It was strange how life regained a certain normalcy, despite how many of those she knew so intimately had disappeared. Basic needs such as eating, trading to compensate for the food she had lost to her son's accursed quest and weaving and knitting still needed doing. The shock of normalcy felt peculiar to her, just as the absence of her son and apprentice did.
The worst part, Kenna decided after two days was the lack of conversation and company. The solitude which she had always claimed to so desperately want, was lain over her not as a gift from the gods, she thought but as a doom sent by demons. The absence of both Indulf and Cormac to converse with one another or with her was a blow she noticed almost immediately. It was one that filled her with desolation. The memory of their many conversations, of what they might have said or discussed on certain given days felt as real a loss to her then that the death of her husband was.
The thought of Murchadh and how she had long since given up on him, struck her with almost equal force. Enough to send her reeling, staring at her loom lost in thought on the first day after her return, from dawn to dusk. It was only to the end of the day that she had realized that she had lost a whole day of work.
Now that it was two days since her return, Kenna was determined to reclaim lost ground so to speak, as best she could. She had to, for by Khnum if she did not there would hardly be a house left standing for Cormac and Indulf to come home to.
But is it the same home as that which Murchadh would have remembered? She asked herself full of regret, and a deep feeling of loss.
It was with another start that Kenna came to another realisation; she was crying. The tears flowed thick as water does down the mouth of a river, such as the Firth of the Thern. Such was the sense of grief that overcame her then that she could hardly do much more than wipe futilely at them. She did not know how long she sat there for, her body racked with sobs that she could not understand the source of.
She had thought herself stronger than this, Kenna told herself, that she had overcome the worst of her grief for Murchadh's death. Was that what she was sobbing about? Or was it over that mooncalf Cormac, along with Daegan and Indulf, and the possibility of some unknown harm befalling them?
Before she knew it though, the door was open and Ida was by her side, taking her into her arms, cooing and whispering comforting words and noises to her. "There, there lass, it is aright, all will be well! They will be back before long, so do take heart…"
This went on for some time, until such a time as Kenna had calmed herself. At which time, she was handed a bit of cloth that her friend had brought with her to have sewn, and which the seamstress blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes with before throwing it into a pile in a corner, which was intended for cleaning in a few days.
"There, there lass there is no reason for tears," Ida said, as always at her finest when in the role of mother for another, or comforting those around her. "They will return soon."
"How can you know that?" Kenna sniffled, hating herself for being so weak at that moment.
Ida shrugged in response, a wan smile on her lips, "Because Indulf has never lied. Not once since he was a wee lad, and I do not think he is about to start. What is more, is that they have Wulfnoth the paragon with them and Corin soon to join them."
These were all true statements. Much as she did not think a great deal of Corin, Kenna had to admit that he would never allow any harm to befall her son. What worried her most though, was something no one could cure or comfort away, or Corin could alter was to wake up one morn', with him on her door's step to tell her, her son was dead. Kenna could not bear the thought.
She wished she could have her friend's faith, in Indulf but faith was difficult for her at such a time. Especially when she thought of how she had lost it, in Murchadh's safe return, certainly it had taken her a year before she had stopped hoping.
"I hope Dae and Indulf also return safely," She said hoarsely feeling as though her throat had somehow been torn and shredded, by a lynx.
"Aye," Ida agreed before she brightened, "But naught we can do about that, therefore why not stop on by for supper to-night?"
"I-I should be fine."
"Nonsense, I came to enjoy lunch with you, and will not take no for an answer Kenna," Ida insisted fiercely with her almost bear-like force of will.
Normally a woman who never left her sheep untended, for fear that they may run amok the matronly shepherdess was quick to force some food she had brought from her own home, into her hands. The seamstress thereafter ate a rapid lunch composed of some bread dipped in wine, cheese and mutton, with Freygil's wife promising stew that night for supper.
It was as she was seeing her friend off that Kenna soon found herself wrapped up in another fierce bear-hug, "We must keep faith Kenna, you hear? Faith!"
Those words in her ear, the taller woman waited for her blonde-haired friend to depart, before she turned those words about in her head.
It was true that time and again, she had weighed the possibility of such a visit, the trouble lay in that she had avoided demonstrations of faith or visits. The only show of faith she had enjoyed, were the odd prayers before a meal or beginning a hard day of work. Certainly, she had given donations to the temple however those were done perfunctorily rather than out of sincere piety.
I scolded Cormac and Corin ever so often, and always enforced such vigorous faith in Dae, She mused tartly unable to discern why she had stopped attending Temple Sessions once a month, or overt displays of faith.
If only Murchadh had never left her! The thought was one that came upon her from the shadows, and yet she could have endured the absence of the children, if only he were present at her side, she thought. She had warned him not to go fishing that morn', that she feared a storm and he had insisted.
"Just for a bit Kenna," He had said to her with a small booming laugh, as his voice had always been a deep one that brought to mind the depths of the seas themselves. As though he had sprung from the seas themselves, his next words had been ones that she had turned about over and over in her mind, for years. "It will only be for an hour, Cormac wants cod-fish for supper therefore cod-fish he shall have!"
The memory of that night was enough to almost make her weep all over again.
Kenna cursed her weakness then, just as she cursed Cormac's departure, cursed Daegan's impulsiveness, Indulf's meekness along with Trygve's foolhardiness. She cursed Corin's arrival twenty years ago, cursed Olith for marrying such a man.
Why not curse the long grass that surrounded her ankles also, for good measure? The notion appeared almost laughable, and yet Kenna could feel the old resentment towards those she had lost all the more keenly than before.
This brought with it a maudlin question, of what it was that had been so horrible about her that her son, and his friends had abandoned her, as her father had when she was nary six years old.
Kenna near leapt when she realized that the grass by her ankles was not that nearer to her own home. Tall, wild and stretching out all around her, with the alder-wood fence rebuilt twelve years ago after the previous fence had succumbed to decay, she had found herself in the cemetery courtyard next to Conn's family's ancestral temple.
There were more than two hundred grave-markers there, with family tomb-markers and burial locations often reused over and over again for the same family. Due to a great many not being able to afford individual graves for themselves.
It was for this reason that Murchadh's ashes were buried with those of his own father, grandfather and so on, going as far back into the mist of history that his kinsmen had inhabited Glasvhail. Kenna could still recall being eight, when her husband who was eleven then, had told her that his family's ancestors had been there since before the Wars of Darkness, two hundred years ago. That they could trace their blood back to the age of Roma that so long as there have been men in Caledonia, they have fished off the shores of the land of the Caleds.
