Only the Stones Survive: A Novel (25 page)

He would begin by following the only clue he had: the shining trail. If Ruari was to be believed—and Gosten chose to believe him—the trail had pointed south and east.

Supplied with adequate weapons and enough provisions to last for several days, Gosten and a substantial company of men set out.

They had not gone very far before they began to find the detritus of death and conflict; some of it new, some of it ancient. The damaged hilt of a bronze sword, several flint arrowheads in mud cut up by the galloping hooves of a chariot team, a human thighbone sticking out of the earth, a pair of broken spears lying side by side, pointing in opposite directions. One spear was broad and thick, with the top rounded but sharp-edged. The other was long, narrow, and graceful, with a very sharp point.

Fír Bolga and Túatha Dé Danann.

“We aren’t the first warriors to travel this ground,” Gosten remarked, adding confidently, “but we will be the last. Pick up that sword hilt and those spears and bring them along, Ruari; we can repair and reuse them.”

They spent the better part of the day finding nothing more interesting, but Gosten was determined to press on. He could almost
smell
the Dananns now. They had been here; they were still here. Somewhere. Ever since that final battle, he had a sense of them that made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

As twilight fell, the company approached a wide, shallow river. Their commander decided it would be a good place to camp for the night. They could make a fresh start in the morning. Meanwhile, the river would supply fresh water, and there were abundant trees nearby for firewood.

Before they settled down for the night, Gosten’s company scouted the area. Ruari braced himself, determined to be bold and brave and not made to look a fool again.

Until an enormous cloud of bats came swooping along the river course.

The young man threw himself facedown in the shallows with his arms folded over his head.

After being momentarily startled themselves, his companions jeered and shouted.

The Túatha Dé Danann were alarmed. Mothers snatched up their children and took them to the very back of the caves just vacated by the bats. The darkness was all-encompassing, but no one suggested lighting a candle.

In our cave, Melitt took care of the children while I remained with the Dagda. The commotion below did not disturb him. I almost wished it would. He was lying so still and his sockets had sunk so deep that I wondered if his eyes would ever open again.

They have found us, Joss.

I gave a start.
No, I don’t think so. At least not yet. If they had found us, they would be up here by now.

Go and look.

As softly as a fall of dust, I crept to the mouth of the cave and peered down. On both sides of the river, I could see the figures of men moving about. They were clumsy in the twilight, but I was well accustomed to it. Living as we were had substantially increased my night vision.

I was observing a large company of unwelcome strangers: the New People. None of them were looking up. By the time they arrived, there had not been enough light left to reveal the caves above them. If we stayed quiet, they might leave in the morning without ever knowing we were here.

I needed to warn the others as quietly as possible, but only a very few were capable of silent talking. Like myself, those few routinely kept their minds closed to unwanted noise from outside. It was a skill that the Dagda had taught me and I valued highly.

In a situation like this, it could be a liability.

That is a pity,
said the voice in my head.

Do you have any suggestions?

You spoke of being their leader, Joss. You need to find the solution yourself.

I would not allow myself to be angry at a dying man, but the temptation was strong.

How, I wondered, could I travel from cave to cave in absolute silence? Only dust and smoke could do that.

And members of the Danann nobility.

I smiled. Gifts are passed on in the blood.

Mongan. Changer of Shapes.

Buried in my memory and rising to the surface now was that moment at the temple, when I realized that I had changed. Something in my flesh and bone had … altered, ever so slightly. I did not know when or how, but I felt the difference.

Shinann knew how to change shape too; she had told me how to become like a tree. How to
become
a tree. I must recall her exact instructions.

The noise continuing down by the river was an impossible distraction, so I shut it out. And emptied my mind. I did not think about emptying it, which would defeat the purpose. I simply let it go blank as if I were falling asleep.

Smoke. The immolated spirits of trees. Soft, formless smoke. Moving through me. Weightless, bodiless, yet obedient to my own spirit for as long as I could hold my concentration.

“Just let it happen to you,” Shinann had said. “To you, in you. Accept the tree.”

Accept the smoke. Silently billowing, carrying an urgent message.

In the caves above the river, there was no sound at all.

I awoke exhausted with no sense of how much time had passed, but the bats were back, clinging to the walls of the cave.

“The Mílesians broke camp with the sunrise,” Melitt informed me. “They never knew we were here.”

I sat up, aching in every muscle. What I had accomplished was not only mental but terribly physical. In the aftermath, my disrupted body was expressing its displeasure. “And the Dagda,” I asked Melitt. “How is he?”

“He never stirred all night. I think he is awake now, though; his eyes just opened.”

I went to his side.
Can you hear me?

“Of course I can hear you, Joss,” he said aloud. “There is no need to shout.”

TWENTY-SIX

T
HE ENEMY HAD COME
too close. The Túatha Dé Danann knew they should move as far away as possible, but it would not be easy. They had been in the caves long enough to feel safe there, almost long enough to feel at home.

Piriome confided to Tamais that she was going to be a bat when she grew up. Tamais echoed her intention, adding flourishes such as massive wings and fur that glowed in the dark.

When he heard them, Joss said, “Don’t talk like that, children; you must never say such things. Don’t even think them.”

“Why not?” asked Tamais. “It would be wonderful to fly.”

“And live on insects? Is that what you want?”

The children looked dubious, but Joss began to worry about his cousins.

Gifts are passed on in the blood.

Following their near discovery by strangers, the adult Dananns discussed the possibility of moving somewhere else. Those whose territory had been forested thought it would be best to seek another forest “where the trees can protect us.” Mountain dwellers spoke wistfully of blue hills and long vistas. The clans who came from along the coast yearned for the sounds of the sea.

