The Sword of Light - Chapter 4

Faolan stepped into the pit where the glma match was to take place. He wriggled his bare toes into the soft grass, letting the little green things poke through his pink toes. It felt glorious, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself. The winds were fair and the sky was clear and bright. It was a good day for a fight. He smiled hungrily as he bent his knees, lowering his hips and centre of gravity as he and the man opposite his circled each other in the pit.

A crowd encircled the two men, cheering and jeering in kind. Faolan felt his blood begin to race with the excitement.

Though his face was set in an expression of quiet determination, Faolan’s lavender-coloured eyes twinkled excitedly as the two men sized each other up. He was a tall man, just over seven and ten hands tall, with a long reach and surprising strength. His body was built from lean, supple muscle that toed the line between warrior and hunter. His bronzed forearms were marked by myriad silver scars from hours practicing in the sun with sword and shield. Thick strawberry-blonde hair was plaited into a hasty braid that fell over one shoulder to brush his breastbone. His sly eyes narrowed under arcing brows. His high cheekbones and wide jaw rounded his face out rather than sharpen it, the lines of his face refining into a prominent chin covered in a tuft of strawberry-blonde beard.

His shoulder blades were coloured azure by the deep blue woad tattoos there. The head of a hart of ten watched the path behind him with dark eyes. The antlers of the hart swirled into intricate knots above, to penetrate the throats and hearts of two fat egrets and a pair of sparrowhawks. It had taken long hours under the druidess’s needle and stone, but it had been well-worth it in the end to commemorate his ultimate victory in the Great Hunt.

That had been two years ago.

The man opposite his had not yet earned the right to bear any such tattoos. His opponent was a young whip of a man named Regdar. He was smaller than Faolan, younger by five winters. But Faolan had seen Regdar training in the yard with the other warriors, and was not about to take his lightly. Where Faolan had reach, Regdar had flexibility, and in glma that could mean victory.

I will have to overwhelm his, Faolan thought. If I give him too much time, he’ll get behind me, and it’ll all be over.

Faolan rushed forward, bounding like a cat but Regdar danced backwards and out of his reach, leaving Faolan to regain his footing as his momentum carried him forward.

He’s fast! Faolan noted with surprise. Regdar’s feet were a blur as he moved to place himself on Faolan’s flank. Faolan swore under his breath as he made to turn, but suddenly Regdar was on him, wrapping his arms around Faolan’s in a lock as he tried to bring him to the ground. Faolan gripped Regdar’s belt near the seat of his pants with one hand and his arm with the other. They struggled against one another until Regdar wrestled his arm free and, forcing Faolan’s to bend almost in half. He got his arms under the larger man’s and brought his head into the crux of his body, immobilizing him.

But Reach was not the only advantage Faolan had over Regdar. With his greater strength, Faolan yanked herself free of Regdar’s hold and got his hand onto the back of Regdar’s neck where he could control him.

Regdar was not to be bested so easily.

He wrapped his arms beneath the larger man’s backside and pushed his head into Faolan’s gut, forcing Faolan to change his grip or be thrown to the ground. His bare feet dug into the soft grass to stabilize himself and moved his arms to Regdar’s midsection for more control. Somehow Regdar managed to get his arm up and around the back of Faolan’s head so that his neck rested in the crook of the smaller man’s elbow.

Faolan brought his weight to bare against Regdar and drove him to the ground. He heard the air leave his opponent in a rush, and allowed himself a self-satisfactory smile.

His victory was near.

But Regdar shifted his weight beneath Faolan and brought his leg up and around Faolan’s hips. With his arms still wrapped around Faolan’s neck, it made it difficult for Faolan to manipulate his opponent further. Regdar locked him there with a snarl.

Faolan tried to roll Regdar off him, but there was no change in the smaller man’s grip. He was determined to make a name for himself against Faolan.

If anyone else had been Regdar’s opponent, Faolan might have cheered for Regdar, but not today. He could not allow his reputation to be marred by this man. He twisted his hips and broke Regdar’s lock, then shifted his weight forward and all but sat on the smaller man, pinning him to the ground. Regdar still had a hold on Faolan’s neck and tried to pull his down, but Faolan was the stronger. He brought his scarred forearm against Regdar’s throat, turning his head. Regdar was quick, though, and broke his hold on Faolan’s neck, trying to grab hold of Faolan’s thigh and bring his legs up around the taller man’s waist.