Murchadh's own father Waltigon who was already fifty years old, by the time Kenna had been abandoned before her master Eachann's house had corroborated the story. Claiming in his gruff voice that they were descended from the storm-goddess herself. That he could feel in his bones, when there was to be a storm, and when there was to be calm weather. He had passed six years after her arrival in Glasvhail, and she still remembered how his blonde-grey hair had encircled his bearded, hard face and how kindly he had been. She recalled also, how close Waltigon and Murchadh had been. They were not only father and son, but the closest of friends, always rowing off to sea together, singing shanties together as though they were the only men in the world.
As a lass this had impressed her, as an adult she had found herself doubtful of it at times. However, over the years she had returned somewhat to her original position, due to the fierce sea-longing she had witnessed in her son. Maybe had Waltigon lived, he could have taught Cormac much of the sea and talked Kenna into supporting her son more.
Staring at the stone marker, which had Waltigon's name and that of Murchadh carved into it (courtesy of Murchadh and Corin), along with that of Renala, Waltigon's beloved wife (passed away three years before her own arrival in Glasvhail), Kenna felt more lost than ever before.
The stone was an ugly slab of white marble, pulled from who knew where, about as tall as Ida was and was one of the more imposing stone-markers in the cemetery. At the center of it was carved the symbol of the sprig, the holy symbol of Orcus the light-laird. The symbol was one that Kenna had never much loved, not since her mother died when she was young and had to lay down a piece of sprig with her corpse, just before it was cremated.
Is that what life amounts to, for me? Corpses and men leaving me? The thought was enough to almost make her weep, so profound was the sense of loss and bereavement that accompanied it.
"Kenna?" The voice that interrupted her thoughts this time was by no means one she was well-accustomed to such as Ida. Leaping a few feet in the air, Kenna turned to stare at the lass who stood by the doors of the temple.
At first she had difficulty recalling the name of the lass, but it was with another start that she found it somewhere in the fog that surrounded her mind since her return to Glasvhail. It was Helga. Daegan's raven-haired rival for Cormac's affections.
Studying the lass now, it was a surprisingly unemotional Kenna who found herself, concluding that if there was anyone who might well have stolen Cormac from Corin's daughter, it was this dark-haired lass. Pretty, with wide-hips and the sort of figure most young lads were prone to following everywhere with their eyes, and a heart-shaped face that bespoke of not only natural beauty but of innocence. She reminded Kenna, strikingly of how Olith had once appeared; sweet and innocent. The only thing was that where Daegan carried herself with the kind of supreme pride and confidence of a queen. Helga sauntered as though a gypsy dancer, even if she was almost wholly unaware of it. She was the sort of spoiled lass who had had everything given to her, so that she had come to expect it whereas Daegan demanded all, based on accomplishments. The difference between the lasses could not have been more apparent, to her than that between a summer morn' and winter nights.
In truth, Kenna had seen her more than a few times over the years she had been one of several lasses, who had so loved that accursed great oak by the Dyrkwoods. Always chasing after the likes of Daegan, Ida's daughters Rosie and Olith, and Salmon's granddaughters such as Inga, so as to join them in games by the woods, or at least this was the case ten years ago. By the time they had turned a decade old, Helga had become distant preferring to play with Trygve, Inga and Cormac when Daegan was not around. Quite why, had long remained a mystery to Kenna.
"Yes?" She asked of the lass uncertainly.
"What are you doing there?" Helga questioned her expression full of worry, "You look as though you were prepared to leap into the grave after your husband."
The latter comment worried Kenna. Did she really seem as utterly pitiful as to give outside observers such a weak impression?
"It is hardly important lass, I must be going," She replied keen to hurry back home.
The widow of Murchadh the fisherman passed the daughter of Conn with nary a look in her direction, though the latter did not tear her gaze from her back for some time. Kenna could feel her eyes upon her, full of pity and compassion which while appreciated was hardly what she wished for at that moment.
The question of what exactly she wished for from those still in Glasvhail, was one that she was not entirely certain of herself.
*****
The supper she enjoyed with Ida and Freygil, along with their children was pleasant though it passed her by, with nary a word torn from her lips. Kenna found during that meal that regardless of whom it was that she ate with, she still felt miserable and alone. Though the feeling was somewhat lessened, it did not mean that Kenna felt well by any measure of the term.
Returning home to an empty house and waking up to the same home and desolation served only to worsen the fog of grief that hung over the house. Such was the force of her sentiments once again that when she awoke she dressed now in black.
She knew then that short of death finding its way to her, she would not wear aught else until her son and Daegan's return mourning-black. The dark wool dress was one that covered her from neck to toes, and had a dark linen bonnet to go along with it. One she coiffed her hair into and doffed with no great pleasure, before she set to work on the loom to complete the requested linen dress Ida had asked for her daughter Olith.
She had managed to make it a little further, when there was a sudden noise at the door.
Grumbling beneath her breath, Kenna rose to her feet to welcome what she expected to be Ida. It was not her, but to her surprise it was Helga.
"Greetings lass, do come in," Kenna said at last falling back onto her experience as a seamstress and merchant to see her through the awkward moment that had dawned, and stretched out between them.
"Thank you."
Helga brushed past her, her orange linen dress of richer material than what Kenna ordinarily could afford to wear herself, the fine cloth must have come from as far as the Empire of Volkholant. That distant state lay past the eastern mountains of Gallia that cut that state off, from the rest of North-Agenor. Her hair was coiffed together in her own bonnet, one of a light pink colour that went along quite nicely with her black curls, dark eyes glancing about the interior of the house.
It struck Kenna that it had been quite some time, since the lass had entered her shop. At least nigh on ten years, as the kindred of the druid had ceased to pay for her services, save for the buying of the actual cloth. The seamstress had suspected that it was due to his wishing for distance, between his daughters and that of Corin's along with Cormac. What she also suspected was that the lady Ainsley had wished for her daughters to learn some weaving themselves, rather than always depending upon a seamstress.
Judging by the quality of the dress, it is likely that the druid's bride had given up at some point, or that Helga preferred not to wear too often dresses made by her own hands.
"How may I assist you Helga?" Kenna queried politely, arching an eyebrow when the lass continued to stare at her in amazement.
Likely she had not expected the mourning-black, and was still attempting to absorb the shock of such a sight. When she spoke it was with an uncharacteristic stutter, one of utter apprehension, "Has- has there been news? Is that why you are dressed in that manner?"