While they accepted the necessity for relocating again, they could not agree as to where. And no clan was willing to attempt it by themselves.

The survivors were fully aware of their limitations as a tribe. A strong tribe required a variety of individuals who could perform the many functions necessary to the body as a whole. It would be possible to continue without some of them, but not without a head, not for long.

The once-powerful Túatha Dé Danann had been reduced to a straggle of survivors who were clinging to a life that had lost its shape.

Conversely, the Mílesians believed they were in an excellent position. Although they had lost valuable members of their tribe to the Green Wave and the great battle, they still had adequate numbers to guarantee future generations. And instead of one head, they had two.

They had yet to discover that this would have a profound effect on future generations.

In the descending twilight of his life, the man who had been the Dagda thought about the people he would soon leave behind. He was indifferent to the problems of the New People, but he was deeply concerned about the Túatha Dé Danann. To have come so far and achieved so much and then to melt away like frost without leaving a trace behind seemed too cruel.

Something would remain, however. Something tangible.

Like many a keeper of cherished secrets, the Dagda had clutched his to his heart. The deep esteem in which he was held by the Túatha Dé Danann depended upon his being the guardian of the mysteries. In a distant past, he scarcely remembered he had been instructed by others like himself, the last living members of the tribe that had come to Ierne Before the Before.

As a child he had listened to the narratives of the dispossessed. Had tried to capture their fragmented memories of their original home. Could not even imagine the obstacles they had overcome in making their incredible voyage.

All murky and twisted in his mind now.

But he had kept the faith. Pearl by pearl he had passed their treasures to the next generation, and the next, and the next, giving each a part of the whole. Had he been too slow in sharing? Did any of them truly understand what set Ierne apart, or why it was sacred?

Too late now, and he was too tired.

He had watched with pride as generations of young Dananns exhibited the unique talents of their ancestors. No one had all of them, which was as it should be. Nuada had come closest, but even he …

Memories of Nuada of the Silver Hand squeezed an opaque tear from beneath the Dagda’s closed eyelids.

“Are you in pain?” Melitt called from very far away.

No.

“Are you in pain?” she shouted in his ear.

“No, I’m not in pain.” His voice sounded like a rusty hinge.

Melitt sat back on her heels with a relieved sigh. “Don’t frighten me like that. I thought I had lost you.”

“You will not lose me.”

“I understand, but I do get frightened.”

Dear little woman, he thought. There had been other women, not so tender; queens of fire and fury. Gone out now. Leaving him with this gentle spirit who was all he wanted at the end. Melitt and a boy called Joss …

“Joss!” the Dagda called in the voice that used to be his.

A grown man knelt beside him on the floor of the cave, a man with sky-colored eyes and a soft, springy beard. “I’m here,” he said.

“You wanted to ask me so many questions…”

“They can wait.”

“They cannot wait. Let me tell you what you need to know while I have the strength.”

“If you rest now, Dagda, you will be stronger tomorrow.”

“I shall, but not here. Listen to me. Do you remember the temple on the hill?”

“I do, of course.”

“I told you there were other temples, and I intended to take you to them when you were older.”

“I am older now.”

The Dagda managed a faint smile. “Sadly, you must go on your own. But I want you to understand what you find. Come closer…”

His voice grew so labored that Joss could not make out the words.
Think to me,
he said to the Dagda.

As she watched the two of them together, Melitt saw the young man’s eyes widen. His face became a study in intense concentration.

When the bats left the cave, Joss was still sitting beside the Dagda, listening to a voice that Melitt had never heard. She was not jealous. Over the long span of their lives together, her husband had said everything she wanted to hear.

She did not go foraging that night. There was nothing she could do but care for the children, and wait. Patience was one of her talents.

I listened closely to everything the Dagda told me, and remembered. Not one word escaped me; neither did the instructions I did not fully understand. He was pouring his wisdom into me, and I must not spill a single drop.

Weave a tender network of those you care about, and who care about you. The path they light will guide your spirit.

Seek balance; from the mightiest sun to the tiniest insect, all must be in balance. What we do will, in time, be done to us, although we may not recognize it.

There are three questions that only you can answer, but you must answer them all, in thislife or another.

Who am I?

Why am I?

Where am I going?

And this above everything: have courage. In the end, we are perfectly safe. All things are one and part of the same Word.

TWENTY-SEVEN

T
HE DAGDA LOOKED UP
at me, but I was not sure he could see me. His eyes were clouded and rheumy, the whites yellow.
Do not grieve, Joss, there is no need. It is my time, I have put it off for far too long
.

“I don’t want you to go! What about the tribe? How can we…”

Ask yourself,
he replied. He raised a shaking, skeletal hand and put his forefinger on my breast. “Elgolai,” he said clearly.

I thought he meant that he was going out, which I already knew. But tears sprang to my eyes anyway.

You. Elgolai.

He had gone out. Between one breath and the next, the Dagda had left us. I sat beside the emptied shell of him and tried to imagine my life without him.

Melitt pushed me aside so she could put her ear against his nostrils. Then she put the flat of her palm on his chest. Her eyes met mine. She shook her head.

The children knew. They silently gathered around us. Demirci was carrying my little sister in his arms. Drithla reached a tiny hand down toward the man who lay at their feet.

Take her hand!
I willed with everything in me.

The Dagda did not move.

He had gone out.

A few at a time, the other Dananns came to the cave to see him. No one had summoned them. I stood on one side of the Dagda’s bed and Melitt stood on the other while they walked in a slow circle around us. Sunwise, the sacred direction.

A few of the women murmured their sympathy to Melitt or lightly stroked her hand. No one tried to comfort me; I was thankful. I needed to be alone in that space he still occupied within me.