Awakening the Gods Page 12

  I sat at the table and waited for the tea. There were no words spoken while I waited, as if she knew I would have batted aside anything trivial or mundane spoken with the anger it deserved. And it was anger that settled on me now. Settled from above and rose from below. It would consume me soon, I knew, but I wanted answers first. For now, I suppressed it all.

  My grandmother, mugs in hand, took a seat opposite me and pushed one of the mugs towards me. I took it, cradled it in my hands and organised my thoughts.

  “Now, can you please tell me what’s going on? Who is Goibhniu? Who is Bríd?”

  She smiled at me warmly. “Smithy is Goibhniu.”

  “Smithy? What do you mean? That’s his name?” Puzzled, I considered it. “Why is that so upsetting? Doesn’t he want anyone to know? I mean it’s not a conventional name, it’s more like something from the ancient myths…” my voice trailed off. I looked at my grandmother darkly. “What’s going on? You’re not telling me that…that Smithy is Goibhniu? The Goibhniu? Goibhniu, the Smith God?” I stared at her confused and horrified. “But that’s absurd. That must be a joke. A joke he doesn’t like. Is that it?” Even as I said those words, which were more about convincing myself than confirming what had happened, I looked at her face and I knew. I knew it from the music inside me that lifted at his name. His real name. The dance that played at the sound of Goibhniu. The name echoed inside me, calling me. Calling him.

  “Oh, my god, it’s true.”

  I gave a little hysterical laugh at the words I’d just spoken. My god. I’d even called him a god. Another little hysterical laugh escaped me. My grandmother reached over and put her hand over mine. I looked up at her, saw the expression of concern, understanding and something else. Relief mixed with joy. Joy? For feck’s sake.

  “If he is Goibhniu…then who are you?” I asked slowly, partly afraid of her answer. I suddenly had a thought. “Anu,” I said softly. “You’re Anu.”

  My grandmother, or the person who told me she was my grandmother, nodded.

  A small gasp of hysteria escaped from me. “Of course you are.”

  I shook my head, my hand on my mouth. As if my hands could keep in all the thoughts so they wouldn’t spill into words.

  Anu put her hands on top of mine and this time she squeezed. “I am your grandmother. Whatever else I am, I am your grandmother.”

  I pulled my hands away from hers. “You’re everyone’s grandmother,” I said, sardonically. “Isn’t that right? Are you not the ultimate in grandmothers? The Earth Mother?”

  She smiled sadly. “I am most of all, your grandmother.”

  “Why? Because I’m here with you? Because I’m an orphan and you took pity on me?”

  “Because you are my granddaughter. You are Bríd.”

  I sniffed. “Yes, of course. Bríd. The other mystery in this little puzzle. The fact is that I’m not Bríd, I’m Saoirse. No, wait. My communion name was Bridget. But that’s as close to Bríd as you’ll get concerning me.” I pointed to myself. “Not a goddess. Sorry.”

  “You are. You just aren’t aware of it. At least not fully. You may have had inklings up until now.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Inklings?”

  “Think about it, Bríd.”

  “Saoirse,” I said, stubbornly. But her words struck something deep within me. I withdrew my hands and bunched them in my lap. But I shook my head. “Sorry, nothing.”

  She sighed. My grandmother. Anu. Whoever she was. She sighed and sorrow rose filled her eyes.

  “Bringing me to life?”

  “It’s a long tale, Bríd. And I will tell you if you will listen.” Her voice was gentle, kind.

  “Tell me then,” I said sharply.

  She looked down at her hands. “Do you know something of the tales of our people?”

  “Tales of your people? Do you mean the myth cycles? The stuff Lady Gregory and others wrote down? Those tales?”

  “Our people, Bríd. But yes, those tales.”

  I shrugged. “Some.”

  She sat back, settling in a bit. “Have patience then, while I tell it in my own way.”

