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10/03/2020 10:28 PM

Waves of Love

Chapter 8 Glendalough and forward....
Chapter 8
Glendalough Chapter 8

It was still dark when they set off for Glendalough.
Nicholas knew the way, as it led to Wicklow, where his family had settled years before. Maire was looking for a place to hide, so it was a sensible choice.   The smell of the blanketed bog fields and sweet peat were no hardship for Maire. The aroma filled her with memories of home near the hearth with her father, and even as the morning skies became a bit brighter through the heavy rolling clouds, there was melancholy as well. It was time she found a way for herself, and as they traveled, she believed she would find purpose.

Soon they came upon the Lake of Blessings, and Charlotte broke the morning silence with a song. The air was cool and damp, even as a stubborn ray of sunlight poked through to welcome them.

“This is where we usually make a stop to rest, Maire. It seems that we are going to get a shower soon. Are you feeling hungry, mo choi?”

Maire smiled and nodded, “I am ready for a break, Sister. Do you think it safe?” She looked around both behind them and ahead.
“I can wait for a more seluded spot if you think it wise.”
This time she directed her attention to the elder man.
“This will be fine, Maire. We won’t build a fire, but just rest and have a bite.”

Maire could feel her stomach roll and her back ached. She knew the journey onward was long and arduous ahead so was grateful for the respite.

It was good to walk along the lakeshore and stretch but after a quick bite they continued eastward to their destination.
Maire kept her gaze at the horizon for a hint of mountain shadows, hoping all the while, to find a safe retreat.
Just as plains turned to purple moorlands, a low flying falcon cast a shadow over the three friends. It rested in the ash tree nearby, and called loud and eerie notes as if a warning?
Maire drew her woolen, hooded sweater close. Under it, she wore a tunic, with cowl collar, part of a habit Charlotte had lent to her. Her gown was brown as well. It was all the nun had to offer her, and yet they both grinned at the trickery. There was nothing settling about this escapade, yet as they drew closer to the aura of the shadowed mountains, Maire felt a certain determination and courage overcome her.
“There used to be a group of abandon huts near in the wood before we get to the old settlement, Maire.
Many a renegade gypsy, clan or drifter has found a home here away from the noise.” He smirked, “not that you are one of those, but you need not feel alone. After all, Glendalough was founded by a traveling monk, who craved time and place to meditate on spiritual things. It was believed that he was in love, and wanted to sort out his emotions. There is a bush of prickly thorns near here, into which, it is said, that he threw himself as a sort of penance for his sin. When we get to the valley I’ll show you the tower where he wrote amazing words of worship and praise. These beautiful mountains, forest, lakes and streams were his sanctuary.   Nature was his church.”
Nicholas’ words were like poetry to Maire’s heart. As they moved between Oak and Spruce and listened to the song of the Red Start, the trill of the warbler, the very ground that they trampled on became a carpet of mosses, ferns and wood sorrel. And as they continued up the rocky trail, she could hear frogs in the distance and smell the pine sap.
Maire was forced to stop at one point and just inhale the scene before her as they began to get a view of a violet sky, the backdrop for the two lakes lying low in the valley of the verdant hills.

“I think I should like to live here.” She stated with fervor only to hear her two friends laugh. “I would
eat off the land…I love mushrooms, you know?” she smiled…”and I would hike, and swim, and write.”

“Oh, would you?” Charlotte asked with a grin. “…and what would you write, Maire?”
Amazingly she didn’t even have to think..it just spilled out, “I’d write stories, sister. Stories that I know and stories that I would dream of. I would write them so they would never be forgotten.”
“Well,”
Charlotte said, “That sounds lovely.”
“How far is it to the monastery of St. Kevin, Nicholas?”
“It’s down there, in the valley…we’ll be there soon.
They descending slowly entering the settlement; a collection of stone buildings and the round tower the conspicuously tall “cloigtheach” refuge for the monks in case an attack. Scattered Celtic crosses
reminded Maire of the pagan ancestors who ultimately were lured to believe in the Christian God.
“Dunchad, the old abbott resides in the hut just ahead, Maire. The old church of St. Kevin was burned down by Vikings during the battle of Glenmama.” Nicholas stated. “He will not be pleased with your ties to the Mida King. It could bring trouble to the holy place once more. You will have to stay quiet.
“Mayhap it be best if he knows not my identity?” she answered.
“No, I think he should know who he is hiding. Come, let’s talk with him.”
Before they could get close, the abbott, himself met them before the tower, as if he were expecting them.
“Greetings, Father Dunchad. You know my daughter, Sister Charlotte, and this is Princess Maire mac Domnaill. She comes looking for asylum. King Mael Sechnaill knows not where she is, nor does she care for him to find out.”
“Welcome, Nicholas, Sister Charlotte, and Princess.
His smile moved from his lips to his warm, gentle eyes. “You are friends with Father Cinaid of Lambay Island, are you not?” Maire’s eyes grew open in surprise. How would he know her before she even had a chance to speak? She wondered if God had whispered this to him.
“Well, yes, Father. Cincaid and I were both students at Cilla Dara. How did you know that?”
He laughed and answered, “Cincaid has stayed here with us. He has mentioned you, and of course you may stay with us.” He thought about the small room in the back of Our Lady’s Church.

