Bright Eyes

Name pronunciation key

Bébinn: Bay-vin

Aonghus: Awn-gus

Cahir: Ka-heer

Dál nAraidi : dahl nuh-RAH-dee

Fochla: FOH-kla

Lile: Lee-leh

Torvir: Tor-veer

Sigurd: sigh-gur-d

Lugh: Luh-gh

Víðarr: Veh-dahr

Méibh: May-hv

The morning was cool and misty just as every morning on the small island off In Fochla’s coastline. Bébinn wrapped her faded green shawl tightly around her shoulders as she stood outside their home. Her eyes were distant, staring through the mist to see if any ships were visible in the waves.

“Perhaps father will be home soon from his journey. With the days growing cooler and the waters full of waves, this is a wretched time to be traveling inland to meet with the council,” she whispered into the wind. She ended her search and turned back towards the door. As she stepped in, the smell of grease and salt wafted through. She could hear the fire crackling as her mother shifted the coals to warm the kettle.

“The morning meal is almost ready, Bright Eyes,” her mother spoke while tilting her head up. She still held her beauty as she aged. Long, dark hair with wisps of white was knotted behind her ears and gentle creases on the edges of her eyes. The same eyes she passed to Bébinn, bright and mixed with the color of the sea and fields. Neither blue nor green, but something beautiful in between. Bébinn nodded and smiled as she hung her shawl near the hearth to dry. “No sign of father yet. I wish he’d return. It is not like him to be gone this long.”

“Ay, dear. He’ll be home soon. Now come, sit. Warm yourself and fill your belly. With your father being gone, we need to take care of the herd.” Bébinn settled in on a stool and slowly filled her plate and cup. Salted pork with a side of eggs and bread. A warm brew of tea to wash it down with.

As she ate, she thought to herself. The rumors of the Northmen have been spreading throughout the lands. Even a few ships have passed by with their sail down and the oars beating against the sea. Thankfully, they have never grounded on the island. Possibly because one small cottage and a few sheep were of little interest. The Northmen targeted the mainland. Of course, with little success as of late. Bébinn still wondered what they looked like and if they were as fearsome as her father said.

Setting her plate down and reaching for her leather boots, Bébinn sighed. “The skies grow darker each day. Soon, we will have little light left for father to come home in.” She reached for her freshly warmed shawl and her mother grasped her shoulder. “Agreed. Alas, with the threat of attacks growing, the clans need to be stronger than ever. Which means your father will be gone longer each time he visits. We have little protection on this mossy rock and I’ll be damned if we don’t do something about it. I’ve lost your brother. I will not lose you as well.” With her back still turned to her mother, Bébinn’s eyes flinched with pain. It was rare that they spoke of Damán. Her older brother was much like their father. Tall with broad shoulders that could easily burden the entire island if needed. He insisted on going inland to help with the raids. He never returned. Father only brought home his breastpin, which was kept on the mantel. These are worries that flood her mind. What if father never returns as her dear older brother? What if father gets caught on the seas? Then what? Bébinn turned to her mother with tears on the edge. “You will not lose me, for I have nowhere to go. This is my home and I will always stay.”

Her mother chuckled as she rested her hand back on her hip. “Well, if that is what suits ya. But if you don’t mind me saying, a girl needs a man to provide for her. There aren’t many of them shuffling around here anymore. Alas, you will go inland one day. I just hope it will be after all of this mess of the Northmen and battles.” Bébinn huffed at the thought. She had no interest in that. She can provide for herself. Her father taught her how to tend the sheep and the land. Her mother taught her how to weave and cook. What else was there?

Out the door again, the mist was clearing as the sun warmed her cheeks. The wind rustled her ebony hair as she tied it in a knot behind her ears. Behind their cottage, with the moss laden roof, stood a scraggly stone shelter that was surrounded by a weathered fence. Inside the fence were a few dozen sheep. Bébinn whistled as she walked through the gate. A low bark answered, startling the wooly animals. Lazily strolling out of the straw in the shelter came a shaggy mountain of a dog. “Morning, Mac. Ready to get these buggers out for the day?” she spoke as she scratched behind his ears. Mac let out a huff and sauntered towards the back of the small herd. Bébinn grabbed the walking stick leaning against the fence and clicked her tongue. With a few disapproving bleats, the sheep headed out the gate and past the cottage.

Once the sheep were over the hill and settled into the meadow, Bébinn turned to look over the cottage and back at the sea, still hoping to see her father’s boat returning home. Mac whined and nudged her hand. “I’m sure he’ll be home soon. I miss him, too.” She bent down and kissed his scruffy head in reassurance. Bébinn settled in the grass as Mac rested his head on her lap. She closed her eyes and imagined a time when they were all together. Damán and father taking turns shearing the sheep. Her and mother sorting the wool to be washed and eventually spun. Oh, how she missed those days. Now they all seemed to be filled with the impending dread of what was coming. Glancing up, she saw a speck among the waves. Her breath caught in her throat.

