Page 63 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Y ou’re sure you told him dawn?” Conor asked.

Padraigan nodded patiently. “They will be here, great lord. Have faith.”

It was a misty, cold morning. The day had dawned dark, with a heavy fog hanging over the land, as Padraigan and Conor had made their way out toward the mound of Dowth.

Truthfully, it was a strange experience for Conor, who had been here two days ago when his life had suddenly changed. This was where it had all started. Now that he was back, he found himself peering into the passageway where he and Destry huddled before they’d been blown out by forces beyond their control. He’d told Destry that they were essentially stuck in this time period, but stuck with a purpose. The more time passed, the more he was coming to believe that. Somehow, someway, fate had put them here for a reason.

He was sticking to that theory.

“You miss your home.”

He heard Padraigan’s soft voice behind him as he peered into the mound. He turned to look at her. “I do,” he said. “It’s the only one I remember.”

“You wish to return, great lord?”

He shrugged. “I would like to eventually,” he said. “But I will tell you what I told Destry—that I feel as if we’ve been brought here for a reason. Maybe that wizard you told me about banished me to the nether realm, just like you said. I’m not disputing that. But we were brought back for a reason. I’d like to find out what that reason is.”

Padraigan took a few steps toward him. Wrapped in a heavy cloak against the mist, she looked tiny and fragile.

“I did indeed bring you back for a reason, great lord,” she said. “Olc’s magic may be strong, but mine is also strong because of my feelings for you and our great queen. Ciannachta is a city of people who loved and laughed and respected you as their king. You were someone to be admired greatly. When your brother banished you, a veil of darkness was cast over the city. You must bring back the light.”

He looked at her seriously. “Is that the only reason?” he said. “Because I need to restore myself to the throne? What is so special about this town that it needs me again?”

Padraigan’s gaze lingered on him a moment before she lowered her head, pulling the cloak more tightly around her small body.

“It is not simply to restore you to the throne,” she said. “You have been away too long. The memory of your past life has been removed from your mind. But there is a battle playing out at Ciannachta, and if you do not win, this land will be lost. Gods are using men to do battle against one another, and the battle at Ciannachta will only get worse. We are coming to a moment of peace or of fire. There is a fork in the road, and we must choose the right path.”

Conor knew all there was to know about the Irish mythological cycle, an incredibly complex web of legends and tales that made up Irish history. Many of the original tales were written centuries ago, something that over the years took shape and form, becoming the basis for analysis and interpretation in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries by great scholars. But Conor believed that all legends had a basis in reality, and as he listened to Padraigan, he was coming to think that she was speaking about some of these ancient legends. They had to start somewhere.

Maybe that’s what she meant.

“What gods?” he asked. “Who is using men to do battle?”

Padraigan was looking off into the mist now. “I did not tell you all of this when you first returned,” she said quietly. “You were confused enough without my telling you everything, but the truth is that you are needed, great lord. Your brother’s wizard, Olc, is a son of Cichol, a demon of chaos. Your brother listens to Olc because he tells him what he wishes to hear. He makes it so Geric can rule your lands. He puts more greed in your brother’s heart because he wants something from him.”

By this time, Conor was looking at her as if she’d gone mad. “Wait,” he said, thoroughly perplexed. “You said Cichol? You can’t possibly mean Cichol Griscenchos?”

“The Fomoire .”

Conor’s jaw dropped. “Fomorian?”

She looked at him, seeing his shock. “You came from the nether realm,” she said. “Surely it cannot surprise you that the wicked roam the earth in many shapes and in many centuries. It is always there. The Formoire are here in our time, great lord, and they want your kingdom. How do you think you were banished so easily? They used their power to do it.”

Conor had to make a conscious effort to shut his mouth. He was absolutely gobsmacked. Padraigan was speaking of the mythical race of misshapen and evil monsters that were said to have once populated Ireland. Most scholars thought they were simply a mutation of pagan gods, but if he was understanding Padraigan correctly, they weren’t legend.

They were real.

He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“Jesus,” he muttered, looking away and trying to wrap his head around what she was telling him. “Formorian? Seriously?”

