Sgain was a magnificent city. The grandeur of the city walls dwarfed all other cities throughout the north of the isle of Bretwealda. Not only did they dwarf most others in size however it was the eldest of holy-sites in the whole of the Lairdly-Isle. Centuries before Auldchester had arisen to the far south in Brittia, or Cryffard in Cymru, Sgain had loomed as the principal site dedicated to the gods.
Eighty meters high and ten meters thick, the great lion-walls of Sgain were the stuff of legends, built in the age of the Pechs long before the Caleds had overtaken the region. The high-walls had towers every five meters and arose two meters higher than the average walls were. They were made from fine marble, though they had long been painted over with dark-green paint that had never departed. They had carved into them the knots of Dara, given to men it was said in days of yore long since passed, by the good goddesses Saga, the recorder of all history and Scota. It was said that the first stone that had served as a foundation for the walls of the city, had been laid down by the thistle-goddess herself. The knot decorated every stone, every tower and even the gates, with the knots upon closer inspection revealed to be emeralds that had been engraved into the stone and walls, so that they shone in the light of the twin-suns.
The city did not begin within those walls but from without. It began in truth with thatch, wooden and stone houses dotting the landscape that led up to the hill upon which the great city dominated. There were other shrines and small mansion-houses here and there, some made of stones, some of wood, all were more opulent and amazing than the small two-floor house that her master had had built, a number of decades ago.
Nobody knew when the city had truly been founded; for one thing it was highly unlikely that it predated the conquest of the south of the Lairdly-Isle by the Principate of Roma. Yet for centuries it had stood there, dominating the whole of the realm. The houses of the peasants were small things, yet the great number of them amazed Kenna who had never been there before.
Accustomed as she was to the small village of Glasvhail, which housed no more than a few hundred souls to see thousands of people living so closely together, was a shock.
She had known somewhere deep within her soul that there had to be thousands upon thousands of people, alive behind the great Lion-Gates of Sgain. However, to bear witness to so many alive and thriving outside of those walls was a shock.
Most tended to sheep, pigs and cows, traded in wool, meat and in goat or cow-milk, or cheese outside the walls. All attempted to push their goods, behind them, as they revealed themselves to be every bit as pushy as Kenna herself could prove herself to be.
Dressed in a brown dress with a loose grey girdle about her waist, a traveling cloak about her person with the hood raised, in case of the threat of rain. Something that was an ever-looming menace for all the residents of the far-north of the Lairdly-Isle, and something that Kenna in this instant did dread greatly.
"How often do you journey up the path, to the interior of the city?" Kenna asked of her guide, who was though she was loathe to admit; it her only protection from the darker elements of those who may reside near or within the high-walls of the greatest city of the Caleds.
Having been silent for days (it was a two week long journey), her sudden question surprised Corin. His dark-blonde haired head having been bowed in thought since some time ago, he lifted it in order to study her with his grey-gaze, "Not very often."
His accent as always was hardly one that she much liked, one that Olith had delighted in. As she did all things that Corin had done and accomplished in his life, which to Kenna's mind was not very much. She did however have to concede that if there was one thing he had not done on this trip, it was to abuse her or deny her food and wine when she was hungry or thirsty.
Walking next to the carriage, which Corin had guided all along the thistle-road as he had explained it was called on their third day of travel. Pointing it out, when he noticed her amazement at the sight of it, he had explained that it was the pious Causantín II the Great, who had had it established throughout the north. According to Wiglaf who had recounted this knowledge to him twenty-years prior, this road had been expanded upon by Causantín's son Sìomon the 'Thistle-King' as he was known by many. After his death though, the thistle-road which connected a great deal of the center of the realm and east of it, had fallen into such disarray and had never been rebuilt.
While she had certainly appreciated the tale and knowledge demonstrated by her traveling companion, Kenna had had little desire to hear him tell her more. So great was the disdain she held him in that she had after a time told him to be silent and to let her think.
"And why is that? Is it that the monks have no need of hammers, horseshoes and the like, or is it that smiths such as yourself have preoccupied yourselves for too long with the crafting of swords and forgotten how to craft proper tools?" She challenged mockingly of him.
Corin eyed her coldly, "You have a wicked tongue Kenna."
"This is hardly something you did not already know."
"Still, it is said in my country that a 'wicked tongue comes from a wicked heart', and I have done you a kindness by bringing you here. A little gratitude I think is in order," He reprimanded her.
Her cheeks grew hot with humiliation that he should scold her so. The nerve of the blacksmith she thought to herself, disgusted by how he could treat her as though she were no better than a petulant child! Infuriated, she preferred to remain quiet and to ignore him than to speak any further with him.
He however was not done, though his eyes rarely wavered from the path that stretched out before them, "Stay close to the cart less you wish to be carried away by the crowd."
Annoyed, and feeling condescended the seamstress nonetheless did as bidden, just as the crowd of people who were bustling about all around her came as a tidal wave might, quite close to carrying her away. By no means the most statuesque woman alive Kenna was nevertheless a woman who prided herself upon being quite fit for her age and yet the number of woman, men and children who appeared to be everywhere continued to swarm endlessly. Until she felt she had no other choice than to climb back aboard the cart.
The worst part of this, she complained shrilly from somewhere deep within her soul, was how she had yet to come within a hundred meters of the gates.
"There are so very many people," She said in awe.
"Aye, almost thirty thousand here in Sgain alone, or mayhap more," Corin said to her surprise for she had not known he could quite hear her above the din, of the crowd. "We shall first see to your entrance into the city proper, and then I shall depart for the festival."
Despite herself, Kenna felt a flash of gratitude to him, for choosing to aid her in her self-appointed mission before he saw to his business. Her lips pressed together, when she saw the great swarm of people, and tried to keep her ears from buzzing with the din, due to all the merchants sought to press their goods under the nose of all passers-by.
They were not alone in favouring a cart, with Kenna all of a sudden all too aware of the troubles involved in traveling in such a manner herein Sgain. For there were so many people that they could barely do more than inch forward, rather than trot with Romulus the horse snuffing and grumbling. Sensing his growing frustration and anxiety, Corin leant over to pat him on the back.
