Edith Pattou - Hero's Song

"Are you sure you have made the right choice?" asked the Ellyl king with the air of one continuing a long-running argument.

Crann nodded. "I journey with the boy."

"There may be a greater need for you elsewhere in the weeks and months to come."

"I owe it to his mother. And his father."

"Then watch out for yourself, wizard," responded Midir gravely. "You are old, but you are not immortal."

"I would not have it otherwise," Crann rejoined with a quick smile.

As Collun mounted Fiain, he ground his teeth together against the pain in his stiff body. It was not much better when he sat astride the Ellyl horse. But Fiain assumed a rolling, steady gait, and soon the pain subsided to a dull throb. Collun grew used to it.

It took them longer to leave Tir a Ceol than it had to enter, because as Crann explained, the safest porth was near the Western Sea. Though this new route made their journey longer, the distant exit might throw off those who pursued them.

When they finally emerged from under the ground, Collun closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, joyfully letting his lungs swell with the brisk autumn air.

Collun saw that the first frost had come and gone while they were in Tir a Ceol. Many of the leaves still on the trees were shot through with blazing oranges and reds. Collun drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders.

By the campfire that night Crann took out an old map. It was etched on a piece of worn and stained leather, yet it was clearly drawn and easier to read than most maps Collun had seen. Crann's long finger traced the route they would take to Scath.

Just before he rolled the map up, Crann pointed to a dot on the western coast of Eirren. "This is where Cuillean's dun lies," he said, with a glance at Collun.

"Does no one live there now?" asked Collun.

The wizard shook his head. "It has stood empty for more than a year, though with all his wandering Cuillean spent little enough time in it even before he disappeared." He paused, then said briskly, "Come. I will show you how to make lasan."

"Lasan?" queried Collun.

"You are skilled with the teine stone, spriosan. But there is a quicker way to kindle a fire." The wizard bade Collun gather the wild fungus called agaric that grew on tree bark. Then he showed the boy how to make fire sticks using the agaric and small pieces of splintered wood. Crann called the fire sticks lasan. When he rubbed one across a rough surface, it burst into flame.

Once he saw how the lasan worked, Collun laughed. "I thought the fire you kindled so quickly came from magic in your fingertips."

Talisen had overheard the interchange and came to sit beside them. "What kind of magic do you have, Crann? How did you stop the Ellyl Wind? And bring the rain to quench the fire in the Forest of Eld? Were they ancient spells?"

Crann shook his head, still smiling. "My magic, as you call it, does not lie in some mysterious realm of spells and potions. It is like the Ellyl draoicht, and yet it is different. Ellyl power lies in the music of all things, animate and inanimate. Mine is rooted in nature, in living things. In flowers and grass and wind and rain. My power comes from the trees. The forest is my true home, where I was born, where I go to be restored, and where I shall return when I die. That is why I am called Crann, the old word for tree. What I am able to do, all that appears to you as magic, is only because of the trees."

Talisen gave a dubious nod. "I confess that I understood better the Ellylon's description of their magic. Perhaps because it's to do with music."

"Indeed," Crann replied, then said pensively, "I envy Ellylon, their gift for melody. My own efforts make a bullfrog sound lyrical." The wizard gave a wry laugh. "Ah well, perhaps one day..." He trailed off, reaching for his map.

They roasted a pheasant Brie had felled with her bow and glazed it with sweet honey the Ellylon had given them. The air was so cool they could see their breath. When they had eaten their fill, they lay by the fire, and Talisen took up his harp. Crann asked for an Ellyl song.

Talisen nodded agreeably, but when his fingers went to find the chords, they faltered. He tried again, a puzzled look on his face, and again his fingers were stiff and unyielding.

"I do not understand," he said. He closed his eyes and concentrated. His hands frantically scrabbled over the strings, but still no melody came forth.

He looked toward Crann with a bewildered expression.

"I wondered if they would let you keep their songs. I suspected not," Crann said, his voice touched with sympathy.

"What do you mean? Why, only yesterday..."

"Legend has it that if a human should ever learn an Ellyl song in Tir a Ceol, he will forget it the moment he leaves their land."

Talisen stared at the wizard. He suddenly tossed the harp aside in a burst of anger. "I might have known. Those deceitful Ellylon..."

"Did they say it was a gift that you might keep?"

"No," replied Talisen. "Nor did they say they would take it from me. I never thought..." He trailed off. "Wait. I wonder..."

He grabbed his harp again. His fingers flew over the strings, and the notes to a lovely melody began to emerge. He sang. It was a song of loss, and of regaining, and it reminded Collun of waves in the ever-moving, gleaming pattern of the sea.

When he finished, Talisen burst into laughter. "I will be a true bard yet," he said triumphantly. "Even if I cannot remember Ellyl music, I have still the ability to make songs of my own. It is one gift they could not take from me."

"Perhaps because they chose not to," said Crann in a low voice, but Talisen paid him no heed. He stayed up late that night tinkering with his new song. Collun lay on the ground, his cloak wrapped around him, and listened to the harp music. As he drifted into sleep, Collun thought about the father back in Inkberrow he had lost and the one he had gained, if Cuillean yet lived.

The next afternoon as they were traveling through a thicket of birch trees, Crann suddenly stopped. He gestured for them all to pause, and his face wore the look of one who listens deeply to a far-off sound.

"Someone follows us," he said tersely. "A rider on horseback. And he comes quickly."

Brie readied her bow, pulling an arrow from the quiver on her back. Collun and Talisen drew their daggers, while Crann sat unmoving on Gealach. Soon they could all hear the crackling sound of a horse's hooves traveling over the bracken. They waited, bodies tensed and weapons at the ready.

EIGHTEEN

The Lapwing

A dark horse with a rider crouching in the saddle burst through the thicket of birch trees.

"Hold, Gerran!" the rider said to his horse. The steed immediately came to a halt.

The companions looked, unbelieving, into the hand some face of Prince Gwynedd.

"At last!" said the prince. "I have been seeking you all this day and the last. I'd begun to believe that the Ellyl, Silien, had guessed wrong about your route to Scath. Well met, Collun!"

"Prince Gwynedd," Collun greeted him stiffly. He cast a darting glance at Brie.

"You are Gwynn and Aine's son?" asked Crann, moving his horse forward.

"Yes. And you must be the wizard Crann. It is an honor to meet you." Gwynedd bowed his head respectfully. "So, son of Cuillean—," the prince began, but stopped when he saw the expression of surprise on Collun's face. "Yes, Silien told us everything when he got to Temair. I can see the resemblance now."

"Did Queen Aine agree to the comhairle?" queried Crann.

"Most assuredly. All of Temair is buzzing with the news. It is truly an historic occasion."

"Why are you not there?" The words popped out unbidden. Collun hoped his tone did not betray him.

"I have come to rejoin the quest that the traitor Bricriu did his best to thwart. Silien told me of your journey to Scath. If you are to tangle with the Queen of Ghosts herself, you will need another sword."