Naamah's Blessing

the skies, scalding our fingers on roasted rabbit-meat. We drank Mabon’s stolen
uisghe
,the strong, fiery liquid burning a golden trail down our throats and warming our bellies.
    We told stories, or fragments of stories, voices tumbling over one another, trying to cram seven years’ of absence into a single day.
    Bao watched with a dazed look, overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all. “It is very hard to follow, Moirin. Tell me again how Oengus is related to you?”
    “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “But he is family.”
    With the sunlight angling low through the hazelwood copse, my uncle Mabon issued a drunken challenge to Bao, wrestling a convenient branch loose and taking a defensive stance. With a fierce answering smile, Bao unslung his bamboo staff and went on offense. Back and forth across the clearing they sparred, their feet churning the loam, until a weary truce was declared.
    “You did not tell me your uncle was a stick-fighter, Moirin,” Bao said cheerfully, dropping to sit cross-legged beside me, sweat glistening on his skin. “He’s quite good, you know.”
    I eyed Mabon. “I did not know. But he has a way with wood.”
    Mabon returned my gaze with a serene smile, hoisting the cask of
uisghe
to his lips. “Did the bow I made you serve you well, niece?”
    “Aye,” I said. “It did.”
    His smile deepened. “I thought it would.”
    It occurred to me that there was truly a great deal I had yet to learn about the folk of the Maghuin Dhonn.
    Sunset gave way to twilight, dusk falling over the copse. Fireflies emerged in the undergrowth, golden lights flickering on and off in an elaborate dance of courtship. Oengus slumped sideways and began to snore. Mabon passed the cask to Bao and followed suit, arranging himself comfortably.
    Bao nodded where he sat, his head hanging low, his hands cradling the cask of
uisghe
in a protective manner.
    I glanced at my mother.
    She smiled at me. “I like him.”
    “Do you?” I asked.
    Lifting one hand, she stroked my hair. “I do, Moirin mine. He has a good, strong spirit, and I think he loves you very much, for all that he does not wear it on his sleeve.” She paused, leaning forward to stir the embers of the campfire. “Cillian wanted you to be someone you were not. This one doesn’t, does he?”
    “No,” I said. “He doesn’t.”
    My mother nodded, adding another branch to the fire and banking the ashes around it. In the low glow, she looked no older than I remembered, her face yet unlined, her black hair untouched by silver. “It makes all the difference in the world.”
    “What about tomorrow?” I asked.
    She sighed. “Tomorrow is tomorrow, my heart. I do but pray you both return from the ordeal.”
    “Both?”
    “Ah, Moirin mine!” Her gaze was deep and dark and sorrowful. “You and your husband share a
diadh-anam
, child. Did you not think you would have to pass through the stone doorway together?”
    “No,” I said honestly. “I hadn’t thought on it.”
    “Tomorrow is tomorrow,” my mother repeated. “But tonight is tonight.” She stroked my hair again, pressed a kiss against my brow. “And come what may on the morrow, tonight is precious to me. Sleep, and be my little girl one last time.”
    Laying my head in her lap, I slept.

EIGHTY-SEVEN

    O n the morrow, the mood in our camp was markedly more sober. Since we were less than an hour’s journey from the hollow hill, Bao and I began our ritual fast. At sunset, we would venture through the stone doorway.
    Bao turned pale on learning I must accompany him. “But why? Your Maghuin Dhonn has already acknowledged you.”
    “That was before I gave away half my
diadh-anam
,” I murmured.
    “You didn’t know!” he protested.
    “I should have,” I said. “And in some deep part of me, I must have known. I told Master Lo I was willing to give anything to restore your life.”
    For the rest of the journey, Bao was quiet. I daresay all of us were, not knowing what the day might hold.
    When we reached the foot of the hollow hill, there was a man awaiting us. He gave me a shy, uncertain smile, and I recognized him as the young man Breidh who had been attendant on my first initiation.
    “Old Nemed is waiting for you,” he announced. “With your permission, I’ll take your horses to her place and tend to them ere I return for the rite. She lives near.”
    It surprised me. “She has a
stable
?”
    Breidh shrugged. “No, but there is a lean-to that will shelter them at need.