"There, there old lad," He murmured softly along with a few quick words in his native Gallian, "Il n'y'a rien de t'inquiéter de."
Though she did not understand his words, the notion behind them was still apparent to her, in how he handled the nervous beast of burden. Inch for inch they traveled, until they at last reached the summit of the hill upon which the monastery had been founded, nigh on six centuries ago.
As they rode forth though, some of the locals had called out to Corin, that is to say those who recognised him from previous festivals.
"Corin! How are you?"
"Corin are you here to sell your wares again?"
"Who is that with you? A new wife?"
This last question was asked by an older Tigrun lady, plump and dressed in a beige dress with a bonnet upon her head she had large brown eyes that would remind anyone of a warm-hearted kitten. Tigruns if you must know are a sort of cat-folk who had long since trod across the whole of the world of Miðgarðr. They came in all varieties just as humans do, from those with dark-fur, to orange, red, yellow, some even had stripped or spotted fur, still others had leonine manes. This woman though, had the white underbelly, with spotted dark-yellow fur, feline-shaped pupils' sharp incisors and hands that were slightly longer and plumper than Kenna's own.
If one were to observe carefully, some might notice the hint of a tail to the rear of the skirt of her dress, one that moved every few seconds as a cat's might naturally.
Her suggestion though made Kenna's face come close to turning green with disgust, at the mere thought of being wed to her surrogate sister's widow. There was however a warmth to the old feline so that she could hardly bring herself, to respond quite as harshly as she might otherwise have done with anyone else.
"Absolutely not!" Corin objected at once, a look of utter disdain on his face, she imagined was mirror on her own. "This is Kenna, the widow of my old friend Murchadh, and who wished to enter into Sgain to go pray at the monastery."
"Oh I see, my apologies Corin, my mistake," The old lady murmured with a small giggle before she held up a small hunk of bronze, "May I interest you though, in my husband's bronze? I am sure it could prove useful for when you return home to your forge."
"Not to-day Lidaith," He refused politely.
"Will you be in attendance for the festival?" She asked of him genially.
"I shall think on it."
At this answer Kenna frowned to herself. She did not much like that he was genuinely pondering it, as she felt at that moment the pull to return to Glasvhail. It was not that she felt the need to return immediately, but the sense that once she had delivered the habits of the monks, and maybe attempted to impress the Queen with a dress or three that she had a duty to return home at once. The goal would be to her mind, to wait a number of days to be requested to return to Sgain or to Dunorcnog, where she hoped to become a member of the Queen's court.
Of course, this was chief in her thoughts right alongside how she might best explain her layabout son, Cormac to the royal-court. Kenna knew little of royal courts, outside of tales her master Eachann or her father had told her in her youth, yet she had faith in her own ability to manoeuvre her way into a position of usefulness. Her trade was a common one certainly; however she had a better understanding of needlework than most, and knew how to be discrete.
It was when they arrived before the gates which glittered greenly, to her awe and Corin's weariness that he rounded upon her, "Kenna if I may offer counsel."
"I would prefer not," She muttered honestly, "When do the gates open?"
It was high-noon therefore they ought to have already been opened, she thought grudgingly, as she studied them imperiously after her moment of awe had left her.
"Likely the monks are in the middle of noon-temple and shall soon open them once they have finished, in order to celebrate, the gods outside of their gates as they always do." Corin said wisely, familiar with all the inner-workings of the city, so much so that as he spoke the gates began to slowly swing inwards. Such was the din and the boom, along with the noise of iron raking against iron that Kenna guessed at once, after a brief second of bewilderment that a chain was connected to the top of the gates.
"Who built all of this?" She asked amazed, coming from a village without walls, to see such a wonder was a little daunting.
"I am not so certain, though the walls are hardly as impressive as those on the Continent," He boasted a hint of pride in his voice.
Kenna rolled her eyes, wherefore she hopped down from the cart onto the muddy ground of the thistle-road. The monks were all dressed as Wulfnoth had been, with the same bald patch at the summit of their heads, with some bearded and others not. Though, where Wulfnoth was all human, many of the monks present in Sgain were composed of Tigruns, the rat-like Ratvians, the dog and wolf-like Wolframs, gentle Minotaurs and wild Centaurs.
Once the gates open, the monks coming out to mill amongst the crowds, who had gathered all around the caravan of Corin, she rounded upon him, as prayers went up all around their cart. The sound of the bells the monks carried punctuated the voices of the monks who engaged in the loud hymns of the golden goddess. "We must find the abbot to speak with him."
A sigh followed, a resigned one as he admitted, "I know not which one he is, if I am quite honest Kenna. I have not entered past the walls, in nigh on twenty years and have spent but a little time at the festivals since Olith passed."
"How am I supposed to find him?" She panicked a little.
At this question Corin let slip another sigh, before he rounded upon a nearby Minotaur who stood to the right of them, in trousers, a large tunic and with well-polished horns a short brown beard and long hair the same colour. The ox-man had arrived a few minutes after they had, and had no great cart, only a simple pendant made of wood of the goddess Meret with her lyre, and was in the midst of doing the symbol of the flower. He leapt a few feet, as his children who were all gathered behind him alongside him and his wife who was similar in build if evidently female in her slighter appearance, and in that she wore a pink woollen dress that made every inch of Kenna want to scream in horror at the poor quality of the needlework.
"Do you know where the abbot can be found?" Corin asked of the small family.
They shook their heads, though the next Minotaur family, which stood just a little past them, pointed now to one monk who had not departed to preach amongst the crowd or to deliver some alms to some of the poorer folk assembled before them. The monk in question was a wizened old Ratvian, with grey almost white fur, who leant heavily on a birch-wood staff and who had small wispy white hair that was balding. His snout appeared to be continuously sniffing about, as though searching for something that his milky black eyes could not quite perceive. Dressed in a grey habit, with small grey boots, his long-finger left-hand searched about until at last, it landed upon the nearby edge of the opened gates.
"By Marianne, it is old Kerr," Said the blacksmith of Glasvhail, gaping a little at the stout old mouse that stood near the summit of the hill.
