Lugh

Dusk was falling on a day where light had struggled to make any impression. Black clouds rolled in on a north wind, bringing with them stinging showers of rain and hail. The island of Thorai off the north-west coast of Eiru had scant shelter and often felt the full force of what nature had to offer. Little grew here. The few trees and shrubs that managed to survive were bent over with their backs turned to the prevailing wind in a vain effort to protect their sparse growth.

The Morrigan found the conditions exhilarating as she flew high overhead. She had considered taking human form, or perhaps even that of the hound, but she was satisfied with her final decision. Tonight was a night of prophecy, and the raven was the best shape to take to watch events unfold unobserved.

Dun Bhaloir was on the eastern side of the island, with high cliffs surrounding it on three sides. The walls of the fort protected an inner courtyard where a tower rose skyward. The top of the tower housed a room made of polished granite. Its white surface glittered like crystal whenever the light caught it properly and flickering flames of torchlight glowed through its narrow windows.

The area of Thorai where Dun Bhaloir was situated was only accessible by crossing a narrow isthmus defended by four earthen embankments. Silent warriors stood guard here, their long spears and their vigilance making sure nobody could pass through without their sanction. They did not see the Morrigan as she sailed by overhead, and although more than one of them felt a presence and looked about them, they could find no reason for their momentary alarm. They pulled their cloaks tighter and resumed their sentry duties. The Morrigan flew to the walls of the fort where she settled and began preening her feathers as she watched the people below.

A precipitous flat topped black rock stood beside the northern cliff face of Dun Bhaloir. Nearby a crude lean-to shelter had been built to house the fire pit around which the small group had gathered. Caitlin, queen of the Fomorians, carefully passed her newborn daughter over to her nurse Derdriu, before moving around the fire to take her place beside the tall and imposing figure of her husband. Balor did not deign to acknowledge her presence but continued to stare in the direction of the druid Aed, who was standing precariously on top of the black rock, facing the sea with his arms spread wide. As the wind gusted it tugged on his ceremonial robes, and he had to adjust his footing to keep his balance.

Balor could have performed the rituals himself, but Aed had told him that only he, or a similarly ranked member of his order, would have the skills necessary to give a true and accurate reading of what life held in store for a newborn. The condescending way the druid had spoken to him still rankled with the Fomorian king. He was not used to, and did not appreciate anyone telling him what he could or couldn’t do. He toyed with the large patch that covered his left eye.

Beneath the patch was the source of Balor’s infamy. It was said that one look from his heavily lidded eye could kill anyone he fixed his gaze on. He gained this power when, as a child, he spied on his father’s druid’s preparing poisonous charms, the fumes from which rose into his eye. His enemies knew him as Balor of the evil eye, but his own people thought him God-like and fearfully followed his leadership without question.

Aed’s apprentice Fachtna stood to one side of the black rock with a bound and tied lamb under his arm. He waited there until the druid turned and nodded in his direction. Fachtna walked across to where Balor was standing, bowed, and placed the now struggling lamb into the king’s arms. He then turned to Queen Caitlin and tilted his head in the direction of the fire pit, indicating it was time to bring the newborn infant forward. Caitlin beckoned Derdriu who reluctantly left the scant warmth and shelter of the lean-to, tucking the fleece covering tighter around her young charge.

Derdriu, who was now in her middle years, had little time for druids and, as she put it, ‘their nonsense’. She had been Caitlin’s nurse and had helped raise her to be a formidable woman and queen, and she was looking forward to the years ahead when she could do the same for the young Princess Ethlinn. The nurse followed Balor, Caitlin and Fachtna as they walked over to where Aed stood waiting, having clambered down from the black rock.

The druid produced a jewel-encrusted dagger that he raised for the onlookers to see. He then turned in a full circle, stopping for a moment to intone an invocation in the directions of sunrise and sunset. When he had finished he stepped to one side to allow Balor to come forward and place the lamb side down on the black rock. Fachtna joined him, reaching in to pull the lambs head back and upwards, exposing its throat.