"What? Nay, I just felt it appropriate until my son returns," Kenna replied quietly before she repeated herself even more firmly, "Is there any way I can assist you? Mayhap you need a new linen dress? Or perhaps a silk one? I have little of that cloth, yet there should be enough left for a dress."
"N-nay," Once again Helga stuttered her fair-skinned face reddened until it reminded Kenna of Daegan's hair, "I came to offer my assistance to you, until such a time as Cormac and his friends have returned."
The offer was the greatest shock of the day. If someone had told her that Helga daughter of Conn intended to ere long offer her services to her, she would have laughed them out of her shop. So rare was any contact between the two despite how they lived in the same village, nary an hour from one another that they could have been excused for not being aware of the other's existence.
It was true that Kenna was in dire need of assistance, if she wished to reclaim lost time. However, the notion of accepting charity was one that did not sit well with her.
"I am afraid, I will have to refuse," Kenna said to her already annoyed by the conversation and how long it was taking, the more time she spent with Helga the less time it meant she was working. Seeing the stunned look turn to one of hurt, filled her with pity though which pushed her to hurriedly add, "It is a kindly offer, but I would need to speak to your father on this matter and that would solely be in the event of taking you on as an apprentice. I do not offer sewing lessons, as assisting others with becoming a proper bride, is I feel best left to one's own mother."
There, she thought it was succinctly said with utter politeness that hopefully might serve to properly dissuade the lass from pushing the matter further.
Little did she expect, but Helga had come to her prepared for such an argument, "But that is- my father wishes for me to learn this trade."
The suspicion that Helga wished to do so, so as to become Cormac's bride hung in the air between them with Kenna remembering the night of the festival. The memory was a bitter one, as it was that night that Inga had died and all had begun to turn afoul.
"And as Indulf, Cormac and Daegan are absent I suspect, you will need aid and I know a little about sewing and working a loom." Helga persisted seeing her resolve begin to falter.
A sigh was torn from the seamstress' lips, so that at last she gave in.
*****
Thus, Helga began to visit her in order to work for her. Though, not as skilled as Daegan or Indulf, or Cormac for that matter, she did have some potential or so Kenna thought. She was quick to correct her mistakes and rarely complained in marked contrast to Cormac or Daegan. When she bent down to work, what was more was that she rarely spoke yet did so until Kenna declared the day at an end.
There were times in the days that followed that Kenna, sunk back into her macabre depression forgetting that Helga was herewith her at all. Other times a quiet almost austere air filled the shop, one that had not been seen since the days of master Eachann had lived there, teaching Kenna all he knew of his great trade.
A trade that truthfully was one that was incomparable to Kenna's mind. There was no other like it, in the whole of the world. Masonry and forging could be used certainly to facilitate the lives of others; however it was more common for them to be utilised in war. Hunting was indirectly linked to war also in Kenna's mind, with only fishing a blameless art. Yet even that was hardly comparable with all the good that came from this womanly craft. For it was through stitching that war-wounds were undone and through this art that people were clothed, tapestries woven and ancient deeds immortalised for all eternity. Or so she had come to believe, with the most important part of this sacred work being the magic of how it took her away from herself.
Left alone, with only her thoughts she might well have sunk into the darkness of her grief. Yet the sound of the loom, the cloth coming together allowed her for a few hours to banish from her spirit the terrifying image of her son lying dead somewhere. Or Daegan or Indulf in a similar condition, or worst… the image was banished as Kenna turned her mind back to the matter of Olith's dress.
It was then out of the corner of her eye that she spotted Helga's mistake.
"Nay, stop there!" Kenna barked causing the lass to freeze in place, her shoulders jumping a little and her eyes flashing up a little with a bit of fire. "What do you think you are doing there? You are going to tear that dress!"
"But, I was doing it exactly as you instructed!"
"You never go against the fabric," Kenna hissed at her sharply, "You could tear it, on top of which you might tear at the strings on the loom!" For a moment it appeared as though Helga might mulishly resist her words, in place of imitating Cormac's fierce temper she let slip a breath from between her teeth. At which time the older woman pulled the cloth from the loom, "When you do not know how to properly manipulate a loom you must always, turn to your hands to guide the process."
"You mean to sew, correct?"
"In part," Kenna said only to correct her, "But you must always remember that only the ignorant sew, we guide. We follow the trail blazed by the cloth as surely, as we are to guide it on the path to becoming what it must be. In this case, you are forging a dress from naught, which means that when uncertain pick up your needle and set to work."
Helga did as bidden. This introduced Kenna to a new problem; the lass could certainly sew, the difficult lay in that her work was slightly crooked.
Correcting this flaw of hers and all the bad habits she had developed over the years, could take time. Much as she disliked having to take that time, it would be a waste of good cloth if she did not slow her own process to teach the lass how to properly do the work.
"Here follow my hands, you must never apply more force than necessary," Kenna instructed before she added, with a glance at her newest pupil's hands. "Never more than two fingers and your thumb lass, less you really will always sew crooked."
Turning away she plucked from her own loom, the cloth she was working, along with a needle so as to demonstrate to Helga how to properly sew a dress by hand.
Seated before her, she hewed and cut through the holes and distance that was left to finishing the dress, working almost as quickly by hand as by loom. Helga for her own part stared in awe at the swiftness with which she worked, her mouth hanging open for a time.
"Now you try," She insisted.
Helga nodded, at first with shaky hesitant hands, she gained in assurance the longer she cut and knitted together the mighty, defiant cloth together.
*****
The time came for her departure the young lass paused at the door, an expression of apprehension and wistfulness on her face. Kenna who had for a few minutes busied herself with preparations to clean some of the cloth and clothing in the corner of the room, as it was sunny out and it would be a waste not to use such an opportunity to wash some clothing by the sea.
"Yes?" She asked of Helga, a hint of impatience in her voice at long last. Kenna wondered to herself if the lass was waiting to be paid, as a rule she tended to only pay her apprentices at the end of the week, rather than in the middle of it.
"It occurs to me that you did not sing to-day Kenna," Helga murmured shifting from foot to foot almost guiltily.
This remark drew a small laugh from the seamstress, "Sing? Why would I sing when there is work to do?"
"It is just that, you used to always sing when working when I was a little lass."
The revelation was another surprise to the seamstress. The thought of singing as she worked had not occurred to her in years.
For some reason against her will, Kenna felt a small chortle escape her lips, one that came as much at that moment from surprise as from the memory of how she worked ten years ago. Trained in weaving by master Eachann, who had never ceased to sing holy psalms of Meret the goddess of music, he had had a deep baritone one that had made the ordinarily feminine songs almost sound ridiculous or took on a different meaning.