Without any further exchanges with those around them, he attempted to negotiate their advance up the hill. This was complicated by how several of the monks called for them to stop, a resentful and even suspicious gleam in their eyes.
A select few though were to relax when they saw Corin. When they did, they were profoundly surprised and greeted him as though he were an old friend. One monk, who appeared to be several years Kenna's senior, hurried over to him to ask if how Olith was.
"She has passed, her friend Kenna here has agreed to accompany me on my journey here, it is her wish to speak to the abbot." He explained with forced cheer, though there was a certain unease that belied his warmth.
Her attention captured by the uncertainty that had rooted itself, beneath his voice, Kenna eyed him quietly from within the wagon, which was filled almost to its brim with weapons and cloth, with a large coverlet thrown over all of the merchandise they had brought with them. While she might otherwise have been curious enough to attempt to solve the mystery, behind his peculiar reaction towards the sandy-haired human monk, with dark eyes and a thick beard down to his chin, she pushed it aside.
It was neither her concern, nor her task in life to sort out the manifold mysteries that surrounded Corin. Her first duty was towards her son, and his daughter, and improving their lot in life. Nothing less than that, and nothing more or so she told herself.
The monks after a few minutes permitted them to advance, if a little reluctantly so, with few people permitted to advance. The monks preferring to have people not approach their temple, if to avoid overwhelming they claimed the interior of the courtyard as it was holy land.
The courtyard was hardly anything akin to Kenna's most grand imaginings, or her most majestic day-dreams or regular dreams. To the contrary, it was in some ways far, far grander than anything her imagination could have conjured forth.
The houses were all mansions that had between two and three floors, all made of simple stones, with four large houses that were almost palatial in nature. Larger than the other mansions they were made of finer stone than the other dozen mansions, and were considerably larger. Forty-meters high, and circular in nature as classic Pechish keeps were once built, these mansions had but one entrance and possessed several floors to them. Two of these estates were to the right of the courtyard; the nearest to it was remarkable also for how to the center of its roofing there jutted an iron pole with the High-King's banner fluttering in the wind. The monarch's banner was different from those of his immediate two predecessors. The banner in question was a deep scarlet with a bright white unicorn facing the right-hand side with its hooves reared up in defiance.
The largest and most kingly building shielded by the great walls though was the stone monastery of the goddess Scota, the Queen of the gods. The abbey was rectangular in nature, with a courtyard to the rear of it, separated from the other buildings thanks to its four separate side-buildings that served as housing, as a kitchen and as a secondary temple for the great shrine of the goddess. The temple was ninety-three meters high, almost as long and had a pointed roof, which the very tip of was shaped into that of a thistle. The thistle was the holiest and most royal symbol of the realm of Caledonia. With this thistle at the summit of the marble-carved temple gleaming with emeralds far finer and smoother, than those upon the walls that guarded the temple, with the temple and all its secondary buildings utterly devoid of windows.
Performing the symbol of the flower, it was all Kenna could do to keep from falling to her knees, and singing one of the psalms of the Golden-Goddess, or maybe the goddess Meret, the lady of music.
"It is so beautiful," She murmured moved to the very depths of her soul.
"Oui, though the summit of the hill over yonder, past the other buildings is where the coronation of Mael Bethad took place four years ago." Corin explained genially, pointing to the rear of the large courtyard past the buildings, to a slightly higher 'hill' upon the top of the hill itself. The 'double-hill' of Sgain was something that she had heard murmurings of years prior, and yet it still took her by surprise. This second hill sat above the rest of the buildings (save for the temple's summit of course), and had a series of stairs that led up to it, carved from the actual hill itself. A part of her, a part that sounded remarkably akin to her son, wondered just how exactly it had been carved. Her next question was if there were builders or masons who could properly explain the process to her, so enraptured by this sight was she.
"The Stone of Sgain is kept within the temple." He said.
"Is it true that it is shaped akin to a heart, that which the Romalians carved out from the body of the golem to whom the mountain owes its name?" Kenna asked him, remembering this small bit of legend from one of the tales her father had once told her, in her youth.
"Non, it is shaped like any other stone, is smooth and engraved with ancient runes and symbols of your people." Corin explained, having been present as might be evident to you dear reader, during the coronation of the High-King Mael-Bethad. "Quiet now, for we near now the great abbot himself."
The abbot turned his head at once, as they neared despite the bustle and noise that trailed after the caravan that the two rode upon. The mouse sniffed at the ear in what was almost a blind gesture, before he remarked in a mischievous voice. "Ah, if it is not Corin, I could recognise your scent quite easily."
"How can you smell me, in the stench of this city?" Asked the blacksmith genuinely amazed.
"You have a distinctive stench, just as surely as you did four years ago." Iomhar commented airily, before he turned his head towards the seamstress who snickered a little, "And who is this? She smells of cloth and goats."
"This is Kenna, Olith's friend who came to offer up her services to you as a seamstress," Corin stated bluntly.
Iomhar hesitated before he murmured wearily, waving for them to follow him. "Do come closer to the temple, I am wearied now and would feel this cloth for myself."
Corin complied with his request at once, with Kenna hardly able to repress her excitement at the prospect of tempting him with the fine linen, wool and silk that she had assembled over the years for just such an occasion.
A swift prayer to the goddess Scota, along with one to the lord of merchants, smiths and weavers, Khnum departed from her lips silently as they drew up before the temple. The stench of the inner-city and the outer one still hung in the air, much to her disgust. Yet she found that her excitement for this opportunity easily washed that away.
Iomhar waited patiently leaning against the wall of the temple with a tiny hand, his beardless mouse-snout trembling a tad. This drew a look of concern from Corin, who studied him closely, hardly paying her any mind as she leapt from the back of the wagon to start pulling off all the rolled up monk-habits she had sown in preparation for this meeting.
Irritated though she felt beneath her impatience to showcase her talents, for his remaining seated there rather than helping her, in any further way, such as speaking out for her talents, she hurried over to Iomhar's side. Habit in hand, Kenna hardly paid the rest of the world all about them any mind, as a great many people who wished to enter the grand-shrine of Sgain hissed in annoyance at having to step-around the wagon and Romulus the horse. Who huffed and let slip a horse-like groan in response to some of the new-arrivals.