Aed approached the prostrate lamb, holding the dagger in his right hand. In his left he now gripped a small ornate bowl. He held this under the lamb and swiftly sliced through its jugular. Its frantic struggles caused the blood to splash over the sides of the receptacle and pool onto the surface of the black rock.

From the walls of the fort the Morrigan tilted her head and watched with interest as the lamb finally succumbed and became still.

Aed took the half full vessel and moved away slowly, indicating to the others that they should follow him. He walked around the fire pit to the lean-to where two of Caitlin’s young ladies-in-waiting, Bebinn and Aoife, stood looking on wide-eyed. Aoife looked pale as she stared at the druid’s blood soaked hands, and both she and Bebinn retreated hurriedly to the back wall of the lean-to.

The druid put the bowl down on a small wooden table that had been placed just inside the side wall of the shelter. He closed his eyes and started a low repetitive chant. Fachtna arrived carrying the dagger, and waited patiently until the chanting was finished, which indicated that his master was ready to continue.

Aed held his open hand over the receptacle. His apprentice stepped forward and made a small incision on the druid’s palm, enough to let a few drops of blood fall to mingle with the lambs in the vessel beneath. Aed resumed his chanting, and picking up the bowl he followed Fachtna around the fire pit to where King Balor now stood. Fachtna made a deep bow, and then looked up fearfully at Balor who towered over him.

“If...if you please, my lord,” he stammered, indicating Balor’s hand.

Balor made no reply other than to slowly hold his hand out. Fachtna nervously made the cut and Balor’s blood joined the contents of the bowl. Aed continued his hypnotic chanting as they turned to Caitlin. She silently volunteered her hand, grimacing slightly as the dagger pierced her palm. The druid and apprentice then moved to stand in front of Derdriu who reluctantly loosened the coverings around Ethlinn, exposing a tiny hand.

“Don not hurt her,” she warned, glaring at Fachtna.

The apprentice’s mouth twitched involuntarily as he took Ethlinn's hand in a gentle but firm grip. He used the very tip of the dagger to break her skin. Although she tried to pull away from him she did not cry out. A single drop of her blood rose slowly and fell to the bowl held by the murmuring Aed.

Derdriu tucked the baby’s hand back into the blanket and made her way back to the shelter. She was making sounds of comfort to Ethlinn, whilst at the same time muttering fiercely about druids and their ridiculous rituals.

On the other side of the fire Aed stood with his eyes closed, holding the bowl in front of him. His chanting had stopped but his lips still moved with unspoken words. Fachtna stood before him and dipped both his thumbs into the blood. He raised them and wiped the blood across his master’s closed eyelids before stepping away. Aed then lifted the vessel and sipped from it three times. With eyes now open he turned and faced the fire. He leaned forward and tipped the blood into the fire pit. The logs sizzled and thick steam rose around the druid’s head. He inhaled deeply. After a few moments he looked in the child’s direction and spoke.

“She will grow to be a woman of great beauty. Generations to come will know her name.” He paused, closed his blood-encrusted eyelids, and frowned. “She will love and be loved...and will know happiness, but she will also know great sorrow.” Again he paused and his frown deepened. Hesitantly he began again. “Her offspring…her son…her son brings death. I see death.” He opened his eyes wide and turned to Balor. “Her son brings your death,” he said loudly, whilst pointing at Balor with a shaking finger.

Caitlin raised her hands to her mouth to stifle her sharp intake of breath. She looked wildly from Balor to the druid and then to Derdriu, who now held both arms tightly and protectively around Ethlinn. Bebinn moved to stand beside her, followed by Aoife who looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else in the world but where she now found herself.

The full force of Balor’s one-eyed gaze was directed at Aed. The druid seemed to realize that he was still pointing and dropped his arm to his side. The king reached up and adjusted his eye patch.

“You see false,” he growled. Aed slowly shook his head.