“You will be safe here for as long as you need to stay.”
Maire lowered her head, then slipped down off Bridie. “My sincere thanks, Father Dunchad.” She looked to her
friends knowing they were anxious to return. “I am very grateful for your escort, dear ones. Be safe as you return.” She smiled and waved as they turned to go.

.********
Father Dunchad carried a mere candle
as he led Maire through the low door into the stone church. He had seen to it that she was fed and rested, but made it clear to her, that he didn’t want it to be common knowledge where she would stay.   He led her straightaway to the small room at its rear, quietly explaining that there were two nuns who cared for the church , but no priest to shepherd it at the moment.”

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Tristan Brindenmoor FOS

Nov 18th 2020 - 3:13 PM

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"I feel like a river rat what's bouncing in it's cage!" He said to no one in particular. But then suddenly, one last deep rut in the road, proved to be one too many. Even for a king. Twas Brian Boru who bellowed aloud for a halt. And with pleas, and stammers for his safety, falling on deaf ears, he mounted his beloved 'Banshee' and she quickly jumped off of the clogged road, and up into the misty wood. His personal guard, now panicked, and left scrambling to pursue. Once giver her hea however, the sleek warhorse quickly sped away from her pursuers.
Brian laughed aloud now. And at the simple and sheer joy of suddenly being free. And he also delighted in being alone. A gift, not often afforded to a king. It didn't last very long unfortunately. Banshee soon gained the top of a ridge, and almost ran down two travellers!
Brian quickly reigned the black horse in, and upon closer inspection. exclaimed "Father Cinaed is it then?" An what, in the devils own, be you doin here now?
And all alone in this wood too!"
Cinaed spoke not in return to this. But swiftly took a knee before the mounted king. He then jabbed Thorfinn with his staff. Bringing the startled youngster to his knees as well.
An amusing moment passed for the most powerful man on the continent, before humbly saying...."Rise up my friends. Let us take comforts, while you tell me, how you come to be, so far from your home then!.
In moments, both his guard, and his train had caught up with them. Albeit unhappily. Brian at once, issued commands for an encampment. And before long then, many and goodly fires and foods, began to appear, among the rapidly rising tents. Guests of the king were well tended too. And Thorfinn found himself as close to Paradise, as ever a hungry man could be. Hearty food warms the gullet. It was said. And so then good ale loosen the tongue. It wasn't long then, before Father Cinaed and Brian, turned to his reason for abandoning Cro, and marching on Dyflin.
Thorfinn listened long and well. For the Boru was legend now. Even the Vikings were rumored to be afraid of him. But that was only rumor. And none here alive could say for certain. Many words could not be heard. And he would give no offence, by trying to gain the ken, of words spoken in confidence. And by better men than he.
They camped there then, by that mysterious and mystical Lake of the Blessed. The Father and the King counselled heavily together. And many riders were seen dispatched. To what purpose, and where, he was not in the knowing. And could glean mo information here. After two days of sumptuous foods, and good ales, the Kings entourage departed the forests of Glendolough. It was not though, to Dyflin, that he intended to strike atall.
Nay no!....He was for the Ostman Port!
For once siezed, he, and not his enemies, would control all the shipping and trade for the entire coast!
"Mael Morda and the vile Sygtrygg would neer ta see it comin!" The Boru boasted at feast!
And Thorfinn marveled at the guile of the man. Inside, his soul cried out to join him. To pledge himself to the Kings cause. To bend the knee.

As the Kings baggage train creaked and croaned out of sight, Thorfinn stared till the last.
For Brian Boru, had captured his fighting heart and mind, surer and faster, than one of old Pascales magic spells. And as he and Father Cinaed made their way to the ancient Abbey, Thorfinn knew in his heart, that their paths were destined to cross again.
"Aye!....and in the not too distant future!" he said to himself.....

Tristan Brindenmoor FOS

Nov 18th 2020 - 11:45 AM

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Something for you to go over while I finish up...