  She took a deep breath. “In the time before time, peoples led by Nemed came to settle in this land and became known as the Nemedians. They arrived from a land inhabited by the Fomorians, or at least that’s what they are known as in the tale. A deceitful and cruel people who were overlords to the Nemedians. Later, the Fomorians left their homelands and came here as well to settle. The Nemedians defeated them eventually, but they would not stay subdued. And finally, they succeeded against the Nemedians and exacted tribute. The Nemedians were furious and they sought help from others across the sea from their land. Powerful warriors, strong in magic. They came and the fleet anchored off shore. Spells were cast by both sides. The Nemedians were victorious in the end in that battle, but Conann, the Fomorian king, remained in his tower. More Fomorians arrived and battles ensued. Suddenly, a huge wave engulfed the land. Only thirty Nemedians survived and a boatload of Fomorians. Following this, the Nemedians lived in constant fear of the Fomorians. Eventually the Nemedians left, some returning to their original homeland.

  “A long time later another group of Nemedians came to Ireland, the Fir Bolg. They arrived and they prospered. The land was divided into kingships and the five provinces. The ones we know today.

  “Another group of Nemed’s descendants came too, eventually. The people of Anu. My people. Our people. The people the tales call the Tuatha de Danann. They were powerful and skilled in all the magic arts and they brought with them their magic treasures, the Lía Fail stone, what eventually came to be called the Spear of Lugh, the deadly Sword of Nuada who was the king at the time, and Daghda’s cauldron. The original peoples numbered among them my children, Daghda included.”

  I started to voice a question, but she held up a hand to silence me. “You promised patience,” she said. She cleared her throat and resumed her tale.

  “They took refuge in the land that is today called Scotland. It was a bleak and harsh land, so the Tuatha de Danann left and came to Ireland, a land they believed was rightfully theirs. They landed and even burned their boats so any option to retreat from the current rulers, the Fir Bolg, was removed. They conjured up a darkness to help them move around the country unnoticed and surprised the Fir Bolg in Connacht. There were several battles. In the final battle, the first battle of Magh Tuireadh, the Fir Bolg were defeated and those remaining fled to the remote islands around the land. During that battle, King Nuada lost an arm. Since no king who isn’t physically whole is permitted to rule, the kingship was given to Eochid Bres, the handsome son of Elotha, a Tuatha de Danann and a man who was a Fomorian chief whom Bres knew nothing about. The condition for Bres’s acceptance was that he would step down when he no longer pleased the people. Bres seemed a good choice and as part of this faith, Bríd was given to him as a wife.

  “But Bres began to favour the Fomorians, who pushed him to oppress the de Danann, force them to pay tribute and perform difficult and menial tasks. The de Danann reminded him of his pledge that he would quit if he no longer pleased the people and Bres begged to be allowed seven years grace, which they granted. But instead of using the time to prove his worth, Bres gathered Fomorian warriors to his side and crushed the Tuatha de Danann. It was then he learned his true identity from his mother, who took him to the Fomorian lands and introduced him to his father. His father sent him to the ferocious warrior, Balor, King of the Isle and Indech, King of the Fomorians. Together, they gathered an army.

  “In the meantime, Nuada’s arm had been festering and he sent for Miach, the son of Diancecht, the one whose power was medicine, and told him to arrange for his old arm to be retrieved. Miach put it in place and chanted and in three days it was completely healed, but with a casing of silver. Diancecht was so jealous of his son’s power he eventually he killed him, but Nuada’s arm remained healed and he claimed himself ready to fight to reclaim his throne.

  “He picked Lugh, a warrior of
unsurpassed skill, magic and talent, to head up his army. Goibhniu, whose magic was over smithcraft, was instructed to fashion and repair weapons along with Credne. Goibhniu’s weapons were known to all for their ability to make any warrior undefeated.

  “Lugh, Daghda and Ogma went to the three war goddesses to ask how to best plan the battle. Daghda knew Morrigan, one of the war goddesses and had an arrangement to meet with her every Samhain. So later, after the plans were formed, and he’d managed to secure an agreement with the Fomorians to delay the battle a while longer, he met with Morrigan and convinced her to fight on their side.