A few monks and other folk, eyed her and the contents of the wagon with mild curiosity, as she all but thrust the first habit below the abbot's nose. "You see, this is the finest wool of Norençia, brought to Glasvhail from Norlion itself! I also have some silk from Lyonesse, if you prefer richer fabric."
Part of Kenna cursed her own nervousness then, as she realized just how much she had stumbled over her words the moment they fell from her lips.
Waiting with bated breath, she attempted to keep from speaking out or saying anything further, so as to avoid appearing as foolish as Cormac might have, were he present. With a twinge, she realized then how much she missed her son, only to repress the thought. There would be time enough to think of him, upon her return to Glasvhail, when she doubtlessly was made to deal with his most recent bout of indolence or folly.
"It is quite fine," Complimented Iomhar earnestly, as he sniffed at it and felt it between his fingers with his eyes hardly looking down at it.
It was with a start that Kenna noticed he was blind. This knowledge was one that escaped her lips before she could keep herself from speaking out so rudely, "You are blind, brother!"
"Oh really? I was not aware of this sudden change, thank you ever so much for enlightening me Kenna," the Ratvian replied with a barely restrained giggle that hardly seemed to her derisive.
"My apologies, I merely meant that I did not immediately realize it."
"No need for apologies my child," Iomhar assured her genially, he continued to examine the cloth closely, with an air of intrigued patience. "It is well-done, far better woven than our current habits; doubtlessly the convent at the foot of the mountain would be better capable of appreciating this sort of fine-work, than I could."
A small sliver of dismay wove its way into her heart, yet Kenna soldiered one and biting her lower-lip. She waited for him to examine the next proffered habit.
This one was a silk one, and upon examining it he reared back with a hiss, "This is much too rich! It is silk!"
"Aye."
"Put that away, I have enough trouble with the greed of certain of my monks, I have no need for you to tempt them so with such beautiful cloth." He sniffed at her.
Frightened that she had made some sort of irreparable error in judgement, Kenna did as bidden at once, hurriedly throwing it into the wagon only to pull a slightly less finely-woven habit. Another swift prayer and she presented this piece of cloth to the monk.
"Calm yourself Kenna, I mean no harm therefore there is no need for so many prayers," He informed her with a small smile.
"You heard me?"
"Aye, my eyes may no longer be of any assistance; however my ears still work quite well, thank you." He said in his quiet voice before he concluded with a sniff, "This new habit is much better, I do think this and the first one you gave to me to examine are more in line, with what is proper. If you will excuse me, I must send one of the novices to find the sub-abbot, and he will see that you are properly compensated for these remarkable habits."
"Oh thank you, Brother Iomhar!" Thanked Kenna enthused by his words of approval.
"Not at all, now Corin if I may inquire as to what has become of the lands of Rothien in the past several years, I would very much appreciate anything you may have to tell me." Brother Iomhar replied to her before he moved his attention much to her disconcertment to her traveling companion.
Corin had for his part remained silent until then, preferring to wait upon the wagon with an expression of indifference, so that he now stiffened with visible nervousness. Biting his lower-lip he did not hesitate much to her disapproval to reject the abbot's politely worded request. "I am afraid I shan't stay to discuss such matters with you, not when I have yet to sell my own wares."
Kenna could well have kicked him then. The monk though offered no resistance, looking neither surprised nor offended, as he wished them well before turning away to greet the next people in line.
Once she had sold a number of the monastic-garb to the sub-abbot, who was a large man with sneering dark eyes, a large beard and the sort of figure that belied a man who enjoyed all that life had to offer. In all, she was ill-impressed by him, as well as by the lack of sound-judgement that Iomhar had demonstrated in his appointment of the sub-prior to his post. The only thing that he did to win over her approval was when he haggled over the cost of the habits. His business-sense was one trait that Kenna could approve of, as she always did whenever she encountered someone adept in such things.
Most of her cloth sold, and much of it removed by a small clutch of monks who hurried to take it inside away from prying eyes, she was commended for her piety (for the weaving of these cloths) and thanked. Whereupon Iomhar went to depart to preside over a Session of Temple, the seamstress summoned up her will, just before she asked of him with a surreptitious glance all around her, as people milled into the temple impatient to listen to the monks.
"High-Brother Iomhar, I must ask- no rather implore a favour of you," She said halting him, with the monk showing the first signs of weariness towards her.
"What is it?"
"Would you, nay rather could you do me the honour of presenting several of my dresses to her Grace the Queen? It has long been a dream of mine since girlhood, for one of my dresses to be worn by a member of royalty." Kenna stammered out almost all in one breath.
"Kenna, I thought you were going to wait until after we had sold some of my wares, before you attempted to cozen the abbot into your little scheme." Corin called out impatiently, from a short distance behind her.
Kenna did not answer him, for she did not trust her own voice or her temper to keep from flaring, but rather she preferred to fix her attention upon the mouse before her. Praying as she did if only in her spirit that he might acquiesce to her request, holding her breath as she did.
"Oh very well," the abbot conceded after some thought, "I do not see why not, if you would like I might recommend you place the dresses in my home, it is just next to the monastery."
They did as bidden, with the house one of the two-storey ones that appeared to be positively humble in comparison to those that surrounded it. It was cozy with the same stone-roofing of its neighbours, though its own roof was rust-coloured. Whereas the actual walls were a slightly less colourful grey, much to the distress of Kenna who had always imagined that with higher-rank better taste had to subsequently follow.
This was not the case though, and as she discovered once inside, it was sparsely filled out with only a few tables, chairs all of birch-wood rust-coloured and upon the second floor where they were instructed to lay the dresses down in the abbot's room. There was a small elevated bed, which had nothing in common with the sort of hay-filled mattress bed that Kenna was herself accustomed to sleeping upon. The bedroom also had a small shelf with the Canticle upon it, one which was well-used and dusty, looking as though it had not been picked up in months. Doubtlessly due to Iomhar's blindness which prevented him from reading what was likely, to have been his favourite reading-material.