He was muttering to himself, but Padraigan was listening. “Were there no demons in the nether realm, great lord?”

He sighed, running a hand through his red hair. “Not in mythical form, no,” he said. “And I wasn’t in the nether region. I was living a thousand years in the future, right here in Ireland. There were no Formorians or gods or witches or demons that I know of.”

“They have all been destroyed?”

“They must have been,” he said, turning to look at her. “Are you telling me they actually exist?”

Padraigan nodded. “They are in our world,” she said. “There is a prophecy, great lord, a prophecy of old. It is said that a great king will rise in the east and begin the banishment of the Formoire . We have been waiting for a long time for such a warrior-king, and I believe it to be you. The banishment of the evil that walks our lands must begin somewhere. It must begin with you. That is why I returned you. That is why you are here. The salvation of Eire must start with you.”

Conor was having a difficult time keeping the astonishment off his face. “So the destruction of these… these legends begins with me?”

“I believe so.”

More insanity for Conor to wrap his head around. He had to think about that seriously for a moment, but it didn’t take him very long. Since arriving here two days ago, he’d seen some very strange things—lizard creatures, dwarves becoming children, and so on. Things his scientific mind couldn’t explain, which was creating a massive quandary within him. Now, Padraigan was telling him that he was to fulfil a prophecy of sorts. He’d told Destry they’d been brought back for a reason, and the white witch had just handed him that reason on a silver platter.

The salvation of Eire must start with you.

Those weren’t words he’d ever expected to hear, but on the other hand, his entire life had been about his country and his culture. It was ingrained in him more deeply than anyone he knew. His heart bled green; his soul was entrenched in the earth of his birth country.

And now this.

Somehow, it didn’t seem so outlandish. As if everything in his life had pointed to this moment.

“Okay,” he said, sighing sharply. “I suppose I have no other choice but to go on a little faith here. If you say this is why I’m here, then I’ll take you at your word. But first, I want to know who you are. Clearly, you’re a sorceress, so what… what are you?”

Padraigan smiled faintly. “I am what you see, great lord.”

“Are you mortal?”

She cocked her head. “I am Tuath de ,” she said. “My soul is immortal, but the flesh upon me bleeds as yours does.”

Conor snorted, rolling his eyes as he realized what she meant. “Fuck me,” he mumbled to himself, overwhelmed with the irony of it all. “Tuatha de Danann. She’s from a race of demigods.”

He was chuckling, trying not to lean to the side of madness in all of this. Destry had once suggested that this experience was some kind of mass hallucination, and, at the moment, he was trying not to agree with her. It was all madness. But after what he’d seen, he supposed there was truth to it.

All of it.

He was caught up in what was commonly known as an Irish mythological cycle.

And he had a purpose.

“So you’re my white witch,” he said. “I’m going to have to trust you because I still don’t remember anything. You’re going to have to tell me everything I need to know for whatever purpose I’ve been born to accomplish.”

“I will do all I can, great lord.”

“Good,” he said. “Because not remembering anything is going to be a problem. I’ve got to—”

He was cut off by noise in the brush off to his right. Something was coming through the thick bramble, and he turned to face it, admittedly feeling some nerves. Maybe it was another lizard creature, or maybe it was more naked guys out to attack him. He was dressed in his kingly garb this morning, and that included the gorgeous sword Padraigan had given him, but he really didn’t want to use the thing and damage it.

He hoped he didn’t have to.

Three men suddenly emerged from the foliage, and Padraigan reached out, touching Conor’s arm.

“Those are your loyal men, great lord,” she said, a smile on her lips. “Do you not recognize them?”

Conor peered at them closely as they came near. The men, three big men, were looking at him in shock. They came closer, without speaking, before taking a swift knee several feet in front of him, lowering their heads in a sign of respect.

“Great lord,” one man said, awe in his voice. “Praise God and the saints that you have truly and finally returned to us.”

Conor looked at the three lowered heads before glancing to Padraigan with uncertainty, but she nodded encouragingly. He cleared his throat softly.

“Get up,” he said, but realized that didn’t sound very kingly. “Rise. Please rise.”