The olden path, if ever it truly was one, began to widen slightly, as they drew ever nearer to the small fire. Father Cinaed was cold now. Thorfinn could clearly see his discomfort. The fire offered a chance to get earm. Perhaps even dry their clothes. The sudden storm was brief, but it's ferocity left them both soaked to their very core.
"Soon Father!" Thorfinn offered to the shivering priest. Just outside the small clearing, he raised his voice just then "Hail to you!......and permission to seek the warmth of your fire!"
"Who asks then?" Came the short reply. "Twas then, that Father Cinaed, holding up the gold cross, that hung from his neck, stepped out into the clearing, and the fires light. "Just two humble servants of God, seeking comfort!" He answered, and softly.
"Then come ye ahead, and find it!"
Thorfinn stepped quickly around the small priest, placing himself between the strangers, and the man he now had come to love. They moved in, and crouched. Both parties began to size each other up, and as the sudden warth of the fire began to envelop him, he could sense a sudden danger here. These men were ruffians or robber folk. His every sense now began to warn him of imminent dangers. And it did not take long to manifest itself either. The larger of the two, moved behind Father Cinaed and reaching around him, swiftly yanked the cross from his neck. He held the prize aloft now, till it shimmered in the firefight. Thorfinns staff took him unawares, however, and a stout knock sent him asprawling. The second, smaller man, circled in slowly, carefully. The light revealing a long blade held tightly in each hand. He wasted no time in attacking either.
Thorfinn carefully kept him at bay. But a staff, is not much good against a skilled bladesman. He began to press in, and try to end t. A strong jab, with with the blunt end of the staff turned the assailant sideways, but he spun once more, and his blade bit home. Scoring a sharp, bloody wound to Thorfinns left side. He grunted aloud, and dropped lower now. The short, sharp figh, had now grown deadly serious. The assailant could sense victory now. He smiled widely., taunting him, and began to close in for the kill. When suddenly he straghtened up, and uttered a short cry, as an oak limb crashed into his skull, and sent him swiftly to the ground. Thorfinn stared in wonder, as the small, diminutive man of God retrieved his cross of gold, from the now dispatched ruffian.
"Stealing is not Gods way!" he scolded him. Then he quickly rushed to Thorfinns side, to attend to his wound.
Soon afterwards, they found themselves out upon the Lake of Blessings The two bandits were left stranded upon the shore. Father Cinaed was quiet, as Thorfinn rowed them to safety. He thought perhaps, that borrowing the boat was triubling him. "Do not give a care for taking the boat! I do not believe it was theirs at all! He spake at him. But he did not offer a reply. And so, with slow even strokes, the small rowboat crept slowly towards the far shore. And ever closer to Glendalough.....and Maire" he whispered to the wind...

Maire Mac Domnaill Irish Viking

Oct 30th 2020 - 3:53 PM

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Chapter 10 Out of Hiding

“You are somewhere else, milady,” Abbott Dunchad spoke soft so as not to startle her. Maire smiled up at him.
It was a beautiful October afternoon, even as so many of the golden maple, and crimson oak leaves were collecting on the water’s edge. The reflection of the pines and bare broadleaf branches against the deep layers of autumn sky made an amazing image. The priest stood looking down on writing utensils, and paints while Maire held a journal close.
“I recieved word from Father Cinaed, this morn, Maire. He has escaped Dyflin. It seems your father has asked for Brian Boru’s help as the King of Leinster aids the Ostman King in raiding the farms of Mida.” They are looking for revolt.

Boru and his men camp on the city’s boundaries. The Munster King will not allow harvest to be brought into the port city.
Maire frowned, knowing another battle would be eminent. She often wondered how she would weigh in and still she was saddened by the dilemma. It was not like her to hide from conflict. She wanted to help.

Then came the most amazing news.
“Father Cinaed doesn’t know you are here, but he is coming. He will be here in a few days.”
Maire moved the journal to her side and stood.
“That is wonderful news!’ Her eyes danced with joy.
“Thank you for telling me, Father. This makes me very happy.”
The abbott smiled and backed away to leave.
“Now, I’ll allow you to go back to your writing, lass.
dinner will be soon.”

Maire Mac Domnaill Irish Viking

Oct 3rd 2020 - 10:56 AM

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Last of Chapter 8

She carried it close, under her cloak, because it was all she had from Cro Inis. She had it when she went to Dubh Linn, it was in Bridie’s saddle bag. Thank heavens it was still there. It was dear to her on many levels. Her father had given her; the beloved book that had been passed down through the generations and now she kept it tucked in her own journal, along with a collection of her own writings.