  “It came time for the battle that would decide the fate of everyone. Daghda and the others decided that Lugh was too valuable to be risked in the individual battles of the champions and they kept him at the back, guarded by nine warriors. It was the eve of Samhain when the individual battles began and it ran for several days, with champions fighting tirelessly, one to one. In order that the warriors remained fit and well enough to resume battle the next day, the Tuatha de Danann had them bathe in the waters of the Well of Slane, where Diancecht and his remaining two sons had cast healing spells. Desperate to know the secret of the De Danann warriors’ invincibility, the Fomorians sent a spy, Ruadan, who saw Diancecht and his sons cast spells on the well. He also watched Goibhniu lead the smiths in fashioning enchanted swords.

  “Enraged, Ruadan attacked Goibhniu and wounded him with his spear. Goibhniu plucked the spear from his body and threw it at Ruadan, sending him staggering back to die among his people, but not before he told the Fomorians about the well. Later, the Fomorians filled the well with stones, rendering it useless.

  “The armies drew together in pitched battle, Lugh escaped his guards and buckled on the breast plate of Manannan, whose power extended over the seas, and who was Lugh’s foster father. The armour was so powerful that whoever wore it was safe from all battle wounds. He also donned a bronze helmet and swung his glistening blue black shield onto his back and attached the smooth sharp sword of Goibhniu to his side. He took up his long poisonous spear in his right hand, got into a chariot and drove into battle. Lugh, the son of Cían, son of Diancecht. Lugh, son of Eithne, the daughter of King Balor. But a Tuatha de Danann fully in heart and spirit, no matter his mother’s blood.

  “During the battle, Lugh saw Balor, the King of the Isles, his own grandfather, kill Nuada. Furious, Lugh fought his way through to confront Balor. But all had heard of Balor and his power. The magic poison that had been poured in his eye. A poison so deadly that anyone whom Balor chose to look upon with that eye would fall dead. But Lugh knew to be wary and with his shield held up to protect him, he approached Balor, took up a sling at his waist and cast a stone that passed right through Balor’s eye out through the back of his head. The poison unleashed and killed all the Fomorians around him.

  “Emboldened by Balor’s death and Lugh’s bravery, the other Tuatha de Danann fought with a renewed ferocity and at Morrigan’s urging, along with the other war goddesses that joined her, they drove the Fomorians into the sea. Bres fled with them. When they’d gone, Morrigan climbed the nearest mountain and chanted a paean of victory to the land and its inhabitants.”

  Her words trailed off and I waited for more. That couldn’t be all of the tale. And it was a tale, because what else could it be? Fragments of it stirred in my memory from a book maybe, but this was the first time I’d heard all of the tale. Or this much of the tale, because it seemed to me there were pieces missing.

  “Bríd. What happened to her?”

  My grandmother—or at least the woman in front of me—closed her eyes a moment, pain and sorrow passing over her face.

  “What?” I said. “You told me she married Bres. Well, did she go with him to the Fomorians lands? Did she flee Ireland with him?”

  “No. No, she was left there, abandoned, when Bres went off to the Fomorians. And it was then that Tuirenn, the King of Ben Eadair found her and took her off. Raped her. She became pregnant…” her voice cracked and with effort she added “And died giving birth to his three sons.”

  I sat there, stunned at what I heard. I certainly hadn’t expected that ending. “She died? But how could that happen? What about the magical well, the Well of Slane? Or wasn’t she fit for it, being a woman?”

  The woman before me frowned. “Women were warriors too. They had as much right to that well. No, it wasn’t a case of her being unworthy. It was a case of the King of Eadoir and retrieving her body from him. He wouldn’t give us her body. He wouldn’t tell us where she was buried, if she was buried. He told us nothing. Not even after Goibhniu pleaded and offered him anything in return for her body.”

  She’d caught my attention fully with Goibhniu. “And how exactly does Goibhniu fit in with Bríd? You made no mention of those two being involved.”

  “They were. They were two halves of a whole. Because my lovely Bríd had and has the power of magic over smithcraft, among other things.”

  I ignored the present tense she’d slipped in. “So they share some of the same powers, is that all?”

  She looked at me hard then. “No, that’s not all, is it? You know that as certainly as Goibhniu knows. Your energy together creates such a strong magic that it can forge the most power-filled objects imaginable.”

  I looked away from her piercing eyes, remembering what it had been like with Smithy yesterday and shifted uncomfortably. I forced a shrug. “They made a good team.”