The stairs that led up and down between the two floors were made of wood and were about the shabbiest part of the building, which seemed in undeniable need of some reparation. This thought crossed her mind as she descended back down the stairs, her heart torn between relief to be leaving the manor-house and pity for its owner.
"What a sad little house," Kenna murmured full of pity for the abbot.
"Is that what you think?" Corin rejoined with a shake of his head, "It seems peaceful to me."
"Mayhap, you failed to notice the condition into which his home had fallen into," Kenna accused, "What is more, how is a man of the gods supposed to survive no longer able to read their words?"
Corin did not answer immediately, yet when he did it was with quite a bit of sensibility, "By living them."
*****
The spring-festival of Orcus was one that celebrated his death and return to the world of the living, with the lord of light and death said to have perished thousands of years ago. He had it was said, descended into the realm of the death with his bride Venus following after him, in the hopes to restore him to the realm of the living. Legend had it that in the winter he descended into the underworld where he was to judge the souls of the deceased, only for him to return in the spring.
The festival for this reason was a popular one for weddings, with some such as Kenna and her husband Murchadh having celebrated their own upon the formal celebration of spring, in Glasvhail. That memory, when she had sewn a lovely yellow dress for herself of fine wool bought from Norlion. Murchadh had had his hair combed his beard trimmed and had worn a green-tunic and trousers, colours that had gone well with his blue-eyes.
As to this festival, it was celebrated in a rather different manner than how Glasvhail enjoyed the festival. In Sgain, the festival comprised yes of a large feast, though this was to last for a week, with the monks paying for the finest food to be served to all the people present in Sgain. At other times the monarch and his bride came, to pay for and join in the feast. Once this done, prayers were offered in every camp outside of the walls, in the outer-city, with the statue of Orcus, his wife Venus and the goddess Scota were removed from their place of residence inside of the monastery-walls. Wherefore they are place in the middle of the city, with twelve maidens selected to dance all around Orcus, twelve male youths to do the same for Venus' statue and Scota's was to be twelve elders. Before all of the dancers were to intermingle, lilies in their hair and a powerful hymn upon their lips, in celebration of the spring and of the three gods in question.
"As a sun was the light of Orcus Snow-Hair'd,
Venus first beheld the Light-Laird,
Isles arose and the earth shone,
Awed as a maid before the moon,
The isles were green, high did they loom,
In the day as in the night he shone,
Jewels she sent him, long did he gaze at them,
With a hey and a ho he toss'd them,
Red as the fire were her cheeks,
Wherefore she had Ares throw him down the peaks,
With a hey and a ho he leapt away,
In sorrow did Venus weep when he flew away,
Sword-glancing in his eyes and flowers in hand
Did he return!
Eyes as starlight, hair sun-bright,
Smile as snowfall, thus she clung to her shawl,
O how they danced hand in hand!
Across all the green lands,
Until dark-eyed Ares did arrive hither,
Blade in hand to send Orcus whither,
With a hey and a ho did Scota sing this tale,
As a matron did Venus teach it in a vale,
Thus is how all loves,
May they grow!
All hemlocks and leaves do so tumble,
Summer lilies in the vast fields,
As the winter-plums do so grow in the valleys!"
This along with the hymn of Cormac was the most beloved of all the songs of the Caled. The song of Cormac was that which recounted how Cormac the Hero had discovered the Golem, Sgain's heart in a cavern near where the monastery lay hundred and fifty years prior, and given it over to Causantín II. So that it was he who sat first upon it, at his coronation with Cormac the Hero having been the one who slew the usurper Geric who had slain Causantín's father, and seized his throne for a time.
This Cormac had his own statue that was placed just behind that of Causantín, with the two along with Causantín's heir Siomon the Thistle-King, were placed at the summit of the coronation-hill. The statue of the old man was notable for his long beard and hair, and severe expression while the other bore an uncanny resemblance to Kenna's son. Alarmed by how he had the same high-cheekbones, the same tall figure and smiling lips there was, however a certain strength about his figure and eyes that served as the sole difference from him.
It was then that the three Paragons were worshiped and offered up green apples, thistles and carvings of lions and in recent years, unicorns in honour of the current rulers of Caledonia.
The dancing, singing and celebration that was to follow was to last for two nights, before one of the High-King's court-poets was to mount the coronation-hill and sing the epic-song of Causantín and Cormac the Hero.
This Cormac was the namesake of Kenna's own son. The name having come to her in a dream, wherein she was drifting away at sea, the sound of the ocean and the scent of the salt-water still remained in her ears and nostrils even nigh on fifteen years after that day. The birth-dream was one of the few details about her son's birth that she had only ever told Murchadh and Olith, preferring to keep it as private as ever before. The thought of which, now filled her with an ache of grief and sorrow even years after the death of the two whom she had always, loved more than life itself.
In the days that led up to the festival could properly begin though, was the great mercantile festival which involved all goods being sold in the week before the feasts, due to the Temple forbidding the sale of goods outside of food, and tools during religious celebrations.
For this reason, Corin's eagerness to sell all the tools and weapons he could, before the celebration could begin in earnest could well be understood. Though she had little love for him, Kenna was not unsympathetic towards his desperation, to hurry through the sales in question.
They stayed for one night, with Kenna staying in a small inn by the sea, as the promontory of Sgain loomed over the Firth of the Thern, with there being a port that often welcomed trade and goods from farther south, and the Continent. The inn had a cozy bed, of far better quality than her own in Glasvhail, so that the next morn' she had little desire to actually leave her room.
Responsibility ruled supreme over her as always, so that she left to join Corin who had preferred to sleep under his wagon out of worry that someone may rob him of his iron and steel goods.
Unfortunately for Corin though, as great as his goods were in terms of quality, he did not sell quite as much as she and by the end of the day was ready to leave to return home to Glasvhail. Pleased that they were to leave rather than staying for the festival, due in no small part to her desire to return home to toil upon new dresses and tunics, to sell later in the year should the Queen not call for her.