They did, looking at him with varying degrees of emotion. Conor swore he saw tears in the eyes of a couple of them. There was a big man with shaggy brown hair, an equally big man with black hair and pale skin, and then a tall, sinewy man with dark blond hair to his shoulders and freckles all over his face. That man was on the verge of weeping.

The emotion in the air was palpable. Something warm and healing and full of hope. Conor had never felt anything like it, but it was there. It was like dust upon the wind, falling upon them, mingling with them, fortifying this moment that was as unexpected as it was joyful.

Conor cleared his throat again.

“You know who I am?” he asked them.

All three of them nodded without hesitation. “Our prayers have been answered, great lord,” the man with shaggy brown hair said. “When Padraigan told me yesterday that you had finally returned, I will admit that I had my doubts. But I doubt no more, great lord. Forgive me my momentary weakness.”

Conor could see the sincerity in their faces. He wasn’t quite sure what they expected from him at that moment, so he did what he thought he should do—he walked up to the man who had just spoken and looked him in the eye.

“I was told by Padraigan what had happened,” he said quietly. “I will admit that I remember nothing. Whatever happened to me destroyed my memory of this place and this time. I am told that the three of you are my loyal men, so I will have to ask forgiveness that I don’t remember you. But I want to. I hope you will help me do that. What’s your name?”

The man with the shaggy brown hair had warmth in his eyes. “Auley, great lord,” he said. “I am Auley Bannan. I am the commander of your army.”

Conor could see, in that simple sentence, that there was great affection for him. It was all over the man’s face, which made Conor feel more confident about this strange situation. Clearly, these men felt something for him, so if he’d truly had any doubt that he was who Padraigan said he was, then that doubt was evaporating.

Something inside him was becoming fulfilled.

The ancient Celtic king was beginning to rise.

“Auley,” he repeated. “I will not forget your name.”

“Thank you, great lord.”

Conor turned to the next man, who seemed to be struggling to hold back his emotion. The man with black hair and black eyes looked as if he would burst forth with tears had he any less self-control.

“I am Bradaigh mac Neil, great lord,” he said before Conor could ask. “I am your high warrior. We were like brothers, once.”

Conor could see the deep feeling in the man’s heart. It was in his eyes, in his manner. “And we will be again,” he said. “I am sure of it. You will help me remember our bond.”

Bradaigh nodded smartly. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he refrained, being a man of action more than a man of words. Somehow, Conor sensed that. Looking at him, looking at all of them, gave him a bizarre sense of déjà vu, which meant that somewhere deep inside of him, more memories were beginning to stir. God, he hoped so, because he wanted to remember everything. This life he’d once been part of and would be again. He was going in blind to an incredibly dangerous situation, and he was desperate to know all he could. He had told Destry that he didn’t think they’d been put here just to be killed, but the truth was that these were dangerous and deadly times. They could very well be killed.

As he’d once said, he simply wanted to survive it.

The third man was looking at him with obvious glee when he turned to him. This man was tall, lanky, with the biggest hands Conor had ever seen. He wasn’t as restrained or reserved as the other two because his entire body was twitching with the happiness he was feeling.

“And you?” Conor asked. “What’s your name?”

“Brone, great lord,” the man replied. “I am your laoch meargánta .”

Conor’s brow furrowed. “Reckless warrior?” he repeated. “That sounds rather dangerous. What do you do in battle?”

“He is the first man into a fight,” Bradaigh said, eyeing Brone with both approval and disapproval, a strange combination. “Auley gives the orders, and Brone carries them out. Men follow him without question. Reckless warrior is simply what we’ve taken to calling him over the years, but his formal title is first warrior. The first man into the fight and the last one to leave it. You will never meet a braver man.”

Conor understood. His gaze lingered on Brone, and simply from the man’s giddy expression, he could easily see why he was called reckless. He just had that look about him. But he’d managed to survive all these years, so there had to be some restraint in him, somewhere.

Conor found himself looking at all three of them, reconciling himself to the men who had helped him command. And who had fled rather than serve his brother.

