Theneva
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Feeling out of place and unsure as to where we belong, the hostages and I drift about with the other milling people. Some of us find the hearthfire the most welcome spot and less obtrusive to our captors. I still think of myself as a hostage, with the exception of Nevvyn.

Searching about with my eyes only as guide I reach a point in my questing of Nevvyn's visage with a glance to where the stockpile of wood has been laid for the hearth. I see Dobhar and Nevvyn there. As they finish conversing I notice Dobhar begin hewing the great logs into finer pieces for the firepit.

Unsteady in my gaze so as not to seem intrusive I stand slowly. Then with bolder steps i approach the place where Nevvyn stands. He spys me and quickly strides toward me. I'm a bit awkward in my stance but recover as he hails me with a warm greeting of hands and a broad smile. Lady Theneva, come and sit with me by the fireside. I must know more about your heritage and the place from whence you came. We sit on a large log not as near to the hearth as the rest and begin an earnest discussion.
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Posted on: 9:27 pm on Oct. 25, 2002

Odhanan
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During the last while, Lewin left without saying a word, just smiling and bowing to everyone around while Odhanan walked and started eating not far from his old friend Mac Morna.

With a large smile on his face Odhanan looks at Mac Morna and Verctissa eating. Those two are well together it seems to him. He shrugs and winks to Mac, and turns his head on the other side, realizing that Iris is not far from him.

Where did your friend go, Odhanan? She asks.

I have no idea! He says. But you where speaking of making love in a Celtic language. You know, I think every language is good enough for love and pleasure. Just feel the sweetness of the words and their poetry. Just listen to the words, be the words, and you may discover other worlds that were just waiting to awake in your mind.

The bard raises his pint and asks for attention: Dear companions, from wherever you come, I am glad to have the possibility to entertain you now. I would like to sing several songs to you with the help of my dear Mac, if he is not busy enough? He smiles as he takes a harp of white and smooth wood off its package.

He walks to the center of the assembly and tries his fingers on the strings while speaking. I am sure you hear many legends of the Irish and Celts alike?

Do you know the Companions of the Red Branch? They were mainly known for one of their members, Setanta... that most people remember as the great hero CuChulainn. He smiles.

So let us begin with a simple traditional song, and Mac will tell you a part of the story of Setanta, if he wants to?

This first song is called... Fairy Hills.

He sighs, concentrates and waits for Mac to be ready, smiles again nervously at everyone as some energy fills his veins. He then starts singing with a clear voice while he caresses the strings delicately...

Long long ago in this ancient land
A battle took place where two hills now stand
And on the plain there lay the slain
For neither the battle was won

So the bard did sing of these fairy hills
Where bloom the white flowers and daffodils
One big one small Si Bheag Si Mhor
And never the battle is won

Beneath these hills great heroes lie
Of the Red Branch Knights and their ancient foe
In still of night the immortals fight
But never the battle is won

And so the harper was told these fairy tales
Of these fairy hills of the ancient Gaels
One big one small Si Bheag Si Mhor
And never the battle is won

Twas after the battle the prophet foretold
No rest would be found for these warriors bold
Till they unite and fight one common foe
And then would the battle be won.

So then the harper wrote of these fairy hills
Where bloom the white flowers and daffodils
One big one small Si Bheag Si Mhor
And never the battle is won...
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Posted on: 2:32 am on Oct. 26, 2002

Rona
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Through the mists of the browning fields, I find my way to the festival grounds. It is dusk and the people are gathering in the bruighean, knowing that on this night the darkness may be especially deep and dangerous.

I am a free-roving bard. It is not usual to see a woman bard, much less one who roams the land as I do, but I have met one or two others in my travels.

Entering the bruighean I spy some familiar faces. It is as if I have stepped into a dream where the past and the future swirl together. I do not stop to greet anyone but make my way straight to the table where the offerings are laid.

My little harp rides on my shoulder. In my arms I cradle the last stalks of corn, still sheathed in their greenery but trailing golden tresses that foretell autumn's colors.

These I offer, as I recite the phrases long ago etched upon my soul.

Know that every seed, every grain, is a record of times most ancient, and the promise of all that shall be. Kernal and husk I offer to hold back the darkness - with this knowledge may our souls be sustained as we approach the shadow-season of the year!