  “They loved each other. Beyond reason. They were as one, male and female perfectly balanced, whole.”

  “Then why did she marry Bres?”

  It was her turn to look away. “It was a matter of politics. One that left us little choice when he asked to have her as his wife.”

  I snorted. “Yet again. A woman used as a bargaining tool. Didn’t Goibhniu have anything to say about it?”

  “Yes, yes he did. But we set aside his arguments, his persuasions. I set them aside. I told Bríd she must make this choice for the good of her people, for the good of the land.”

  “That didn’t really work out for you in the end, did it?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “It did not.”

  “Poor Goibhniu. He must have been heartbroken,” I said before I could think and nearly clapped my hand over my mouth. Stupid woman, I chided myself. Would you just get a rein on your tongue before you sink deeper.

  “Beyond words,” said the woman in front of me. “So much so, that when the battle was won he left and we saw nothing of him until the Gaels came.”

  “The Gaels?” I said. “Oh, right. The Gaels. The whole ‘Beyond the Ninth Wave’ and your man, Amergin coming to Ireland. ”

  “Invading Ireland.”

  “Well isn’t that what you did? What they all did?”

  She raised her brows and then eventually nodded, conceding the point.

  “So Goibhniu joined you in the fight.”

  “It wasn’t quite that. But yes, he stood with us, but apart, in some ways. And when they made their final landing and the negotiations were complete he came with us to the mounds, the forts designated for us. At least initially. I’m not sure where he went after that. Until recently. When the Watchers told me he’d come this side, to this world.”

  I looked at her, trying to thread my way through her recent words and the mythic tales I knew. “You’re talking about the fairy mounds that you were banished to?”

  “That’s how they put it in these times, but yes. Our forts. We became known as the Sídhe.”

  A memory flashed of the quick banter I’d exchanged with Smithy when I’d first met him. “Sídhe, not Shee. Oh, feck’s sake. The man was playing with me.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “Smithy. When I asked him his surname. He said “Sídhe. Only I thought he was saying S-h-e-e, as in truncated Sheehy or Sheehan.” I laughed but then cut it short. “The fecker.”

  The woman in front of me smiled fondly. “Yes, that’s Goibhniu. Ready with a good re
tort and a sly joke.”

  I shook my head. “No, no. That’s just playing with me. Not believing it. Not for a minute.”

  She reached over and patted my hand again, gently. I moved away and sat back.

  “So Goibhniu retreated somewhere, but you don’t know where and it wasn’t until recently that he surfaced?”

  “Yes. Well recent in my view. Perhaps not so recent in yours. Say about twenty years ago. He moved to where you found him and set himself up as a smith.”

  “But why here? Didn’t he know that you were nearby?”

  “No, not at first.” She laughed a little. “No, choosing that area was another of his sly jokes. St Gobnait? He’d had a place there before. And others after him, dedicating it to him and his powers over the forge.”

  It took me a moment of piecing together the fragments of the local saint’s story to understand exactly what she meant by his sly joke. “Oh,” I said finally. “Oh, right.”

  She nodded. “I thought when I’d heard that he was there, he understood. He’d heard the call to rise. He’d awakened and crossed over from the Otherworld to join us. But he wouldn’t talk to me when I asked. He told Morrigan no, time and time again. He told others he was done. But I needed him. We needed him. He was key in our ability to defeat Balor one more time.”

  “Wait. What? Balor? Balor’s back in the picture? Didn’t he die?” I shook my head and gave myself a mental slap. What was I doing? Why did I say those bizarre things and infer I was giving credence to her tale. Tale. It’s a tale, Saoirse, a tale to entertain you, I told myself. I crossed my arms over my chest and gave her a cynical look.

  “Balor’s eye was healed, but it took a long time. His poison had spread to his body, but he spent time and found a person of great power who helped him harness that poison, to gather it up and use it. When he’d fully recovered, his fury was endless, boundless, and he swore revenge on us, and most of all his grandson, Lugh. But while he searched for his grandson he began to wreak havoc on the land. All the land, not just Ireland, but the land everywhere. And he didn’t stop at the land, he began poisoning the oceans, filling them with every toxin he could harness from every source, especially the deadly power of his own poison.”