of life and love that lay hidden in the chamber, deep in the Windlass Mountains.

Áine and Lodan spent a quiet afternoon and evening sitting on a bench in the garden, making plans about how it would be planted. Lodan set the swans free on the lake, and they watched the pair getting accustomed to their new surroundings. As the sun set beyond the mountain peaks, and the stars made their twinkling appearance in the night sky, the moon rose full and bright overhead, like a silver ship sailing the great ocean above.

As they gazed up at the stars, Lodan said, “Even now, the worlds unfold, and their history begins,” and he brought out his silver pennywhistle and softly began to play a tune called Turas go Tir nA nOg (Journey to the Land of Youth). And there was no finer piping heard in those mountains before that time.