As the last word of my prayer leaves my lips, the chime of a harp rings out from the other side of the bruighean. I hear words and my heart sings along, for I know well the tune and the rhyme. But who is this with a voice as clear as the crystal skies of Beltane? Eagerly, I stand on tiptoe to see but the bard is hidden in the midst of a crowd.
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Posted on: 6:28 am on Oct. 26, 2002

Summer Isle
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The last pallets of logs are delivered to the sacred space, stacked neatly to await the kindling spark. A deep red autumn sunset is coloring the skies, sooty streaks ominously lurking in the west. The woodcutters murmur among themselves, glancing nervously at this sky. From the north, a chilly gust rattles the dry leaves around us. One by one, we brush the dirt from our breeks, gather our axes and hammers, and hasten down the hill to the welcoming lights of the bruighean.

I am the last to leave. Defying the threat of the impending Samhain darkness, I stand in the shadow of the largest stone, leaning boldly against its rough face. No disrespect is intended. I merely wish to indulge my memories here for a time, before the full and fearsome rush of Samhain comes upon us.

Already the mists are rising. A whiff of death is in the air, the scent of musk and rot, sweet and bitter. Too soon another year has slipped away. My back aches from the work of chopping wood. I realize I am no longer young. Surprised, I chuckle to myself. Fool! No one lives forever, not even the seannachie.

The argument instantly rises, echoing inside my head. Nay, but we do live forever! I think of the first story I ever learned...Fintan, from the tales of Finn McCool.

Even now I can hear my father's voice, raspy with age, as he told me the story so long ago.

Before Finn could take the place of his father as King of Ireland, he knew he still had to learn the ancient poetry and tales. So he sought out Finegas the Druid who lived on the banks of the river Boyne.

Finegas had lived beside the river angling in vain for Fintan, the Salmon of Knowledge. Fintan lived in a dark pool of the river over which a great hazel tree bent its branches and dropped nuts of knowledge into the water. Fintan ate the nuts, and their power and knowledge passed to Fintan. In turn, whoever would eat Fintan would possess his knowledge and power.

Finegas the Druid spent seven fruitless years fishing until Finn came to study with him. Then, as if the salmon had only been waiting for Finn's arrival, the old Druid caught the salmon.

Finegas gave the salmon to Finn to cook admonishing Finn not to eat of the salmon. But as Finn was turning the salmon over the fire, his thumb was scorched on the hot fish, and he put his thumb into his mouth to relieve the pain. And so the knowledge of Fintan passed to Finn...

And so it passes to each new seannachie, by hook or by crook! We live on through our legends, our myths, our stories, forever.

Nevvyn's face suddenly pops out from behind the stone, glaring at me. He gestures at the forboding skies, which have turned deep purple while I was lost in my rememberings. Get you down to the bruighean, Lord of the Summer Isles, make haste! A seannachie is just as likely as any other mortal to fall prey to the Wild Hunt! Begone now and quickly!

The old druid hisses at me. I need no further encouragement. I make a dash for the bruighean!
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Posted on: 11:44 am on Oct. 26, 2002

Ruis
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Sunset gathers everyone into the bruighean. Odhanan warmly draws them in with a medley of traditional songs pleasing to all. I look on from the doorway, watching the sunset and keeping careful vigil for any who dare to linger in the dusk.

The seannachie Summer Isle is last to return to the hall. He grins at me as he hurries inside, casting one final glance over his shoulder. I wait awhile longer until the last traces of color are faded from the sky. The evening star emerges, a bright gem in the black heavens.

Odhanan finishes the last ballad. Cups are raised to him amid smatterings of applause. Then a hush falls. The people know it is time.

Nodding to Odhanan, I take up a bodhran and begin a soft, slow pulsebeat to call the forming of the procession. Odhanan is by my side in an instant, ready to walk with me in leading the way to the holy hill. Of all the people assembled here, he is chosen for this role because of his deep love and knowledge of the old ways. He bows humbly, makes a blessing sign to the sky, and we join hands.

