Chapter Seventeen

  Dougal cleaned himself up as best he could by begging a bowl of hot water and some soap from the inn keeper, Senmar. It took the combined efforts of Gryffin and Cerevin to convince him that he looked respectable enough to be introduced to the Ard-mal and Maelwyn, but eventually he had no choice but to go as he was for fear of being late and keeping them waiting.

  “Are you sure that I look ok?” He asked, turning back a final time as he reached the inn door.

  “You look fine.” Gryffin reassured his brother, walking over to brush off any last specks of dust from his brother’s shoulders.

  “It is they who should be anxious to be meeting you!” added the Doomsayer.

  “And why would that be?” Snapped Dougal, his nervousness at the meeting finally making him irritable.

  “You are her father.” He replied easily, choosing to ignore Dougal’s outburst. Seeing that the man was readying himself for another caustic outburst, the Doomsayer forestalled him by pulling up the hood of his ever-present cloak, casting his face into deep shadows. Once again, he appeared to be a strange mystic following an unknown dream. “Albany will either have a great future or none at all.” His voice sounded hollow and distance. “She will be the mother of a great people, or her death will hunt her down before her first birthday.”

  Both Gryffin and Dougal stared at the foreigner in amazement, wondering just how much he knew about what the future held for them and that he chose not to tell.

  “My daughter is just a baby, an ordinary little girl!” Dougal protested; all traces of temper banished by the Doomsayer’s prophetic words.

  “That she is not.” The mystic corrected him. “Albany is marked out for greatness. Do you not realise how unique her twin fetishes are? She is one of a kind and signals the rise in fortunes of the Six-tribes, or perhaps their damnation. If your High-king and High-priest have any wisdom between them, then they will realise this and know that the tribes stand at the door of great change. They can lead them through it and onwards, or they can withdraw from the challenge and lead the tribes away to who knows what. Your family, Dougal, all of you in this village, are at the centre of a great storm of fate. Soon it will become clear of the consequences of your failure. So, do not be afraid to meet with your king. Treat him as an equal, for you are. You are Albany’s father.”

  Dougal slammed his palm down on the table, his temper returning with a vengeance. A half full tankard of ale toppled over, sending dark brown liquid surfing across the boards. “Damn you, Cerevin.” He shouted. “Why won’t you tell me what is happening here?”

  “Because I cannot do that yet. I am already walking a perilous line between what is safe for me to say and what is not. I am in danger of causing my own damnation. Yet I am willing to risk it for reasons of my own. But I will risk it no more, not when you only have a few days left before my quest is revealed and my task here finished!”

  Dougal stormed out in disgust, slamming the door behind him as he left.

  By the time Dougal had reached the Eron’s hall, he had calmed down sufficiently to realise that he had made a mistake. Having replayed the conversation with the Doomsayer in his head, he concluded that Cerevin had probably told him much more than it was safe for him to do so. Who or what would exact this revenge on the mystic for the transgression of some hidden yet clearly defined rule, Dougal could not say. Yet it was clear that Cerevin had tried to help to ease Dougal’s mind as much as he was able, and for that he owed him his thanks not harsh words. He resolved to offer his sincere apologies as soon as he was able. As he reached the door to the large stone hall, Callun appeared, smiling, to usher him inside.

  “They’re all asking to see the baby, Dougal.” He said. “So I think that it’s best if we go and collect Bronty and Albany, then go straight in to see them.”

  “You mean that they haven’t seen the fetish marks yet?”

  Callun laughed. “No, my friend, they have not. Although as soon as they heard about them, they were desperate to see for themselves. Dylan and I told them that it would not happen until you and Bronty were ready to present her together.”

  “You have kept the eight most powerful men in the Six-tribes waiting for me?” Dougal asked in disbelief. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “It was the correct decision. She is your daughter after all.”

  Dougal increased his pace as he realised that he had kept so many important people waiting while he argued with Cerevin at the inn. He climbed the great staircase that dominated the outer hall, taking the steps two at a time. Dougal was slightly out of breath as he burst into Bronty’s room. She was sitting quietly on the edge of the bed calmly breastfeeding her child. He walked over and kissed his wife, then stroked the nursing head of the nursing child. It was strange, he thought, that so much fuss was being made over such a small baby. “Hello wife.” He said tenderly. “Are you keeping well?”

  “As well as can be expected with this little monster demanding all my attention. I will be glad to get back to our home so that you can do your fair share of the work.”

  “We shall move back when you are strong enough, and when it is safe for us to do so. And besides, I thought that you would be pleased to have me out from under your feet for a while longer.”

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  “What you mean is that you enjoy living at the tavern more than you do with your own wife,” She teased. Some movement outside in the corridor caught her eye. “Who is that hovering in the hallway? Is that you, Callun?”

  “Indeed, it is.” He said, poking his head around the door but doing his best to look everywhere except in the direction of the breastfeeding woman.

  “Oh, Callun.” She laughed in surprise. “Don’t tell me that you are embarrassed.”

  “No, no.” He stammered. “Just trying not to be rude.”

  “I don’t believe you. Look, you are going all red! The baby has to eat, and often. If you insist on my living under your roof, then you will have to get used to this. Just try thinking of it as Albany’s version of gnawing on a joint of beef, if that helps.”

  The Eron shot her a venomous look. He turned to Dougal. “Do you realise that your wife was so shameless?”

  “I did.” Dougal said sadly. “But not until after she had persuaded me to marry her. It was a bit of a shock to a poor innocent like me, I can tell you. Why do you think I spend so much time out of the way in the forest?”

  “Dougal!”