"Prayer, I am praying when I work," He would always say, only to add, "As we shan't always go to Temple to pray, we must pray and work all at once Kenna."
In her youth, Kenna had taken this lesson well to heart, and had after his death just before Cormac's birth for years sung as she worked. It had given her such joy, had filled her with warmth with Cormac and Indulf often joining her in songs, even Daegan when she was near had taken to joining her. Her voice the loveliest of all of them, so that many were those who had passing by the seamstress' home paused to listen to them.
After Murchadh had disappeared at sea though, all joy had left Kenna's work, and her dream of escaping to Sgain always a passing fantasy had taken on a life all its own. All songs were banished from her home, so that they took to their work in silence.
I wonder if mayhap, this is what drove Cormac away from the shop over the years? The question was one that she had never thought to ask herself, though in hindsight it now appeared quite apparent such was certainly the case. This worsened the feeling of guilt that seemed to hang over Kenna, almost perpetually in recent days.
"I have not sung in almost ten years, Helga I am not so certain I know how anymore," Kenna admitted with a small wan smile, seeing how the lass looked prepared to object to this she hurriedly added. "Now off with you, doubtlessly your father will worry if you stay out any later, and I have clothing to wash in the sea."
With Helga ushered out, Kenna reclaimed command of her house with the seamstress swift to hurry thither to the shore, her laundry carried in a rounded alder-wood basket. One that Bungo had made for her some three years ago, claiming that he fancied her so. This was two years after he had been widowed, with the seamstress having accepted the gift from the carpenter though she had little interest in him. Once he found that out, he had transferred his affection to another lady, something that had annoyed Ida who had complained for weeks. This habit of hers led to Kenna scolding her sharply at one point, for she had no true irritation towards the carpenter. He was a good man, and she had spurned him, due to her own continued grief for Murchadh.
The thought of singing crossed her mind as she began to wash some of her dresses in the nearby water, by the quay. It had been a long time since she had last cleaned clothe herself, having in the past often dolled it out as a punishment to Daegan or Cormac. Indulf had never given her cause to punish him, so he had almost never done it, though he sometimes pleaded so that he could share a lunch with Trygve and the Salmon.
The memory of all the times Indulf would secretly do it for the two younger children, or would slip away to join them brought, a small smile came to her lips.
Seeing the boats begin to head back for the shore, Kenna threw herself into washing the clothing next to her all the faster, in the blue sea beneath the quay.
She had no real wish to speak with the fishermen, not since she had found out from Ida that several of their number had been responsible for chasing away her son.
The thought of it sent a spark of fury, one that could only lead to her shrieking at them like a harridan. To project such an image, so shortly after her return would only convince others that Kenna had once again lost her wits.
Gritting her teeth, she picked up the laundry threw it into the basket which she heaved up with a bit of difficulty. The weight of the wet bits of cloths nearly toppled her into the sea, with the seamstress barely succeeding in righting herself.
By Scota, is this how it normally weighs for Cormac or Indulf? The thought made her question when they had grown so strong physically, and to question when she had grown so old.
The thought that she was already a crone, at thirty-five years of age was one that made Kenna shake her head in derision. She was getting maudlin and self-pitying, never a good quality for any woman to have, she concluded.
*****
The following day went by in the same manner as the one before it, though Helga did not question her on her preference to not sing. It was not until the day after that one, as they sewed together a new tunic for the Salmon (whose daughter had stopped by, to request on his behalf the aforementioned tunic) that Helga sought to 'correct' this 'mistake' on Kenna's behalf.
At first when she heard the younger woman suck in a breath, she paid it no mind yet it was with a jolt that she recognised the song as one of those dedicated to Fufluns. Though she could not read the Canticle (or at all for that matter), Kenna was familiar with it from shortly after her arrival in Glasvhail.
"The suns had arose beyond yon hill
Across yon dreary trees,
When wet and cold we wear no frills,
Nay, for we do not wish to freeze,
'Can you tell me,' said Fufluns, 'why I shan't wear frills?
Why, it can be wonderfully comfy'
He laughed, and danced all about as we never could
Plowing, sowing, and to reap leaves him most-happy,
Suns are bright, crops are coming so let's ensure
This is a harvest to make Fufluns' merry-foot smile."
When she had finished, Helga looked to her expectantly. Kenna pretended not to notice, and so the lass let slip a sigh of disappointment. Evidently she hoped for some sort of praise. The thought was one that brought a frown to Kenna's lips, a disapproving one.
That day when the time came to encourage Helga out the door, Kenna did manage to remember to place a few bronze-lions in her hand. "Four coins per day of week," She then got out if rather uncomfortably, "Feel free to count them yourself."
The dismissal was one that Helga accepted with a shallow nod, the same disappointment from earlier carved unto her pretty face.
Kenna had just to say turned away from the doors, after closing them behind Conn's second to youngest daughter, when there was a knock. Grumbling beneath her breath, she sucked in a breath to give the lass a thorough tongue-lashing, with the words a mere breathe away from escaping her when she was met not by Helga's face but that of Ida.
Looking from some point over her shoulder, to Kenna's face with a curious expression, Ida asked, "Was that Helga I just saw headed back to her home?"
"Aye, she has recently apprenticed herself here, at her father's insistence."
"Conn forced one of his daughters to work? Incredible," The disbelief in Ida's voice was one that Kenna herself had reflected days prior.
"Why are you here?" Kenna asked her shortly.
"I came to deliver some food, and to inform you that there is to be a village meeting tomorrow." Ida informed her in a hushed voice, a touch of concern in her bright blue eyes.
This revelation drew a small, tight frown from the seamstress who sighed, "I had expected such a thing."
"Why is that?" Ida's eyes were round as saucers, so that she appeared fairly ridiculous.
"There have been a great many people who have left our village, so shortly after those disappearances, I am frankly amazed it took Conn so long to call such a council." Kenna admitted with a shake of her brown-haired head, unable to see how such a buffoon could have fathered so many daughters with such good sense between their ears.
"Mark my words Kenna; I have an ominous feeling about this council." Ida warned in a dark voice, her brow furrowing.
"There is naught to worry about, what could possibly go awry? It will be merely a few hours of Conn posturing, everyone heaping together their fury over Cormac and his friends only to conclude the meeting without accomplishing the slightest thing." Kenna prophesized aware that Cormac had destroyed his own reputation in recent days, what she expected though, was that as always the highly popular Corin would serve to unite everyone. The blacksmith was one villager that they could ill-afford to displease, given the proficiency with which he forged weapons and tools. To lose him, could cost the rest of the village their prosperity, as all knew that the local lairds loved to spill coin after coin upon his works, for they were the finest in the south of Caledonia.
