Discover the Magic of jlfrenchauthor.com

 How did the story of Artur begin?  Check it out and let me know what you think. 

The pounding of unshod hooves reverberated across the northern plains, the shadows of dust finally settling in their wake as the riders reached the plains” crest bordering the shores of the north. The stillness of the night touched on lifelessness as the riders dismounted, gathering round the one whom they followed, the one to whom they were bound. 

His words carried across the night as he began to speak, “We still walk this land and while one of the Fìannâ has breath, our search will continue,” the auburn-haired warrior stood, “thàinig mo shinnsir bhon àite seo,” head bowed, a multitude of braids fell forward over his shoulders. At the same time, hands fisted together atop the hilt of the sword whose blade reflected Gwenhidw’s light. He stood thus a moment before continuing, “my ancestors came from here, from Eíre.”

Raising his eyes slowly, his unbroken gaze took in the gathered warriors who rode under his command, Bandraoi and Druiddiic warriors stood solemnly, listening to their leader speak. He did not shout to gain their attention; there was no need; he simply stood tall, holding Freagarthach, a sword forged by Breo-straight in Brighnasa’s flames, the Answerer, a fate that none could escape.

“The meadows of green grasses, ran red with our ancestors lifeblood when they stood together against the men who arrived on their ships from the land of the dead,” raising Freagarthach high, he slid the Answerer upon his back, “what they sought, never will be, for the Men of Dea favor their chlann, their chosen children.” With arms outstretched, the silver bands engraved with intricate designs upon his forearms reflected the gathering storms overhead.

“All gathered, bear witness that tha iad ceàrr,” the braids began to whip round his form as the warrior stood waiting as across the northern plains, the soft breeze that had accompanied Gwenhidw’s night stirring small campfires now lifted the plumes of smoke across the night’s mask of ambiguity. At the same time, the leaves of the surrounding ghost willows rustled with the swaying of young branches.

From above, the mantle of the sky lit with white fire that began to reach down from the ard-na-spéire to lash the ground, “I say again that they are wrong, and that our ancestors have not forgotten us.” The warrior began to walk forward through the mass of bodies that parted as a wave parting for the crest of land that withstood its vengeful force.

He continued to walk across the empty plains until he stood alone in its breath, enveloped in the rising winds. Across the ard-na-spéire, the white fire now burrowed its way towards the plains, blinding those gathered with its intensity before it leapt from veil to carse of land where Ossían stood waiting. As the shower of embers exploded round Ossían’s form, he stood not alone. Azure braids adorned with silver charms swung to the woman’s waist. All bowed down, staring in wonder as Síon, daughter of Manannán, reached out and called the deceitful fire upon her.

Smoldering veins strained from the ard-na-spéire and leapt to her summons, the engrains upon her body absorbing each treacherous flash. Síon, who had the power to shake the fabric of the ard-na-spéire and cast the beguiling radiance of the stars above in its most heinous expression, reached out a hand to touch Ossían’s cheek, “Descendant of the Druiddress Dianánn of the Tuátha, the first daughter of Manannán to fall in battle, am mac of Fingäl mac Cùmail, you have much of the sorceresses power to summon me here.”

Long had the guardians of the Lia Fail followed the Ard-rígh, the stone proclaimed true, who possessed Freagarthach. Ossían’s athair, Fingäl had been charged as their protector before Ossían, and his loyal warriors, the Fìannâ, had kept them both from falling into gallaín hands until at his death he had passed the responsibility onto Ossían.

They had traveled long, from southern Eíre, north across the plains, seeking one the stone would proclaim true, but it had remained silent when each had stepped upon it. Now, they stood upon the most northern plains that guarded the shore of Eíre and waited. Síon, too, stood silently, waiting for Ossían’s reply.

He could feel the power of Freagarthach upon his back, resisting still the urge to claim the blade as his own, knowing he was but keeper, and, in the remembrance, felt the sword grow quiet.

“The gallaín claim our land and now their holy men proclaim their god of no name to all, seeking to wipe the Tuátha from our people’s memories,” Ossían looked out towards the dark waters that surrounded Eíre, “we are bound by oath and blood to protect the stone and place Freagarthach in the hands of the true Ard-rígh who will wield it in defense of our ways,” Ossían turned, falling to his knees before Síon, “but so help me goddess we cannot find him and our ways have begun to die. Help us.” Head bowed, he held his hands out in supplication.