  “Sorry Bronty. You know I didn’t mean it. I actually enjoy your wanton ways.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Well, that is obvious, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here breastfeeding.”

  Now it was Dougal’s time to turn a fetching shade of pink.

  “By the goddess!” Roared Callun joyfully. “Dougal, you have a fine woman here. I swear to you that if you hadn’t married her, I would have courted her myself. May the goddess grant me the luck to choose as well as you did!”

  “And what makes you think that I would have given you a second look?” Asked Bronty

  “Enough, Woman.” He laughed. “Enough. You have bested us both and we admit defeat.”

  “Well then, was there anything you wanted, or did you just burst in here to gape open mouthed at my immodesty?”

  “We have to go and see Amren and Maelwyn.” Dougal explained. “They want to see Albany.”

  “Is it true, Callun?”

  “It is.” He confirmed. “They are keen to see her birth marks, but I have made them wait until you could present her together.”

  “That was uncommonly thoughtful of you.” She said, just getting in one final dig. “Well, we cannot keep such high and mighty company waiting, can we now. So, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I will rearrange my ’joints of beef’ in a somewhat more modest fashion so that I do not cause you both anymore discomfort, then we shall be away.”

  The room went quiet as the three adults, Bronty protectively clutching Albany, filed into the room. The six kings stood by a large window that looked northwards towards the stone circle from which the village gained its name and its small degree of fame. They had been discussing some point of tribal policy before the real work of the council started in the morning, but they all fell silent as the unusual child that had caused such a stir was carried in. Over by the hearth a small fire burned that was more for its pleasing appearance than any real need for its warmth on this mild early summer evening. And by this sat Maelwyn and Geshla. It was the former that made the first move to speak.

  “Will you not introduce us to your companions, young Callun?”

  “Young Callun, is it now?” Dougal whispered from the corner of his mouth.

  The Eron jabbed his friend painfully in the ribs with his elbow before starting to speak. “May I introduce Dougal, a forester, his sharped tongued wife, Bronty, and the latest addition to the family, Albany.”

  Dougal looked too much in awe of the assembled nobles to more than stammer a self-conscious “Hello.” Bronty, on the other hand, gazed challengingly around the room. Her eyes came to rest on Geshla, still naked except for his weapons belt. “If I’d had known that clothes were optional, then I wouldn’t have been in such a rush to interrupt Albany’s supper!”

  “Bronty!” Hissed Dougal. “Remember who it is you are speaking to.”

  “I see what you mean about her tongue.” Said Maelwyn, his wrinkled face creasing even more in good humour. He stood slowly, his body complaining as it begrudgingly obeyed the wishes of a brain that refused to recognise the limitations that time had placed upon it. The windborne was instantly at his elbow, his giant hands giving the old man gentle aid.

  “Thank you, Geshla, but I think that I can manage this without help.” His kind smile took the sting out of his words. “Come, children. Come and sit by the fire. Bronty may have Geshla’s chair. Dougal, I’m afraid you will have to sit on the floor next to your wife as your body is much more willing to bend than my own.”

  While they settled themselves, Callun called on a member of his household to serve more wine and ale. Bronty and the arch-druid sat facing each other while Dougal knelt, as suggested, by his wife’s side. The refreshments arrived and the kings all helped themselves. Maelwyn declined a goblet, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand. He leant forward to get a better view of the heavily bundled child. Seeing that she slept, he said “She seems content enough. Quite oblivious, in fact, to all the fuss she is creating.”

  “Is she really causing that much fuss?” Asked Bronty. “She is only a baby, after all.”

  “True enough.” Agreed Maelwyn. “Yet as far as we know she is unique in having two fetish marks. May I hold her please?” He held out his arms expectantly.

  “Why?” She demanded. Bronty clutched Albany protectively, so tightly in fact, that the sleeping child began to squirm and wriggle in her grip.

  “It is just that I would like to see the marks for myself.” The druid explained softly, trying to reassure her. “Dylan has seen them but can tell us little of their nature. It is important for us to find out in which way she has been blessed, doubly so when you consider the presence of the Doomsayer in the village. The fact that it is Cerevin tells us much, but mostly it tells us that this is something we would do well to be wary of.”

  “Do you know him then?” Dougal asked. It had never occurred to him that the Doomsayer might be more than he seemed.

  “No, I do not know him, but I have heard of him. Cerevin is a powerful man amongst those of his calling. He is not granted minor visions. Over the years Cerevin has foreseen many great events, both good and bad. Now he is here. It is a source of concern for me.”

  “But Albany is only a child.” Said Bronty again. “How can she be involved in such great events?”

  “Children grow up to become adults. Sometimes births trigger other events.” Reasoned the old man. “But be at ease, child. I will not let anything happen to your baby if it is with my power to prevent it. Yet for this, I need to know as much of the situation as is possible. The nature of the fetishes may shed some light on the matter, especially the cleric rune. Which god or goddess she is destined to serve may tell us something.”

  Bronty looked down at her baby, freshly woken and making vocal her complaint about her mother’s strong grip. “My poor Albany.” She crooned, her tears dripping softly onto the child’s blanket. “Shall we see what curse the gods have placed on you.” She gently offered up the child to the outstretched arms of the Arch-druid of Ostarna. Taking the child, he sat back and gazed down with his wise old eyes into those of a total innocent. Albany quickly settled down in his arms, the aura of peace that surrounded him banishing her infantile complaints of being woken. Maelwyn sat quietly with her for a few minutes, stroking her cheek and chin until she returned to her interrupted sleep. Then he carefully pulled aside her blankets to expose her tiny chest. “So, this is what all the commotion is about.”