"I am not so certain Kenna, ever since the lads and Daegan left, I have had this queer feeling that all of this, all that we have built here is near at an end." Ida murmured a dark tone to her voice as she glanced about behind her, as though she expected some monster or Conn to race along hither to her side, to devour her whole.
Kenna had no words for her, nor did she try to refute her argument. If she was honest, with herself the widow had to confess to having a certain sense of imminent danger looming upon them herself.
*****
The village-council was to as always take place just outside of the temple walls. Most who appeared, did so reluctantly with there being a great many absences. Only the most successful of workers or the least successful were able to appear, due in no small part to them being the only ones able to set aside the time to do so. Those such as Salmon, Freygil, Aodh, and Sawney the fisherman were all present with the preference for most being that only one family member be in attendance.
Conn stood before the village with his hands held up in what he doubtlessly believed to be a commanding gesture. It was borne from the fact that he had once heard from someone that ancient Romalians and Quirinian druids from the mainland waved their hands about during speeches. The truth was that no one had the heart to tell him, just how ridiculous he appeared when he sought to imitate them without any awareness, of what kind of gestures they performed. Not that there was anyone in Glasvhail aware of the particulars of these historical details.
Dressed in his finest green silk druid-robe, one that denoted him as a proper representative of Fufluns, who was said to treasure the colour green above all else. Behind the druid stood several members of his family, notably his two younger daughters and wife Ainsley.
All of them were dressed well in grey linen or in Helga's case a yellow linen dress, of fine quality with their hair properly braided, trailing down from their shoulders to their flat stomachs. Each of them stood dutifully behind the head of their family, with Ainsley's eyes going from face to face nervously.
A kindly if strict woman, one who never liked to show what it was that she was thinking, unless in a foul mood or expressing her love for her husband, the druid's wife was, Kenna could discern, visibly shaken.
From her place to the rear of the small crowd of thirty-seven people, the seamstress shared in the alarm some felt the moment they saw to one side of the druid's family a man they had not had the displeasure of setting eyes upon in years.
A reclusive man, who had more to do with those villages to the north of Glasvhail, and north-east, Badrách had preferred to send servants and messengers to consort with the locals when he absolutely had to speak with them. His innate disdain for them, one that a great many returned with interest, with none more scornful of him than Salmon, who had maintained that the laird's father had been a wise baron. Though she had rarely ever seen the old man, before his death Kenna had for years held the same view on the subject of the laird. As did most of those inhabitants of Glasvhail, their scorn though was always carefully concealed. It would not do after-all, to upset a man with more than fifty warriors at his command, and with a penchant for violence that was unsurpassed in all of Caledonia.
Therefore to see the local laird, present in his fine red tunic made of Brittian wool (woven by Kenna's own hands), sent a ripple of uncertain throughout the crowd of villagers. None of them were blind, to the sword girded to his belt a weapon forged by Corin that they all knew; the hot-tempered laird might well turn upon them.
To look upon the grey-haired man with his dark pointed beard, yellow eyes and thin lips, was to look upon a stout figure who though he had thickened in recent years still had an element of fierceness no one wished to test. All of them, all too aware of the reputation he had carved for himself in the south, in the service of their Mormaer.
"Erm, we are all here to uh, well you all see this is a very important meeting," Conn began several times sweating profusely, with his eyes continuously leaping over to the man standing by the doors to his temple, as though to guard them from anyone who wished to seek sanctuary.
The druid would begin several more times, all of them more disastrous than the previous time and all of them ending in him starting his speech over again.
It was not long, before several people began to fidget, or to mutter under their breaths. The sense of discomfort and apprehension grew, until at last Salmon spoke up from the midst of those gathered before the druid.
"Well do get on with it man," He growled back stiff, and his teeth clenched against one another in frustration, "It is not as though we have all day, you fool of a druid."
This interruption unravelled the last of Conn's resolve, with Kenna feeling a swell of pity well up within her heart. Her sense of sympathy though, was set aside when Badrách with a huff of his large flared nostrils, stomped over to stand by the village head's side.
"Stand aside, and watch a man does it," He growled shoving the shorter man aside, who fell back against the fencing around the temple with the same look in his eyes, a hare might give a hungry wolf about to devour it. With nary a glance in his direction, or to anyone else, the laird spoke out in a chilling voice, full of menace. "I am herein Glasvhail to reclaim property that is mine by all rights. Something of more worth, than all of your heads put together, and which has been denied to me."
A moment of silence followed his words.
During that moment everyone looked to one another, as though expectant that someone should volunteer the fact that they were the culprit. The trouble was no one present knew of what it was that he spoke of.
This knowledge was not to long remain concealed though, for though Badrách's nature was something of a mystery to a great many of those assembled, it was a simple thing to understand. He was at his core little more than a brute, one whom had for years been hidden from the vast majority of those who lived within his domain. For he had taken his evil nature south, into the lands of Norlion, or south-west on secret raids into Strawthern, those lands of the fierce Raghnall that bordered the lands of Rothien.
They were soon to discover this ugly fact about their laird though it would pain a great many of those present.
"Can we know what it is that you seek, o laird?" The Salmon queried worriedly, his voice unusually polite which goes to show, how serious the situation was.
"It is a sword." Badrách was swift to inform him in a voice that made it obvious he believed the fisherman was playing at stupidity.
This was the sort of tone that, none of those who lived near the fisherman's home would ever have dared take up with him. Ordinarily, he might have offered a sharp correction this was not the case with this particular individual though.
Another moment passed wherein, all exchanged nervous glances between one another.
It was Freygil who spoke up when none of the rest of those assembled all around him, "Do you mean one of those forged by Corin? One of those he took with him to Sgain?"
The uncertainty of the villagers could not have been presented more plainly. The matter of what Corin did with his craftsmanship had never previously been much subject of curiosity, on their parts. He was a semi-recluse by nature, one who preferred it that none questioned him about his comings and goings, or his work. Ever since his first appearance in Glasvhail, he had always been subject to a great deal of wariness on the parts of some of those assembled.
"Corin took swords to Sgain?" Badrách asked of them, visibly disturbed by this declaration.
By now Kenna felt all the fury she had previously felt towards Corin well up within her only for it to pale in comparison to the inferno she felt afterwards.
Theft was a crime, and one that never boded well when one stole from a nobleman. All knew they were a little daft in the head, and unlikely to take the loss of any of their possessions well.