“Padraigan has told me everything,” he said. “I know about Geric and I know what he’s done. I know what his wizard did to me and my wife, but Padraigan has brought us back. The problem is that we don’t remember anything. Up until last night, my wife didn’t even speak the language. We’ve been in another place and another time, where we had lives and friends and families. We knew nothing of this world we now find ourselves in, so I will rely on you men to help us. There’s a kingdom that needs me, so I’ll need all the help I can get.”

The three men all nodded, but Auley spoke. “Understood, great lord,” he said. “Just know that we are very glad to see you. Truthfully, we weren’t sure we ever would when we heard you’d been banished. Men that Olc of the Eye banishes don’t return, so whatever magic Padraigan cast upon you is very strong. Very strong indeed.”

Conor glanced at the little sorceress, who smiled timidly. But his attention returned to his men. “I’m back in body and spirit, but not in mind,” he said. “I need you to tell me everything you know about Geric and the men who support him. I’m hearing he has Viking mercenaries helping him.”

The word “Viking” didn’t mean anything to them, as that wasn’t a word widely used until later centuries, and Conor could see their confusion. He quickly corrected himself.

“I mean Northmen,” he said. “Mercenaries from the land of the Danes. If we are to regain the kingdom, then I need to know what you know.”

Now, the men understood. There wasn’t any hesitation in telling Conor what he needed to know. Even if it involved a personal opinion or two with regard to Geric.

“Your brother was an old evil from the days of his childhood, great lord,” Bradaigh said grimly. “He always envied you. Before you married your wife, he tried to steal her from you, but your love for her was too strong. Many of us… we thought you should have killed him long ago. He has only, and always, been a threat to you. But you would not do it, stating that you only had one brother and that to kill him would be to lower yourself to being a murderer. But still, Geric plotted and planned against you until that dark and terrible night over a year ago.”

Conor was listening intently. “The night he had me banished?”

Bradaigh nodded. “It was a peaceful night, like any other,” he said, thinking back to that troubling moment. “I remember it well. We’d heard of a buildup of raiders to the north, but that wasn’t unusual. We’ve had Northmen on these shores since the days of my ancestors. We were keeping watch on them, but as we watched the group to the north, a group landed to the south. They moved up at dawn, and that was when hellfire began to rain upon us. There was a battle.”

“Where was my army?” Conor asked.

Bradaigh shifted uncomfortably. “Sleeping,” he said. “We sent out regular scouts to watch the land, but the scouts were killed before they could report the movements of the men from the south. They caught our army off guard, and Geric had spies inside the castle. They bolted the hall doors, where the army was sleeping, while those same spies opened the gates. After that… after that, the Northmen ran free. I came to you, along with Brone, and we attempted to help you escape, but we were not successful. We were all captured except for your wife and sons. They managed to break free through the drainage ditches beneath the cashel. They ran for freedom.”

Conor knew the basics of what had transpired from Padraigan, but hearing the details was something different. It was so strange, like hearing a movie or a book plot, only this was for real. This really happened in a minor kingdom in Ireland at the beginning of the Middle Ages, one event in a history full of such events spread all over the world. Men seeking to conquer, other men seeking to hold what they had. He was a professor of history, and he knew these stories. He’d studied them and he’d taught them. He’d always felt such a kinship with tales from ancient Ireland, so much so that he’d actually changed his surname to reflect his passion and affinity. Now, he knew why.

Because the same thing had happened to him.

It was a stunning realization.

“I’m told that my wife took my sons to Padraigan, who cast a spell upon them so they would not be discovered,” he said, watching the men around him nod. “And my wife? She returned to the castle?”

Bradaigh continued, “She returned to plead for your release. Your brother had always had a passion for her, and she tried to use that against him. She hated your brother, but she was willing to do whatever was necessary in order to gain your release. You are not going to like what I am about to tell you, great lord, but you must understand why she did it. It was because she loved you. Geric promised her that if she gave herself over to him for one night that he would free you.”

Conor knew exactly what he meant and felt bile rise in his throat. “And she agreed?”

Bradaigh nodded with reluctance. “She did,” he said. “But your brother went back on his word. She was forced to watch as Olc banished you to the nether realm. When your wife refused to become Geric’s queen, he moved to kill her, but Olc convinced him to banish her as well. Both of you, lost in the nether realm with no memory of each other. That would be a fate worse than death for two lovers.”