This thought nearly made her heart stop due to despair, so that she suppressed it to the best of her ability. Kenna therefore was prepared, for their return trip, with a bought-lunch that consisted of fish, beef and cheese along with a fresh barrel of wine for the return-trip to Glasvhail.
"Curse my ill-fortune and curse this year," Corin was heard to say as they whipped down the road for the village they had come from.
"If you did so poorly, why not stay several more days?" Kenna asked him from where she sat in the back of the wagon, grumbling beneath her breath as they appeared to hit every stone and bump on the thistle-road. "Surely you might, sell more tools under such circumstances?"
"Mayhap though I had a sense whilst watching your growing impatience that you might do something impulsive, such as return to Glasvhail on foot," He replied to her sharply with a dark glance in her direction.
Indignant at his casting blame upon her, Kenna snapped back at him, "Why cast blame unto me, when it was your own decision to return home?"
Corin did not answer her, not at once. This annoyed her for some time, and though they were to fall back into the silence that had haunted their journey north-east, this return trip's silence of a distinctly different nature. Before, they had passed their time ignoring one another, whereas this silence was one that stung both of them. With the coldness exhibited as they refused to so much as glance at once another, even when they ate together.
It was so bad that when Kenna attempted to sing one extract of the hymn of Orcus, Corin snarled at her to be quiet. Indignant she fulminated, and came near to shrieking back at him before deciding to do otherwise.
Their trip was therefore a moody, stormy affair with much bitterness passing between the two of them with Kenna swearing to herself with every passing day to take Daegan away with Cormac and her. This, along with a great many other muttered gripes, complaints and small character flaws were noted and exacerbated, so that neither of them had a moment's peace.
The week and a half that it took for them to return hither to Glasvhail was a long one, by the end of which they had fallen to stiffly ignoring one another once again after a few icy words in the morn'.
It was shortly after lunch (eaten as they travelled); Kenna for her own part was in the midst of staring up at the skies dreamily. The memory of the sea-dream she had had during the whole of the week that led up to the birth of and during the birth itself of Cormac, once more arose in her mind. For some reason she could no more chase it away, or ignore it in recent days. Not that she tried all that hard, to do either of those things as they brought with them a feeling of warmth. Just as surely, as star-gazing with Murchadh once had, she remembered once doing so by the quay, with Cormac in her arms and her husband by her side, whilst Corin and Olith took the boat out to sea to star-gaze out there. At the time Kenna had been worried, however Daegan's mother (who was pregnant then) had persisted that it was what she had wished for, and that she needed to see the stars from the boat, so Murchadh had given in to her and Corin's pleas. It was then that… With a start Corin shook her with a hand to her mouth and the other index finger pressed against his own lips.
"Tush Kenna," He warned her, as she resisted a feeling of outrage at him for grabbing her so suddenly. Her indignation though was swiftly forgotten though, a moment later when he opted to take them off the road.
"What are you doing?" Kenna demanded of him, sharply.
"It is just that whilst you were drifting away, I thought I had heard horse-hooves."
"What of it?"
Corin did not answer her at once, as he took them off the main road. Curious now that she could see how stiff with fear and anxiety he was, she soon had her own answer to why he had reacted so. There was a sudden sensation of dread, of horrid nausea that pervaded her being several heartbeats later. Such was the feeling of terror, of wrongness in the world that Kenna could no more help herself from breaking into a cold sweat than she could from vomiting over the side of the wagon once they were off the road.
It was as they hid, with their small wagon being pulled deeper into the foliage by Corin and Romulus who had decided at that moment to pull with all they had. Apparently seized by the same shock of terror that had just gripped the seamstress, his jolt thither into the forest they were traveling through sent her rolling back before she could help herself.
"Quiet Romulus!" Corin hissed at the panicked animal, at last pulling on the reins hard enough to re-introduce reason to the poor, frightened pony. With the beast of burden calm once more, he turned about where he was seated to the front, of the wagon to face her and whispered, "Stay here."
Nodding fearfully, Kenna did as she was told, the thought of refusing never once crossed Kenna's mind. For his own part, Corin leaped down and climbing up a little ways to the edge of the forest that was to the right-hand side of the road, to stare out at it, with nary a thought to his own safety.
It was some time, before Kenna understood what had happened, her head throbbing from where she had struck it in the back of the caravan. She froze when a strange hissing sound was heard to pierce throughout the area. This happened just after the horse-hooves that Corin had sworn he had seen, slowed to a complete halt.
To the seamstress' horror there atop a great black steed, sat a terrible shadow of some sort, dressed in a black hauberk with a dark helm which appeared to devour all the light that touched it. The strange shadow snuffled and hissed as it sucked in a breath, then another only for a sound somewhere between steel scraping against steel and another hiss escaped from it and its mount.
Transfixed, Kenna could no more move than she could scream, so gripped was she by fear and horror at the sight of the shadow that loomed over them.
Corin she could see was likewise frozen, pressed against the ground underneath the upraised root of a nearby ash-tree, she could see him trembling as he stared up at the monster.
Her heart beat against her chest with all the force of a sword-blow or from that of a horse's kick, the seamstress attempted to restrain her own breathing.
The shadow though leaned ever nearer, from atop its horse only for a breeze to flow, one that made Kenna's skin shiver, as surely as it drew a sob of some sort from poor Romulus. The sound awoke in the seamstress the fear that they would soon be discovered, however in the next moment the shadow grew less distinctive.
Blown away by the winds that swept it back to the south from whence it had come, the shadow passed just as the clouds in the heavens ceased covering the twin-suns.
For a time neither Corin nor Kenna moved, both were too afraid to do so.
It was Romulus' sneeze that broke them from the fog which had settled upon both of their spirits. With a start, the blacksmith pulled himself up to his feet, shaking and gasping from the fright induced by the terrible shadow. Pulling himself up onto the road he stared first in one direction the in the other, whilst biting his lower lip.
The moment they were back upon the road, Kenna spoke at last still trembling as she did so, regardless how it had been more than an hour since the encounter. "What in the name of Ziu's flaming sword was that creature?"