"I was not aware," Conn muttered as disturbed as Kenna herself was, his face darkening with anger, "If he took any swords you commissioned my laird, we were not aware."
"We have thus sorted this incident out, good luck with hunting him down laird," Salmon intervened keen as all of them were, to end the village-council.
"Aye, thank you my laird, and may Ziu bless your best efforts in your hunt for Corin," Kenna shouted from her place to the rear of the village-assembly.
"Aye, aye you have all of our support my laird," Conn repeated with utter fidelity and desperation.
Things almost turned out well, with every villager nodding their heads and muttering curses against the blacksmith. All knew that any assembly that included Badrách's presence was never one where they were present to represent their own views, but to echo his.
Such hypocrisy was not a great concern to Kenna, though she was well-accustomed to living blindly according to the law and never questioning it. She may well have happily continued in this manner, were it not for Badrách's response to Salmon's attempt to end the village-assembly.
"Hold, the lot of you!" the laird cried out just as several of those present began to disperse, "I would ask once more where the sword I commissioned from Corin has gone to."
"Likely Sgain, my laird, or mayhap with him south," This time it was Freygil who spoke up before he added. "Much of what the Gallian did was never recounted to the rest of us. He possibly took it with him, when he departed in pursuit of the children."
"Children? What children?"
"Those who left through yonder forest, the Dyrkwoods," Sachairi answered with a shrug of his own massive shoulders. A tall dark-haired and bearded man himself he was one of the more successful shepherds and woodcutters.
Once again the laird was taken aback, with a number of the villagers growing impatient for this assembly to be adjourned. A missing sword was to their minds hardly a matter, for all who lived in the vicinity of Corin to be involved in.
"When did these children take to the forest?" Badrách asked now, flabbergasted as this was the first he heard of such events.
Most of the villagers shuffled their feet, visibly uncomfortable with the topic, since it involved admitting their inherent guilt in the matter of the children in question. Several looked to Freygil for guidance, for it was he who had led them in the conspiracy to banish Cormac from their midst.
Aware of this, and though she had broken bread with him in days past, it had hardly involved any dialogue between him and her, Kenna glowered venomously at him. It came into her spirit to unveil that it was he who had chased her son away; a thought came into her spirit one that purged her of this desire. It was thus that she fell silent.
"This was some three weeks ago, my laird when the phantom-riders stalked this land, smiting several in our midst down and otherwise laying waste to our kinsmen." Salmon growled bitterly, showing that he was still sore about Inga's death regardless that it had been months ago.
"Phantom-riders?" Badrách wondered, his mouth gaping open.
"Aye, until Cormac and his friends departed," Sachairi explained tactfully.
"I still think that we are better off without them," Ealar grumbled, "Especially that Cormac mooncalf. I daresay he must have been involved, in the death of poor Inga and took poor Daegan captive."
There was a time Kenna might well have taken the raven-haired man's point and agreed with it. She might at one time have even worded things the same way.
This time though, something snapped within her, with the seamstress seething with fury. "Ealar am I to take it that you were involved in the exile of my son?"
The words were gritted out quietly, with Kenna taking some time to notice just how far her words spread themselves out throughout the assembly. The wave of unease shifted now from being directed at the laird, to now being directed towards her.
"Well, I simply meant that Cormac was the one who was presented wherever this 'phantom' appeared." Ealar stuttered with a glance to many of the men who stepped back granting her passage through the crowd, so fierce was the glare of her eyes.
Only Salmon stood between them, and dared to mediate between the two individuals, "Calm yourself Kenna, less you should say something you come to regret, as you always do." The stinging rebuke was followed by the old man, rounding upon the man who had criticised her son, "As to you Ealar, have ye not learnt to cease making a complete fool of yourself?"
"What do you mean?" He blustered, face reddening.
"It is long past time, we cease speaking of Cormac's guilt, not when he is not at hand to endanger the village, with any more of his foolhardiness," Salmon snapped furiously, his passionate words astounded them.
Who was he to reprimand them in such a stern manner? Treating them as though they were no better than infants, neither side was pleased by Salmon's shouting down of both groups, with Kenna thinking him far too slanted in his arguments in favour of Ealar.
It was at this time the splintering of the assembly into factions and individuals grumbling accusations and complaints against one another took place and struck Badrách with even greater force. "What is this nonsense? What of my sword?"
"We do not have your thrice-cursed sword," Freygil snarled at him, "If we did, you would be in possession of it by this time."
"I must have it before day-break."
"And what would you have us do to accomplish this?" Kenna demanded in exasperation, her patience at an end, "The caravan Corin used to ship his swords to Sgain is still here. It has been taken into safe-keeping by Conn surely your sword, is amongst those still left thereon it."
Her words had the effect of placing the druid in between the furious villagers, and the even more red-faced laird who did not hesitate or falter for a single heartbeat. "I have inspected those, and there is not the black-sword I commissioned from Corin."
"He went into the Dyrkwoods, if you wish to give chase you have our unmitigated support o laird, but do kindly leave us be." Freygil replied now in support of Kenna, looking every bit as weary as she did then, of the nobleman's poor treatment of them.
At these words, Badrách looked distinctly affronted and with a horrid curse one that drew gasps from the women, and made the men blink at him in stunned shock he spat upon the ground. Such was the fury in his eyes and that possessed his trembling frame now, none did more than cringe back from him.
"I will have my black-sword, no matter what the price or cost! You have until the 'morrow to return it to me, less I shall see to the retrieval of it myself." There was a certain ominous meaning to his words.
They chilled the blood of all those assembled before him, as none of them understood quite why he had attached such meaning to a sword. There was a wagon full of them, and doubtlessly plenty in the village of Thernhallow which lay nearer to his castle as there was also a forge with a well-trained blacksmith there.
Badrách left them to their own devices; taking his horse out from the stables he tore a path up the road back to his keep. Such was the bleakness of his mood that it appeared to the untrained eye that a dark cloud followed him whither to his castle.
The mood in the village when he had properly left was one of indecision and fear. None wished to contradict the laird, especially since they all knew that much of their prosperity was owed to his neglect of their village.
The despair of the assembly was visible upon every face. Several of them broke off to hurry home, to report to their family all that had taken place. Kenna might well have left, but her thoughts bound her feet, to the spot where she stood.
"There must be something that we can do," Kenna said desperation marring her every word, there were several nods from all those around. "It is as though he were searching for some sort of excuse, to punish us."
"It could have something to do with the absence of some of the properly paid tithes," Bungo proposed nodding his head at her words.
"If such was the case, why would he not mention it?" Salmon asked cynically, "I think you lend him far too much cunning, Badrách is not a man renowned for his wit."