It was to no avail.

Regdar was fast and had flexibility, but Faolan was too strong, his reach too far. He kept one leg beneath him, the other swung up and he planted one bare foot next to Regdar’s head, wrestling his arms to the ground so that he lay supine beneath him, pinned like a snared animal. They struggled for a few moments, Regdar refusing to give up despite his hopeless situation.

Eventually, though, he realized he could not win. There was no returning from this position. With a sigh, he relaxed and ceased his fight.

“Yield,” he said huffily.

Faolan detangled himself from Regdar, and stood, offering a hand to the younger man. He took it, reluctantly, and allowed Faolan to help him to his feet. “You fight well,” Faolan said, still holding onto Regdar’s hand.

Regdar frowned as he looked up at Faolan. “The games were unfair,” he said so that only Faolan could hear. “If you had been anyone else the fight would have been mine.”

“Perhaps,” Faolan conceded, “but a real fight is rarely fair.”

Regdar lowered his gaze and dropped his hand to his side. Faolan cuffed the younger man on the shoulder and turned towards the gathered spectators. A cheer rang up all around, filling the air with cries of excitement and joy. Shouts came from every directionchallenges, praisebut Faolan politely excused himself from one call after another as he made his way through the throng, all too aware of the attention he was receiving. At last, he came to stand before a woman who stood apart from the crowd, watching on with an amused, knowing expression.

His wife, Saoirse.

She was tall for a woman, standing nearly the height of a man. Her rounded shoulders were broad, supporting the frame of her powerful form. Hers was the form of a warriorpower, reach, flexibility, and grace befitting the battle-furies of Dagda. Her features were beautifulher face slender, her jaw strong, and supple mouth wide. Her dark hair fell in lime-soaked dreads around her shoulders, decorated by bone charms and feathers. Beneath her feline dark eyes was a tattoo of blue woad. It moved from ear to ear and across the bridge of her straight, aquiline nose, marking her as a sheildmotherone of the elite women warriors who trained others in the ways of battle.

Faolan still bore the scar from the day Saoirse had bested him in combat and won his heart.

Her dark eyes had been laughing that day. They were laughing then, too. She smirked at Faolan, causing the gentle lines that framed her mouth and tugged at the edges of her eyes to come to life. Dancing excitedly around her were three young girls, no older than ten and twoFaolan’s daughter, Na and Aisling, were twins. They had their mother’s hair, her nose, and Faolan’s eyes and chin. The third was Aine, their cousin from Faolan’s sister-in-law’s family with her kin’s trademark ash-blonde hair and cool blue eyes. The three were nigh inseparable, and wild as fey children.

“Did you have to embarrass the poor man?” Saoirse chortled, standing with her weight on one leg.

“Embarrass?” Faolan echoed. He blushed, ashamed as Saoirse gave a cursory glance for injuries. There were none. “I didn’t mean to”

Saoirse folded her arms beneath her breasts and chuckled. “Well,” she said, “you did well for not meaning to.”

Faolan frowned.

“You won, Da!” Na said, jumping up and down excitedly. Faolan gave a smile and ruffled her hair. “Ah,” he said, feigning humility, “it was no great feat”

Regdar sat on a barrel, glowering at the heir to Loch Coill as the healer poked and prodded him.

“Do you have any pain, here?” she asked, applying a gentle pressure to his shoulder.

Regdar ignored her.

“And now?” Eira asked, applying more pressure. Regdar winced, baring his teeth. He turned his scowl on the woman hovering over him and snarled, “That hurt!”

Eira shrugged a single shoulder and said matter-of-factly, “You may have over-extended it during your match. Don’t exert yourself and it will be back to normal soon.”

Regdar frowned at her, and turned away.

Eira rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

“Eira!” came the sudden call. “Eira! Where is Eira?”

Eira’s ears perked up as she heard the call. She stood on tiptoe, one hand raised into the air high above the crowd and called out to the faceless voice, “Here I am!”