“No, what I see is true. Your grandson will bring death to you.”

Balor’s glare made Aed step backwards to the very edge of the fire pit. His absolute belief in his own powers of prophecy was all that enabled him to hold the king’s unwavering gaze. Balor turned his attention to Fachtna who stood nearby with his head bowed.

“Is this truth?” he asked.

Fachtna looked up, glanced quickly at Aed and lowered his eyes again. “Today’s truth need not be tomorrows,” he said, with a shaky but clear voice. “The course of prophecy can be interrupted.”

“How?” asked Balor, looking from Fachtna to the druid.

Aed cleared his throat. “There is but one way,” he said looking across the fire to where Derdriu stood holding Ethlinn. “The powers demand a life. Give them your daughters and the prophecy cannot therefore be fulfilled.”

“No...no,” whimpered Caitlin, clutching at her husband’s arm. Balor shook her hand loose and stared at Aed.

“So…the powers demand a life do they?”

He moved slowly across to the ceremonial dagger that lay on the ground nearby and bent down to pick it up. “Well…they shall have one.” In one movement he rose and flung the blade in Aed’s direction.

The druid’s eyes froze in disbelief as he looked down at the bejewelled hilt that now protruded from his stomach. He staggered backwards and stepped with a bare foot onto the red-hot embers of the fire pit.  A cry of anguish escaped his lips as he stumbled and fell. The bottom of his robes caught fire and hungry flames quickly engulfed him. He stood and ran with surprising speed and strength, desperately trying to escape the burning and maddening pain that was suddenly all consuming. He ran past the black rock, which still held the carcass of the dead lamb, and disappeared over the cliff edge, his agonised cries coming to an abrupt and final end.

Silence descended on the group around the fire pit. Even the wind died down momentarily. The stillness was only broken by the crackling of the fire and the muffled sounds of Aoife's sobs. Bebinn was trying to quieten her as she glanced nervously in Balor’s direction. The smell of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air. Caitlin hurried to Derdriu’s side and took Ethlinn from her. She looked back at her husband as he walked to where Fachtna was now kneeling with his head bent forward to touch the ground.

“Get up,” ordered Balor. Fachtna jumped to obey but kept his head bowed fearfully. “Your apprenticeship is now over, consider yourself my new druid,” said Balor tonelessly. He moved around the fire-pit to where the women stood, all eyeing him nervously. Caitlin held her ground and looked at him defiantly with her arms held protectively around her daughter. He frowned and toyed with his eye patch. “Attend me druid,” he barked, and Fachtna hurried to his side. “Does the prophecy still hold true?” he questioned.

“I…I am not sure,” stammered Fachtna. “I think it may.”

Balor looked about him thoughtfully, his gaze coming to rest on the swaddled form of Ethlinn. His hand strayed to his eye patch again. He turned and moved out into the night, stepping forward to look up at the crystal tower. No one dared utter a word as they waited whilst Balor considered his options. After a few moments he spoke in a low voice, “My daughter will live here.” He walked over to where his wife stood, reached in and parted the blanket to look upon Ethlinn’s sleeping face. “She will live here and she will know no man.” Dropping the blanket he moved to where Derdriu, Bebinn and Aoife stood together. “Her companions will all be female…you three will be the first amongst them. She will never see the face of a man, nor even know of men’s existence.” He stepped around the women as he spoke.

“She will be Princess of the Crystal Tower, and Dun Bhaloir will be her domain. She will never leave here. From this day forward all males are forbidden, under penalty of death, to come near this place.” He stopped pacing and looked at each of the women in turn, his gaze finally coming to rest on Caitlin. “This is what I say…and this is what shall be,” he commanded.

With that Balor strode away from the shelter and into the night, closely followed by a scampering Fachtna. In the darkness neither of them noticed the raven, now perched and feasting on the eyes of the dead lamb. The Morrigan looked up as they passed. She then spread her wings and lifted off. Her departing cry sent a shiver of dread down the backs of all who heard it.