“The Northmen are getting desperate!” shouted Aonghus, slamming his fist on the table. “The eastern coast has proven difficult to defeat! They are edging closer and closer to our borders with each day! Something needs to be done!” Bran sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. For days, they have been discussing the raids with no solution. Just endless drivel that seemed to just anger the council even further. Bran stood up. His towering form and firm stare made the room of bickering grow still. “Are we not also desperate?” he spoke when all was quiet. “For years, we have been battling these animals. We’ve all lost to them.” Bran moved around the stone table and the other councilmen. “Seamus, they stole half your herd,” waving his hand towards a cowardly looking man who just lowered his head in defeat. Waving his other hand towards a tall and thick-haired man “Cahir, two sons and a daughter. I, myself… have lost my only son.” Briefly stopping to compose himself, “I believe it is time to look to the east for aid. They seem to have gotten a handle on these raids. Otherwise, they’d be running to us.” Bran finished by sitting back in his chair.

The other councilmen settled into their chairs. They all knew the answer. Yet, they just despised asking their enemies for help. Dál nAraidi has fought over the borders of In Fochla for as long as they can remember. Never really gaining any new ground to call their own. Bran was right. No matter the reasons, they were not as capable as Dál nAraidi. Their fortresses seemed impenetrable and their warriors were large in numbers.

Sighing with defeat, Aonghus nodded his head. “Agreed. We need to send word and ask them for aid. We’ve lost too many of our sons and daughters to these beasts. It is time. Who will go?” Bran once again stood up. “I shall go. My wife and daughter can handle the island on their own for a little while longer. We have been lucky and not faced what others have faced here on the mainland. We’re hidden away and safe for now.” Cahir stood to protest. “Nay, Bran, I have already lost my family. Let me go instead. Nothing left for me to lose.” Bran, shaking his head, “Nay. But I will welcome you along with me. We’re strong together.” He grasped Cahir’s arm and shook his hand in agreement. “It is settled then,” announced Aonghus, “pack and be ready to leave at dawn. Tonight you rest and we feast together!”

While the mead was enjoyed and the roasts savored by the others, Bran sat in a corner by the large hearth. Scribbling on parchment to compose a letter to be sent to his family. He wanted them to not worry about him. His fate was most likely the same as his son’s. At the end of a blade of a Northman. Bébinn knew her way around the island and could manage the farm. Lile, his beloved wife, was strong. She kept him afloat when Damán left and never returned. Bran felt a pang in his chest. Losing his son nearly defeated him. That was when he made the decision to go inland and defeat these northern beasts once and for all.

The dawn peaked, crisp with cool hues. Tension hung in the air like the frost crystals on the edges of the blades of grass. Bran and Cahir added the last of their gear onto the back of an old shaggy mare. Aonghus stood there beside them. “I wish you safe passages through the hills, my friends. May your journey be swift and free from harm.” Wrapping Bran in a bear-like embrace, he wished them well.

“Please, Aonghus, take this letter to my family. I want them to know if I don’t return.” Bran handed the folded piece of parchment to him. With a solemn look, Aonghus took it. Mounting their horses, Bran and Cahir headed into the mist.

“How long do you think the journey will be?” questioned Cahir. “No longer than 3 days if we’re in the gods’ good graces,” responded Bran. Coming up the hill, he turned and saw the small village fade away. Ahead were the open fields that lead to rolling hills and through the low mountains. Traveling overland was slower and more arduous than going by sea. However, they dared not risk encountering any Northmen ships by attempting a sea journey.

Trodding along, the sun rose above them, and the mist cleared. It was soon enough that Bran’s mind wandered towards their midday meal. “Cahir, further ahead, there should be a willow tree with a shrine of Lugh beside it. We shall take our rest there and ask Lugh for safe travel.” Cahir nodded in agreement.

As they crested the hill, there stood the willow. Beside it was a relatively small structure with carvings of a man holding a spear with a magnificent greyhound by his side. The sky was darkening with clouds. “We shall make this quick. No sense in our meal getting rained on while we are trying to enjoy it.” Bran spoke as he stepped off his horse. Cahir grunted in agreement. His body was tired from the journey so far. He was a man of the sea, earning his livelihood like many others in the region as a fisher. Horses were not his preference for travel.

Once his mare and the packhorse were tethered to the tree, Bran dug a single coin out of his pouch. He walked over to the shrine and placed the coin at the base of the carving. There, he stood for a moment, as if to be listening for an answer to a question that was not spoken. With a sigh, he turned towards the pack horse and pulled out some bread and salted fish. Cahir grabbed the waterskin from the other side.

There they sat in silence. Leaning against the willow, looking out into the hills. Bran, being a man of few words, did not know what to say to break the silence. In fact, he preferred it that way. Looming ahead were the low mountains. He would like to reach the bottom before nightfall, but feared the impending rain would slow them down. “What’s on your mind, Bran?” Cahir said in between a bite of bread and a sip of water.

“That we are going to be slowed by the rain.”

“Well, we best pull our cloaks tighter and push through. The longer we take, the higher chance there’ll be nothing left to return to.”

“Don’t speak like that. We have enough worries for the time being. The whole reason for us to leave our homes and make this trek was to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

Cahir sat there mulling over the response. With a nod, he wrapped his bread and fish back up. Slinging the waterskin on his back, he mounted his horse. “Alright. Let’s continue”