A man’s hand shot out of nowhere and wrapped around her wrist, and Eira found herself looking into the feverish grey eyes of Rowan the Hunter.

The call had alerted several people, not the least of whom were Faolan, Saoirse, and Ceridwyn. They turned to see Rowan taking the young healer by the wrist and beginning to pull her aside.

“Rowan!” Faolan called out. The hunter turned. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Ferin,” Rowan explained briefly and began dragging the healer through the throng of people towards the forest.

Faolan’s brows furrowed, his mouth turning into a hard from. “I should go,” he told Saoirse. She gave him a knowing look and shook her head. “Let the healer do her work. Knowing your brother she’ll have enough on her hands without you there.”

“But”

Saoirse quieted him with a hand on his bare chest. “I know you’re worried,” she said, “but we should find Ceri and let her know.”

Faolan sighed. He hadn’t thought of his sister-in-law. He nodded his acceptance, and they set off.

It was all Eira could do to keep her footing as Rowan pulled her along like a chariot and horse. The dense trees of the wood swallowed them up before Eira had recognized the stands for what they were. Even over the uneven terrain of the forest, Rowan’s footing was sure and quickleaping over obstacles and using rocks and trees to change direction. It was only by and echoing his steps that Eira was able to keep her footing.

He runs like a wolf, she thought, astounded.

At last, they came upon her quiet roundhouse. Winded and coated in a sheer sweat, Rowan dragged Eira inside before she had time to realize her door had been shattered. Eira gulped down air as though she had just been drowning; her hair was pasted to her skin by a heavy sweat, her face an unsightly shade of red, her brows knit together as she tried to catch her breath.

Despite her state, she looked around and took in the condition of her homefour men filled the space; one stoking a small fire in the hearth decorated in images and symbols of the Earth Mother, Danu, another sitting beside that fire eating a heel of bread and a hunk of cheese, and still another hovered over the fourth, pressing bundled bandages to bloody wounds. The fourth man was naked from the waist up and covered in blood.

Baskets and earthen pots had been overturned, their contents spilt onto the dirt floor, chests had been rummaged through, jars of powders and elixirs had been rearranged.

The five men paused in their various actions and eyed her warily.

“What have you done to my house?” she cried breathlessly.

“Our friend is badly hurt,” Rowan countered, guiding her towards Ferin who was being poorly tended to by Finbarr. Eira slapped his hand away. “And so that excuses your actions?” she chided.

“But this is”

“I know full well who he isI’ve been treating his injuries since we were both children.” She turned into her home and began delivering orders in a direct, firm voice. She pointed first to Hjorin, who stoked the fire and said, “Boil water and honeyin separate pots.” Then to Volstan she said, “Stop eating my food and start cleaning this place up, now.” She pointed at Finbarr and said, “Get away from him and find me clean bandages, then boil and clean the ones you’ve already ruined and bring me a skin of mead.”

“What is the mead for?” Ferin asked, his voice strained.

“For my nerves,” Eira snipped, then added in a softer tone, “and for you, my Lord, for the pain.”

“What of me?” Rowan asked.

Eira rounded on him, cheeks still burning red, eyes alight with exercise and indignation. “Do you know what cat gut looks like?” she demanded.

“Yes,” Rowan answered quickly.

“Bilberry? Stinging nettle? Comfrey?”

“Yes. All this and more.”

Eira looked him up and down. Rowan got the distinct impression she knew he was lying. Her eyes met his for a brief moment. He couldn’t say what she saw there, but whatever it was, she waved her hand dismissively and said, “Very well, bring me what I need.”

A moment passed. The five men stared at Eira with myriad expressions, but did not move. The healer’s eyes widened in a look of frustration. “Well?” she demanded. “What are you all just standing around for?”

The little roundhouse erupted in a rush of movement as Rowan, Finbarr, Hjorin, and Volstan went about their tasks with hurried motions and whispers. Eira gave a frustrated sigh, brushed her hair away from her face, and approached Ferin who lay supine on her bed of straw and heather.

“Now, then,” she said in dulcet, soothing tones, “let’s have a look at you”