Síon nodded before walking past the forlorn warrior, continuing until she headed straight into the churning waters of the surf that kissed the stones of what had once been the giants causeway. Further she walked until the Sluagh-rón began to gather round her in the open water, “To Tir Tairngiri, my athair’s realm where my braud sits upon the throne,” waving her arms wide she dispersed the Silkies, “bring him to me.”

The warriors now stood upon the desolate stretch of sandy beach behind where Ossían still knelt in the sand, watching as the oceans waters began to toss and swirl as Síon awaited Síne’s arrival. Far out, where Manannán’s waters appeared black, great waves began to rise and head towards the shore. Higher and higher they rose until the waves crest began to turn inward, roiling towards the shoreline.

Síon stood her ground, and in awe, the warriors watched as the waves parted for her form before they crashed into the shoreline, leaving Síne standing in their wake. The Prince of tides stood regally upon the shore, looking from the assembled warriors to his sister, who now claimed his side.

“You have summoned me,” Síne’s anger belied the love for his sister as he pulled her close and wrapped her in loving embrace, “what business have you with these warriors who stand before us?” Síne addressed Síon, but the hilt of Freagarthach, reflecting Gwenhidw’s light, which could be seen over Ossían’s bowed shoulders, drew his attention.

“This warrior seeks the help of the Tuátha in locating the last, true Ard-rígh,” Síon nodded towards where Ossían still knelt, “what say you braud of mine?”

From the northern shore, the remnants of the giants causeway remained after the bones had sunk to lie in the cradle in the waters of the deep. The warriors of the Fìannâ watched as Síne stood considering his sister’s request and Freagarthach before turning to Síon and nodding his agreement.

Together, the half-souls turned, and the Fìannâ were witness to the extent of their command as above clouds of fury raced across the sky, obliterating Gwenhidw’s light, even as veins of white fire appeared to light the ard-na-spéire. As Síne and Síon stood in embrace, calling to the elements of their dominions, veils of tears began to fall in a thunderous declaration upon the land headed out to the unfathomable waters where the waves of the deep roiled upon the surface.

The glassy veneer of the deep was a mirror of ages passed as the bones of the causeway rose from the cradles embrace wherest they had lain in abandonment for so long, now the stones, singed from the bloodfires caress rose to lay atop the surface once more. The halfsouls stood, locked in the moment, not breaking their embrace save to look to where the warriors now waited upon their mounts.

“Do not hesitate,” Síne nodded back towards the causeway, “they only stay to set you upon your path,” forehead-to-forehead the half-souls remained as the warriors rode forward at breakneck speed behind Ossían, who urged his mount to all haste. Síon whispered to the Sluagh-rón, who gathered in the ever-increasing waves that began to lathe the shore. “Keep watchful eyes upon these souls,” Síon nodded towards Ossían and his warriors, “they follow the one who is our last hope,” as the Silkies nodded in understanding, Síon bid them take their leave.

The only sound was that of the waves lapping at the causeway in eagerness to settle the bones to rest once more and that of the half-souls sigh as they stepped apart and released the night to Gwenhidw’s light once again.

The bones of the earth stretched out before him, a path through the grace he had never expected to appear - a destination he had never thought to seek. He gave no thought to other than reaching the end of the causeway, hearing the thunder of hooves that echoed as the warriors urged their mounts forward, a peace inside all now that the half-souls had given their aid, their strength to their search.

The deep they crossed now was black; the beautiful was empty of sound save the heavy breath of their mounts and the pounding of their hearts as Ossian urged his mount yet faster, knowing the causeway to be but a momentary link. Overhead, a sliver of Gwenhid’s moon crested the fading light that now erased the boundaries of grace from that of the ard-na-spéire above while ahead, an isle began to appear.

Upon the isle that sat away from the lowland shore encampment into the surrounding waters, the wind began to blow harshly, caressing the blackened edges of the earth before moving on to whip the waters around the isle as they began to churn in anticipation and herald of the bones that began to rise on each side of the isle, blackened from the deep of the grace to link the heart of the maaperä once more. Across the maa of both halves of the heart, the deep breath of the maaperä rose as for the first time, since the passing of days did the heart beat as one once more.

The grace was alive that morn as Ossian stepped into the shallow waters off of the coast of the new land, as alive it seemed as the new land itself and just as full of contradictions for when the path of bones had ended, he and his warriors had found themselves upon an isle of bones that rose briefly ahead of them before their eyes had found yet another causeway already falling back into the grace’s welcoming embrace. With all haste, they had urged their mounts onward, throwing themselves into the still deep waters so their mounts would not have to make for the shore with their added weights upon their backs along with that of the treasure they already bore.