Emerald Magic_ Great Tales of Irish Fantasy - Andrew M. Greeley [117]
“I am not deterred,”declar ed Oisin, dismissing her warning.“You do not understand—I know the places where the Fianna are most likely to be found, the places they dwell and hunt. I will go to their favorite haunts, and I will find them, even if the whole of Ireland is filled with clerics as you say. I will find them.”
“You will not,”sh e whispered, but he could not believe it, and longed to see for himself.
Along the shores of Tír na Nóg the briny waves rustled, silky as layers of flounced petticoats. They lapped crystallized sands strewn with shells colored like opals, twists of driftwood, seaweed necklaces, luminous scatterings of uncut jewels, and the spiral of a narwhal’s tusk. Lying faceup beneath clear skies, the sea was encrusted with winking scintillants. Oisin narrowed his eyes against the flare and flicker, focusing on the east as he strapped the saddle on the back of Capall Bán and tightened the girth strap. Already he had taken his leave of the king and queen.Now he turned to his three children, bidding them farewell and telling them he would return soon.
Last of all he went to his wife. Rare was she, and finer than wild music, as she stood upon the strand. Her gown was a lacework of cobwebs and starlight, and the hem brushed her narrow feet.
“I will be leaving now,”h e said.
“Alas,”said she, “it is long the clouds will be over me tonight.”
She was weeping. Never before had he seen her weep, and he looked upon her with wonder, for her tears shone more like pearls than salt water. His heart was moved, and he took her gently in his embrace. “I love you,”h e said. “I’ll come back so swiftly you’ll hardly know I was gone.”
Niamh wiped away her tears and bestowed upon him such a look of sorrow that he imagined he might die of it. He remembered her look of love the first time they had met, and at that instant he was sorely tempted to abandon his quest, but he thought better of it, for the absence of Fionn and the warriors of the Fianna was an ache beneath his ribs.
“And here is my kiss for you, my darling Oisin,”said Niamh, “for you will never come back anymore to the Land of Youth.”
Then she brushed her lips against his cheek and turned away.
As he rode off over the sea he looked back and saw her standing on the beach, her golden hair lifted by the breeze, fanning out from her face like the petals of a radiant flower.
OISIN’S JOURNEY ACROSS THE SEA back to Ireland was without incident. Indeed, so eager was he to reach his homeland, and so accustomed was he to the supernatural phenomena of Tír na Nóg, that he scarcely took note of any sights or sounds along the way. Through the starry night he hastened, until the sun blazed out in front of him and the bright hooves of Capall Bán were splashing through the shallows of the beach in Kerry whence he had departed. The tireless faerie horse bore him up the slopes and across the meadows, and all the while Oisin was looking about him, for this was a favorite hunting precinct of the Fianna. Every moment he expected to hear the hounds baying, or to witness the hunters making their way across the turf behind the milling hounds.
He saw no one. Not even any stranger to whom he could direct a question.
Therefore without delay he turned his face and went on. To Dún Almhuin he rode. This was a massive fort on the hill of Knaockaulin in County Kildare, which was built by Fionn’s great-grandfather Nuada Airgetlámh—Nuada of the Silver Arm, king of the Tuatha de Danaan. As Oisin galloped up the incline he noted weeds had taken root in the road, and the cow pastures were neglected, and the place was deserted.