When she woke in that small room hidden in back of Our Lady’s Church, Maire thought about the book according to Mary. Brigid had given it to Isolde two centuries ago and now she opened it here. A stream of the sun’s rays touched the warn leather and Maire’s delicate fingers carefully turned the thin pages. It was the story about Jesus Christ’s told by His mother.
There was no place that was safe enough to preserve it, and little chance that it would be ever added to the amazing book which was held by so many~ as the book of life.
Maire, like so many Irish, believed the words in the Bible, in addition to, the stories and legends of her pagan roots. Those were the stories she vowed to write so they would be remembered.
Loose notes and pictures filled her journal. Words that she had collected after they had been told to her by the bards, seanchaí, and druids. But most of all, tales that had been passed down through her father. There were so many…and so many times she had fought with herself about where, and when to start.
When Maire woke this morn, she knew, before she even ventured out to explore this glen surrounded by mountains and nature that this place, nestled quietly between two spectacular lakes and verdant landscape, that she would write.

Father Dunchad stopped by early, to invite Maire to the meal hall to break her fast for which she was grateful. When she arrived, most were monks, dressed in brown robes, however, there were a fair share of visitors like her. She was happy to be received quietly, as if many had come here just like her, for refuge. She sat beside Brother Aidan, who welcomed her and tried to make friendly conversation. This gave Maire the courage inquire about writing tools and a new journal. After the meal the monk was happy to escort her into a wooden building called The Scriptorium. Maire had been in the scriptorium in Kildare, so she was familiar with the important work performed here by the monks; transcribing the Roman holy scriptures and other works of literature, and fine arts into English, Celtic and other languages. She understood the ink and quill making crafts and how prayer and holy spirit contributed to the production of beautiful artwork.
“You may choose from the tools here on this table
Lady Maire. I would be happy to assemble a book or two if you choose the covers from among these leathers here.” Brother Aidan was patient and generous with his time. Maire was overcome by quality of the gifts. She was sure this was exactly the opportunity she had been waiting for….and realized in her heart that this was not just luck. This felt like a magic far more powerful than that at work here.
After choosing two leathers; one a deep rose color and the other a moss green, she found the paper, and a few feather pens which pleased her. she smiled up at him.
“I have a very old book which needs rebound. Can I bring it to you, Brother Aidan.”
“Yes, of course milady, and when you return, I’ll have these books compiled….and mix you some inks. Can you come back tomorrow about this time?”
“Yes, I will be here. I thank you, truly. She sighed. “I can hardly believe I have found you!”

She carried it close
The words she loved best
The stories of beauty
And tales of unrest

The songs of the bards
The legends of men
Of faeries and castles
The people back when

There are the reasons
We owe them a debt
She wanted her people
To never forget

Words about ancient
Warriors and Kings
Words about feelings
Morals and things.

Writing the words down
Making us smile
Conjuring images
To escape for a while

She carried it close
Near to her heart
The tales of her people
Never to part

We all have a story
And if we are bold
Will write down that story
To someday be told.

Maire left the scriptorium walking on air. To think that just two days ago she was questioning the world and her life in it. Questioning where she would go and whether she had any freedom at all. Questioning whether she had a purpose. She started to walk, deeply inspired by the generosity of people. The cool mountain air had the scent of pine and hope. She walked till she came to the edge of the lake and sat. So many of the stories of her land were about the water. This would be a good place to write. But for today she would enjoy her freedom

An alarm wove through the glen like a song, well- rehearsed and methodical. There was trouble, and no time for questions or hesitation. A mounted monk snatched Maire from her perfect desk beside the lake only to transport her to the tall stone tower
Within Glendalough.
“Where are you taking me?” she cried even as he was stopped before the monument. There were many being directed to climb the ladder to the door well above the ground.
“What is happening?” her voice was lost in the bustle of priests and nuns carrying utensils and sacred books toward the dangling ladder. Maire could see the somber yet determined faces on the locals and relented to their orders. There was trouble, she knew that and wondered if it was a greedy band of Irish or Ostmans, yet knew there would be plenty of time later to learn the truth.
Most were encouraged to ascend the series of ladders inside higher into the building so those with valuables could gather close at the bottom.
It was dark and it was quiet when Maire heard the solid door near the ground close. They would sit there hungry and still for two days and nights until the watchmen in the forest gave the all clear.
It wasn’t until she was safely back in her room in the rear of Our Lady’s Church that the princess of Mida learned who had been in Glendalough. Brian Boru and his son Murchad, having left Cro Inis were now on their way to Dubh Linn. The word was that even as the Southern King had been friendly to monasteries in the south and north, there was no such truce in Leinster. Furthermore, the King of Leinster, Mael Morda was not ready to give up his sovernty, and was allied with Slaine’s husband, Sigtrygg. Maire wondered about the location of her father and his army. Truly, she was literally in the middle of a dangerous situation.

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