"Mayhap, he will leave us be if we offer him more of what it is that we have," Freygil proposed to his fellow villagers.
It was with this proposal that they and Conn discussed amongst themselves exactly the percentage, of what was owed how much every house should donate. What they found though, was that there were a great many willing to make a sudden contribution where they had almost never done so before.
Some offered more than others, such as the Salmon (who did so reluctantly). Others still offered less and had to be strong-armed into sacrificing some of their wealth, for the greater good of the village. Ealar the fisherman was one example, with several of the shepherds parting reluctantly with a few of their choicest sheep.
It was also decided on the spur of the moment that Conn, as the only man from Glasvhail that Badrách appeared to tolerate, would deliver their 'gift'. What was also decided was that he would transport their goods, with all the remaining swords and tools that Corin had failed to sell in Sgain.
This pleased all or almost all, since the desire to live was stronger than any sense of greed, with many of the locals aware that now was hardly the time for deception towards one another. They would either all survive together, or fall together given the mood of their laird.
Only Salmon murmured darkly, "I fear this may only whet his appetite."
"Mayhap, but at least we will be left in peace with our lives," Freygil argued back, with many of those around him applauding his words, including Conn.
"Is our backs bent and broken, without any of our previous joys truly living though?" Salmon questioned with an arched brow.
"Spare us your philosophy, fisherman," Conn countered face a touch red, though the suns had begun to descend in the west. "We have need of unity and hope, not dark words and strange mutterings."
"It is no philosophy I speak of, but if you prefer to kowtow to him by showing him a hint of what we have hidden, prepare to be made to offer more." Salmon replied turning away from them, to return to his home.
"What would you have us do instead? Rebel?" Ealar asked desperation and horror as alive in his voice as it was in every eye and face of those present therewith him.
But Salmon did not answer, instead he left. He contributed more salmon and cod than any other fisherman, though he was opposed to this plan. This was ever his way; he was always one to voice the unpopular stance within the village and yet the first to offer his support. It was why though he was a curmudgeon he had remained beloved by all in Glasvhail.
There were many who grumbled as they worked about the old man, with Freygil one of those who had latched onto Kenna's scheme with the most enthusiasm. "We should not pay him any heed, since Belinda his beloved passed twenty two years ago he has become quite the pessimist."
"Aye, as long as he contributes his share let us ignore his mad mutterings," Conn added with a small nervous laugh.
"But father, they did not appear so mad to me," Helga murmured, standing in the shadows of the doorway of the temple. "I have a sense that Badrách wishes for naught else but this 'black-sword' of his."
"Bah, be quiet fool lass, 'tis but a trick and even if it is not, once he sees the riches we would offer him he will forget all about this talk of a sword." Her mother, Ainsley countered her sharply. Ordinarily the first to take her side the druid's wife appeared as convinced by Kenna's plan as the rest of the village was.
"It will be well, your father has a hold over Badrách, between his well-meaning words and our gift surely the laird will see reason," Kenna said supportive of the druid's wife who threw her a grateful glance over her shoulder.
*****
The wealth of produce, mutton, fish, coin were joined by fine alder-wood, red ash, grey oak, cedar and birch woods all take from the western woods that almost reached the southern Dyrkwoods. These gifts were given by the carpenters and woodcutters. Such was the weight of the gifts of the village that the cart positively groaned with each movement, with the villagers so concerned that it might prove too heavy for Romulus the donkey that they preferred to cut him free. In his stead, two large work-horses were found and properly tied while Romulus was sent over to Ida's house to compensate her for the loss of one of the horses (as one of them was her property).
The song of Muireall the founder of the village floated along on the wind. The song one that some of those who hurried thither back to their homes, whistled to or sang with such enthusiasm that it made their voices carry further on the wind.
"O for his bride good Ciaran was leal,
A blushing maid most fair,
One to care for his hurts that she did heal,
First he fought for Roma as a bairn,
Judge him not for he had appeal,
This the fey saw and this they desired,
All he wished was to caress his lady's hair,
And to serve his Pech-King in a manner most leal,
Lo! Did she weep when they the fey felt undesired,
Stab and a-hew there, soon he was as good as a yew,
Thus his bride did sob undelighted
His branches tangled in her hair."
Pleased with themselves, many of those present returned home with their hearts full of joy and warmth. By this time convinced of the rectitude of their choice to offer up such a bribe to their laird, so that when they regained their beds, they did so with wide smiles.
Kenna was no exception, though she hardly smiled as such an act was one that she had all but left behind her on the road back from Sgain. Her son and his friends having taken with them all true joy, she had left in life. In place of any true happiness, she went to her bed with a great deal of satisfaction. Once again though, she dreamt of the sound of the sea, and of the leaping fish and of the strange elk that had haunted her dreams, the day she gave birth to Cormac.
*****
When they awoke the next day, the people of Glasvhail re-assembled as Badrách had called for them to do so the next day. They did so shortly after the dawn, with some such as Salmon arriving in a foul mood. Others such as Freygil and Ealar arrived in a much better mood than the eldest fisherman of Glasvhail. All of them convinced just as Kenna was, of the inevitable success of their gift to Badrách.
Such was the mood of the village that jests were exchanged, many laughs were heard and some even sang songs or whistled them with a cheery air about the whole of the region. This enthusiasm for what the day had to offer them was surely a prelude they said to themselves, to a great and happy day not unlike, all those that had come before this one. Though she hardly joined in the cheer or songs that followed, Kenna accepted a great many of the accolades, applause and praise that those around her offered her, with a polite nod of her head. Many of them considering her the village saviour, for her idea of offering a gift to Badrách, and Conn one also for carrying it out, with the assembly gathering in much less uncertain spirits than they had the prior day.
They were made to wait though. Conn had left the prior night, so that it was his wife Ainsley who called them to order, with the approval of the likes of Ealar, Freygil and the rest of the men-folk. Joined now by a few more people, who were drawn by curiosity to this assembly, keen as they were to bear witness to what was to transpire.
Once all were present, they were made to wait still longer. This waiting period filed down the nail that was the patience of the locals. Hardly a patient people for anything other than working the earth, or fishing they grumbled amongst themselves.
Waiting for his return was made all the worst because of the ice-cold northern breeze that crashed into every face, tearing at their skin, whipping their clothes about and otherwise flagellating them as punishment for having the temerity to step outside of their warm homes. Still they resolved themselves against it, and did their utmost to follow the excellent example set by their ancestors and the promontory in absorbing the sea's many blows. This resolve on their part was an entirely noble thing for which they were to later receive much praise from their relatives, for. For the present though, they suffered as all men and women indeed must through the coldest morn' they had yet endured in days.