Conor closed his eyes tightly for a moment, digesting what Destry had gone through for him. That wonderful, sensitive, beautiful woman had risked everything for him. It was because of him she’d been sent to the nether region. It was because of him she’d slept with a man she hated, trying to secure her husband’s release. He was positive she didn’t remember that and he wasn’t sure he should tell her, but it only made him love her more.

And hate a man to his very bones that he’d never even met.

Geric .

“The spell wasn’t strong enough to keep us apart,” he finally said. “She found me and I found her. We didn’t know one another, but the feelings were there almost instantly. There are some things magic can’t destroy, and love is one of them, so we’ve returned and I’ve got a kingdom to take back. I need your help. Will you do it?”

The three men nodded without hesitation. “We will, great lord,” Auley said. “That is why we’ve come. We must retake the cashel right away because Geric has taken his mercenaries and gone north. There are barely any men left protecting the fortress. It would be a simple thing to do it now.”

“But what about the men left behind?” Conor said. “We’ll still have to fight them, and we don’t have an army. It will take more than four of us to do that.”

Auley and even Bradaigh were shaking their heads. “You do not understand,” Auley said. “The men left behind are men who were loyal to you, who serve Geric because they have nowhere else to go. Most of the army left when you were banished, but a few remained. Show yourself to them and they will be loyal to you once again.”

Conor didn’t want to doubt these men, but it seemed like a stretch. “That’s putting a lot of faith in men who have been serving another king,” he said. “Maybe they like him.”

More heads were wagging. “No one has any love for your brother, great lord,” Auley said firmly. “The villagers, the army you left behind… no one. They pray for your return, but we must move now while Geric is gone. Surprise is on our side.”

Conor could see the logic, but he still had questions. “And once we take the castle with the small contingent left behind, what happens when Geric returns?” he said. “Clearly, he has an army with him. Highly trained Northmen, it sounds like. These men are trained and bred for war. He’ll come back and overrun us if we can’t build up our army to sufficiently hold them off.”

“As I said, many men fled the city when Geric took your throne,” Bradaigh said. “All we need do is spread the word throughout the countryside that you have returned. You had thousands of men loyal to you, good lord. If they know you have returned, they will come back. They will fight to the death for you.”

“Then why didn’t they do it before, when Geric took my throne?”

“Because most were trapped in the hall,” Auley said. “Geric and his mercenaries had time to secure the cashel before they opened the doors, and at that point, the men inside were prisoners. They had no weapons, nothing to fight with. They resisted for a time but too many were killed, so they stopped. In fact, you told them to so no more would be slaughtered, but I’m sure you do not remember that. The men were given the choice of joining Geric’s mercenary army or being banished, and most chose to leave. They are scattered.”

“And you think we can gather them before Geric finds out I’ve returned?”

“I believe we can, great lord.”

Conor thought seriously on that, looking to Padraigan, who didn’t look so pale or so frail at the moment. She had some color to her cheeks, maybe from the hope in her heart. It had been a year of fear for her, fear and waiting, and this was the moment she had waited for. All of this had been her doing, so she agreed with the men she’d brought to Conor. They needed their king to lead them.

Conor knew that. He could see it in their faces. They were all looking to him for leadership and strength. He realized that all of those ancient warfare classes he had taken, and given, were about to be put to practical application.

He was ready.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Come back with me to the cottage and we can plan out how we’re going to do this. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you three have been caught up in this. As I said, I don’t remember any of it, but it sounds like maybe that’s a blessing. Especially the part about Destry—I mean, my wife, and what she had to do in order to free me. And then the bastard betrayed her. She doesn’t remember any of that either, so please don’t bring it up. Some things are better left unsaid.”

The three warriors nodded solemnly. Padraigan had already begun walking, heading in the direction of the cottage, and Conor began to follow as his men gathered around him.

His men.

That was the weirdest thing in the world to him, but on the other hand, not entirely weird. He immediately felt comfortable with them, as if he’d known them all his life.

And he had.

The return of the high king was imminent.