"I am not certain," Corin answered her.
"It was so horrible, how could such a thing ever come to be?" She whimpered clutching at her dark chocolate brown tresses in a fit of fear, "Why o gods does such a beast wander our fair, green lands?"
"Kenna!" Corin yelled pulling the pony to a sudden, miserable stop in order to look at her over his shoulder, after he had slammed his fist upon the wood of the wagon, the sound of his flesh striking the wood made her leap.
"What?" She stammered with uncharacteristic hesitancy.
"Calm yourself!" He hissed at her, "You appear to be losing your wits, and I need to think!"
Kenna subsided into stunned silence for a moment. Chastened she did not know how to answer him, nor did she know how to respond.
Especially after a new thought entered into her mind, so that she all but leapt to her knees, to crawl over, covering the distance between them to say to him in a tremulous voice. "Corin! That rider came from the south!"
"O-oui…"
"Do you think it came from the village?" She asked fearfully.
Corin turned to regard her with open-mouthed horror, as all colour left his face so that even his dark-blonde hair which was sweat-slicked against his face and which had long since begun to turn grey, appeared to whiten more than it had ever hitherto then.
He turned about to whip the reins attached to poor Romulus so hurriedly that the pony took a moment to jump a little before he threw himself forward, as though his very life depend upon his moving. It may have, Kenna for her part was once again thrown back, with a terrible curse for which she apologised to the gods for her impious behaviour.
"Wait darn you, wait not so fast!" She shrieked as she very near tumbled out of the back of the wagon.
Corin for his part was heedless of her concerns. Seized as he was by panic he hardly registered her complaints until they were well within the village. Whereupon a great many of those who lived there, and who tended their flocks or fields raised their heads to stare in amazed fascination at the ridiculous sight of Romulus bouncing down the main road. The sound of Kenna being thrown all about on the wagon, cursing and shrieking discernible all along the tumbling road.
Some of the children hurried over, whether out of concern for the poor seamstress who ordinarily doted upon them, or to point and giggle, were hardly of any interest to her then. Her ears ringing, her skull and rear-end aching with pain, her cries of anger and anguish intermingling so that not even she knew whether, she was more filled with pain or frustration.
"Wait," She all but whimpered once they had pulled to a sudden stop, rubbing at her head and rear with her hands. "Stop this caravan, less I really get mad you fool!"
Corin paid her little mind, not that it mattered to her for some time, she thought as she held her head between her hands until it had ceased throbbing. When she at last looked up, it was to find that a great many people were in the midst of racing on over, to join her. Kenna though paid them little mind, distracted as she was by her horror at the sight of what had befallen Corin's home. Built decades ago, by his master Fearchar, the father of Olith it had been rebuilt sixteen years or so before by Corin himself, shortly before the birth of Daegan. Though she had never felt much love, for the blacksmith Kenna could not count any moment when she had seriously thought that she wished for this house to burn to the ground.
The sight of the smouldering ruins was enough to make her knees shaky. Her mouth gaping open as memories of girlhood playing with Ida and Olith poured through her mind. The original house had collapsed years prior yet there had remained a fondness on her part towards the rebuilt building.
"What happened here?" Kenna demanded dumbly, unable to believe that the house in which her friend had passed days after the birth of Deagan, and where old man Faerchar had died four years before that event. There was such history in the small house, and all of that had been lost forever!
Appearing by her side, Elspet the wife of one of the fishermen explained to her, "Cormac burnt the house down alongside that old man Wulfnoth, just before they kidnapped a number of the youths."
Her explanation struck the seamstress with the force of a club. Ripping her gaze at once away from the ruins of the once magnificent forge, she could hardly believe her ears. "What?"
She stared at the thin, beak-nosed young woman who had the sort of puritanical temperament that had made her unpopular, throughout the whole of Glasvhail.
For this reason Kenna should not have been surprised by the younger woman's accusation against Cormac, as she had never much liked him. Notably after he had disappeared, from the sight of the temple at the time of Inga's death (not that Elspet had much love for the Salmon's granddaughter).
"It is true, I was there," Elspet insisted as she always did whenever she wished to condemn one person or another.
This instantly served to feed into Kenna's scepticism. "What do you mean that Cormac and Wulfnoth kidnapped several youths?"
"They stole away Daegan, Indulf and Trygve."
"How are an old man too plump to properly cross a room properly, and a lazy lad almost half the weight of one of the lads in question, supposed to have stolen them away?" Kenna asked genuinely stunned by the folly of the accusation. The other woman glowered back at her with a stony expression upon her long-face, with a sigh of exasperation the seamstress rounded upon the rest of the ground, "Are there any others who might know of what happened?"
"A fire began," Said one voice from the rear of the small crowd of muttering farmers and shepherds. It was Helga; she spoke a little shyly as her face reddened when Cormac's mother frowned at her. "Cormac was there, along with Daegan and Wulfnoth there was a fire, but then they moved to your home before they disappeared the day after."
"When was this?"
"Nigh on a fortnight ago."
The shock that washed over Kenna was not near as fierce as the previous blow that had been delivered by the sight of the ruined smith's home. It was nonetheless one that made the woman who had by then descended from the wagon lean against it to keep from falling, so terrible was the trembling of her legs. "Wh-what? Cormac is missing?"
There was a time she might well have wished for such an event, likely during one of her harsher moments of anger and yet now all she could feel was a sense of loss, of pain and guilt, such that she had not felt in all her years.
The force of her misery was evident to all who beheld her expression then, so that one of the men; Callum was quick to hurry to her side. A fisherman of some fifty-eight years, he had once been friendly with her master and was a shepherd renowned for his geniality, especially towards the children though he was often gullible with the children prone to playing tricks on him.
"There, there Kenna, Cormac has that wise old paragon by his side alongside Ida's lads Indulf and Trygve, no harm shall come to him." He said in a gentle voice that she wished so very ardently to believe.
Looking away from him helplessly, Kenna found that her gaze fell upon Corin, who was in the midst of kneeling in the doorway where his home had once been. Rocking himself back and forth, though his shoulders failed to shake there was visible anguish carved into the stone of his back and head.