Some such as Salmon and Kenna felt immense gratitude and were the recipients of considerable envy for having dressed themselves in black. They had done so, more out of continued grief for their lost loved ones and those who had fled the village than out of any true foresight. However, a great many nonetheless cursed themselves for not having worn darker and thicker cloth as they were observed to have done.
"Where is he?" Some of those present asked before the doors of the temple of Fufluns, barely able to see past the light of their torches, as the suns awoke almost grumpily in the east.
"I know not."
"He must be here soon," Others muttered.
"Mayhap we should send someone, to go see if he is en route for the village," Freygil proposed uncertainly.
"Patience, he will return soon, doubtless he is counting all the great gifts we have given him." Kenna assured him, convinced of the success of her plan. All knew how greedy Badrách could be, and how short-sighted he was in comparison to his wise father, Ringean who had ruled as laird before him. Therefore, a simple bribe would surely convince him to leave them in peace and look elsewhere for his 'black-sword'.
Still they waited. It was just as some began to mutter about getting on with their day, the suns having by now risen in the heavens so that they were splashed with orange and yellow light. That the sound of horse-hooves striking the ground and sight of a lone horseman galloping hither towards them that they took heart.
An air of expectation hung in the air, as all waited breathlessly for the horseman to arrive to announce that their laird had been properly placated. Only Salmon appeared reserved, his cynicism at that moment left him the pariah in the village. A status he was not unaccustomed to, as he waited to the rear of the assembly with crossed arms. With Kenna having exchanged him in terms of status, as she now stood at the head of the assembly, due entirely to the gratitude felt for her part in the previous day's gathering.
This newly achieved status was one that Kenna had striven for, for years. The trouble was that now that she had it, it felt utterly hollow. It was not at all the same, if she could not rejoice in it with Daegan and Indulf. Or use it to demonstrate to Cormac what one could achieve with a bit of hard-work.
That mooncalf, Kenna thought miserably to herself, forcing herself to shake off the thought of him and how he might have shrugged indifferently or wandered off while she spoke. Doing so lest she might fall to weeping in public, which was something that genuinely horrified her worst than the threat of death.
The horseman began to pull his mount to a halt before them, with none of them at all surprised to discover that Badrách had deferred his return to Glasvhail, to a subordinate. This was to the contrary, something that they had all come to expect from their laird. This was entirely because he had never been very attentive towards his duties that did not involve the swinging of a blade.
What none expected was the horseman pull himself to a sudden halt before them, with a scornful expression on his long face. His was a figure none were familiar with, though his accent was a local one that they could all decipher perfectly with nary any difficult. His thick brown hair and beard were both long, his years middling at best and his chocolate eyes were as hard as stones. He pulled himself to a stop with a single tug of his beefy arm on the reins of his mount.
"People of Glasvhail, know that you have sinned most grievously against your noble laird, Badrách," The warrior bellowed with a glower, his dark horse huffing a little as though it wished to contribute to the air of menace about him. The effect was not lost upon those gathered before rider and animal, as all took a step away from him. "Long have you toiled herein the fields of thy ancestors, and longer still has the house of Thernkirk been master over ye all. Long has Badrách tarried in distant lands for your protection, always for your safety and longer still have ye all cheated him, abused his good-natured kindness and failed to properly demonstrate your gratitude for all that he has given and sacrificed for you all." At these words the Salmon could be heard to snort in utter contempt. "What have ye all to say for yourselves for your gross injustice towards fair and noble Badrách?"
Everyone exchanged glances, unsure of what to say or do. They had not prepared themselves that morn', to be scolded. Kenna was no exception, shivering as the cold wind had hardly dissipated she exchanged a worried stare with Ainsley.
Only Freygil had the boldness to step forth from the crowd of people, to defend their good names, "We must protest as all that we wish is to be good subjects, which is why we gave the last of all that we had."
This was not strictly speaking true, as there was still a great deal of mutton, fish, coin and cloth to be found in the village. The village had only offered up each a small amount of their over-all wealth, what was owed or they felt were owed by them to their laird. Such was the strength of their feelings of justice that there were few, who had truly sought to cheat their laird feeling that mayhap some compensation was owed for the lost sword.
At present they were beside themselves with stupefaction, when the baron's messenger not only spat in their faces but sneered at their attempts to placate him. "Somehow I doubt that, ye all look too fat, too well-to-do to have offered all that ye have to your laird."
"Have you come all this way, merely to insult us and criticize us for our good fortune?" Salmon challenged his brows knitting together in frustration, "Would you have us starve? Or mayhap you intend to abuse us, as your precious laird has for failing to produce a sword of which, we know nothing of?"
So true did his words ring amongst those of the assembly that there were many faces that grew black with anger, and others that looked to the messenger with uncertainty in their eyes.
The beefy warrior did not disappoint any who might have expected him, to take the Salmon's words but poorly. He flushed then a bright scarlet almost purple colour, his eyes darkening until they were nigh on black with fury.
"Do you know of whom you speak to peasant?" He demanded of the old man who shrugged his shoulders in response, to which the messenger answered, "I am Craig of Thernkirk, and am the finest of those warriors sworn to Badrách's service. I have never failed in any of my duties to him, nor do I intend to begin to hereon this day. Therefore I ask of those of you of the village of Glasvhail as he did before me; where is the black-sword forged by Corin the Smith?"
There was now something of a strange admixture between dread and mutinous hostility that grew between the villagers and Craig the herald. None knew what next he intended to do, nor were they truly prepared for much more than the exchange of words.
What none expected though, was for Craig to shrug his shoulders a moment later, "Very well I can see that I can no more take this village than I could change the direction of the sea." This was the end of it, they decided but little did they know that the herald had one last 'gift' in store for them. "If ye tarry to return the black-sword to Thernkirk-Castle, you shall share in the fate of your druid. You have two days…" Craig barked at them, turning his horse to return from whence he had come.
With a single gesture, he withdrew from the pack attached to the left-hand side of his horse, a large ball or what appeared to be so, and threw it with a forward motion of his arm at the feet of the assembly.
It took Kenna several long minutes for her mind to realize why it was that Ainsley began to scream and wail, before she fell into a swoon. Her daughters screeching with horror, as Eillidh the youngest burst into one loud wailing scream unmatched save for that which escaped Helga's own lips. What lay at their feet was the head of poor old Conn, his expression twisted into an expression of stunned pain.