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SECRETS DARK & BRIGHT (from Magh Croimor, Summer of Blood)
Even as I gesture obscenely to the hooting band of outlaws, my heart aches for the quiet solace of Dunn Seannachaidh. I dare not show this weakness or risk losing my hard won reputation as a tough-shelled, unapproachable creature.
What secrets I keep, no one here knows. Fondly I treasure the memory of those innocent days when Hadaig was head cowherd to the Cean Fine himself and I was the gentle healer of the clan.
We are both different people now, changed by circumstances of love, loathing and battle. We belong to no tribe except the ragged outcasts who bond together here, each of them wearing their own badges of desperation.
All healers walk between life and death. It is their privelige, their gift, their purpose. When I left Dunn Seannachaidh to find my lost lover Hadaig, I left my old life behind me. It was a long and twisted road to Magh Croimor. I had to do many ugly deeds to survive, yet I would have paid any price to see my beloved Night Raven again. I paid dearly. My gentle hands are now dirty and rough. They've birthed babies, soothed pain and brought peace to the dying. They've also shed the life's blood of more than just a few over the past year or so. Indeed all healers walk between life and death. Indeed all warriors do the same.
A healer and a warrior am I now. I can cut a man's throat as easily as I can staunch another's wounds.
As I have turned from healer to battle-hag, Hadaig has turned from cowherd to a true son of the Morrigan. In his horrible Night Raven voice, he caws out the name of Dobhar, the prince of Niafer who stole me away from my father a long time ago.
Little matter that the drunken beast fell into a stupor before he could ravage me. Little matter that I slipped away, untouched, before he regained his senses. The terror of knowing his intentions was enough to leave an invisible scar on me forever. The laws that protect princes, warlords and high-ranking ale-pots mean nothing to the outlaws of Magh Croimor!
I feel my lips twist into a crooked smile. For unpaid debts to every man who would steal an innocent girl, I hoist my spear to the sky and scream bloody murder.
Graphic "The Morrigan" a lithograph by Louis le Brocquy from his Táin Portfolios 1969.
5 Articles
test, Jul 27, 2008 - 12:47
Clanna Baoisgne, Jul 8, 2008 - 20:59
Tracing the roots of the Baoisgne clan of Leinster
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