Hardly a friend to him, she nonetheless knew him well if only by association. Save for during the time that followed Olith's death, he had never appeared so lost, so full of grief and pain, such was the depth of his grief that Kenna was moved to pity.
It was this pity that surprised her as surely as it moved her to think at last of him, rather than her own feelings and fears though they remained as present and horrible as upon her arrival. The very fact that Corin refused to move, since his arrival told her far, far more about how shaken he was, than any physical movement or posture could have.
Murchadh might well have approached him to lay a comforting hand upon his shoulder, where Cormac might have spoken to him with utter sympathy. Kenna was entirely unlike her men-folk in that she had very little familiarity with supplying comfort or any sort of gesture of pity for others.
"Kenna! You have indeed returned!" Ida exclaimed bursting forth from the crowd, her round red face panting from the exertion of racing on over from her own home and farm.
Kenna paid her scant attention, distracted as she was by her pity for Corin and fear for the children who had left home.
"Where did the children go?" She asked wearily of her friend.
"They have left, for the south I know not where, only that it involved the phantom-riders who have haunted our lands for weeks." Ida explained just before a number of people began muttering amongst themselves, with Kenna understanding why they reacted so.
There was a great deal of doubt towards the existence of the phantoms, though a great many others found it a simple matter to believe in them. Between Conn who had expressed uncertainty at the time of Kenna's departure for Sgain, and many of the locals swearing to have seen them, if only later when they were alone with her.
The knowledge that Cormac had left for the south struck with all the force of a battering-ram, little reason could she see in the reasoning behind his decision to head south, with his friends. The decision was so impulsive, so strange that Kenna could not grasp it.
"Why head south?" She asked of Ida.
"To pursue the phantom-riders," Repeated her friend grasping her by the hand, her hand was warm and she pinched the skin of the back of it between two nails which awoke the seamstress from her stupor. "They did it to give chase after the phantom-rider and to take away some sort of cursed gem."
"Cursed gem? Of what nonsense do you speak, Ida?" The brown-haired woman asked, afraid that her voice had begun to sound shrill.
"It is the cursed 'Blood-Gem of Aganippe'," Said Corin grimly, appearing at that moment behind Kenna who had not heard him move. At the sight of the confusion of those amassed before him, he added with eyes that appeared to almost cast lightning, so furious was he then. "The cursed gem was brought hither, by a dying man whom entrusted it to me. It was then that the phantom-riders appeared for they, desired the power of the Blood-Gem for themselves, it was for this reason that Wiglaf also left all those months ago."
Silence ensued.
Then Helga asked curiously, "Who was this man?"
"Murchadh the fisherman," He revealed.
There was a collection of snorts, scoffs and muttered comments about his failing wits. Some cautioned him to speak sense with concerned glances in Kenna's direction.
Corin though remained resolute, meeting every stare with a stern gleam in his eyes, as he huffed out, "I shall give chase after my daughter and her friends. Murchadh entrusted the gem to me, before he passed away therefore it is my burden to bear rather than that of the children."
"Then why did you leave it behind?" Someone asked scornfully.
At this query he jumped a little, thought at some length only to become grimmer than before.
There was something there in that grimace and the troubled downturn of his gaze, convinced Kenna who had frozen until that moment, of the veracity of his words. Having not expected Murchadh's name to come up, she could hardly bring herself to believe it, however all thoughts soon left her.
"How could Murchadh survive the storm?" At first she was under the impression that she had thought this question, but it was when she noticed from the corner of her gaze several nodded heads all around her.
"He drifted ashore to the Misty-Isle," Corin answered sorrowfully. "He was enslaved for a time before he fled with the gem, arriving here mortally wounded."
It was too much for Kenna, who came close to falling into a swoon. No silly weakling in matters of the mind, she caught herself though ignoring as she did the doubt and uncertainty of those around her. There was the question of what had become of the man's body. To which Corin explained that they cremated it in the forge, before they had buried the ashes in the man's proper resting place.
"Blasphemy!" Someone called, but he was shouted down by Corin.
"Non! We had Wulfnoth bless the spot anew therefore there was no blasphemy save that which led to his unnatural and premature death."
This quieted some, and it was an immense comfort to Kenna, for she could not have imagined what she might well have done had Murchadh, not received the proper funerary rites.
It was with a start at that moment that she realized that she did indeed believe the blacksmith. Licking her lips she whispered more to herself, "I must sit down. I shan't believe he was alive, all these years."
"Poor dear, what a shock!" Ida said with some feeling, before she turned to her newly arrived husband, "Freygil do not just stand there, like a fool! Get a move on, Kenna must return to her home."
"Aye Ida," Freygil murmured before he moved to help her, in the guiding of the seamstress across he fields that separated Corin's home from that of Kenna's.
"Corin, you come along also, you will have to sleep in Cormac's room as the suns do appear to be descending," Ida added fiercely before she barked out to all those still gathered about them, "Off with the rest of you! You still have much to do, and no time to be dawdling about staring at Corin or Kenna as though ye have all lost your wits."
They reached her home a few minutes later, with the house bereft of food so Freygil had to race back to his own home, to fetch some fish and ham for her and Corin. Both of whom ate quietly, it was not long though before Kenna, her mind abuzz with questions felt the last of her strength begin to drain from her.
It was as though the fear of just how much her husband had suffered, all those years had been stolen from her. As though in her sudden surge of grief and pain at how the truth had been hidden from her by all those she knew that after she ate she felt a sudden fatigue.
The thought that she might see Murchadh in her dreams, was to encourage to go to bed early, long before the suns had fully descended in the west. For his own part Corin left for Cormac's room, long before she had retired for the night. That night Ida stayed with her, seating herself in a nearby chair by her bed, where she was heard to snore loudly just before Kenna's eyelids at last shuttered closed for the last time that night.
*****
In the morn' the two ladies descended early, just before dawn. They failed to find the blacksmith, and together resolved to get the last of this wretched story about Murchadh. What neither of them expected, was to find Cormac's hay-bed empty and the blacksmith nowhere to be found.