Behind us, another drum picks up the beat as I set mine aside. Without looking back, I can sense the celebrants finding their places, shuffling themselves into line with quiet reverence. There is no particular order of procession, no special priveliges given to rank, class or gender on this night when every borderline is opened, every boundary is blurred. Beggars may come before bards, midwives before chieftains. All stand equal at the gates of death and life.

Odhanan and I wait patiently for them all to form the long line. Slowly we step out of the bruighean and into the darkness, gradually allowing room for the serpentine procession to grow behind us. There is silence except for the drum, which speaks eloquently of what we all share at this moment - one beating heart.
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Posted on: 11:25 am on Oct. 26, 2002

Nevvyn
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Ruis has delegated to me, the task of overseeing the collection and preparation of the nine sacred woods for the need fire. For a change, this year there are ample hands and strong backs to help in the work. The job is quickly finished and I look about in satisfaction. The stone circle has been cleared of debris and the woods are neatly stacked at one side. The last to leave is the seannachie who styles himself as Lord of the Summer Isles. He leans against one of the great pillars, gazing at the stormy sky and dreaming. Make haste to the bruighean! I warn him. The Wild Hunt is on the ride! With a shrug and a grin, he departs, leaving me to my final ministrations of laying the fire.

Finished, I wipe my hands on a stray patch of green grass, a last reminder of the fruitful year we have had. Everything is in readiness, and I walk back to the bruighean with a sense of anticipation. Ahhh.... There will be good food, music, songs and stories this night. Morna has asked that I perform the handfasting of him and Verctissa, one of the Cruithne women. I am hoping he will also be playing his song of our recent adventure in the lands of the Cruithne.

As I approach the bruighean, I spy a small figure seated on a bench. Legs dangling far short of the ground, at first I take it to be a child, and wonder who could be so careless as to let one of the young ones stray out of sight, on this of all nights. On closer inspection, I see that the child has a great beard and full moustache. He turns and grins, and I recognize him immediately. Lewin! I cry. It has been many years since I have seen you. Where have you been keeping yourself? It is long since one of the wee people has graced our celebration.

Ah Ha! Old Wizard of the Woods! I have been collecting bits of gold and hiding them away, as is our custom, he laughs with the hearty sound which only a true Leprechaun can make. As to my presence here, I have attached myself to the Bard know as Odhanan, and I mine his words for the nuggets they might contain.

I have heard that name in connection with the Forest of Broceliande, I tell him. You have indeed traveled far in your search. We converse for a bit more, then I make my apologies and excuses, and continue into the bruighean. As I enter, Morna is harping one of the old tunes as another bard sings. I weave my way through the crowd to where Clan NiaFer has taken over one whole end of the building. I lean down and whisper in my daughter's ear. She gets this mischievous grin on her face and nods.

As Odhanan and Morna finish their song, she stands and raises her hands for attention. I am sorry to steal away your harper, she announces. But he has an important duty to perform. She sends a meaningful glance toward Verctissa, an then beckons to Morna. Those of his friends who might want to wish him well in his last few moments of bachelor-hood, may gather in front of the Bruighean! This announcement is greeted by a general round of mixed applause and laughter.

I beckon to Morna and Verctissa, and they follow me out of the building, with the crowd in pursuit. I arrange the pair in front of me. Flidais, Dobhar and Fraoch stand with Morna. Verica, Theneva and Skene, stand with Verctissa. I wait a moment until the group settles, then announce, MacMorna of the Gael and Verctissa of the Cruithne… As you stand before me, is it TRULY your wish that the two of you be wed?

Together, they say, That is our wish!

Is there any cause that these two should not be so joined together? I ask, looking to the support group for each.

There is non known to us! is the response from each side.

From my pouch, I extract a length of richly-embroidered green ribbon. I join their hands, right to right, and wrap the ribbon thrice around them, completing the binding with a traditional trefoil knot.

And each of you! What do you bring to this union? I ask the pair.

Morna places his harp in front of me, then tops it with a bit of wool from one of his sheep. I bring my art and the products of my holdings in support of our household.

Verctissa adds a length of cloth and a brass needle to the pile. I bring the products of my hands to our union, she says with a shy smile.

Since the position of Bard is inviolate, there is no need for warrior’s tools in the protection of this home. I smile as I think of the blow he struck with his harp in defense of his Rian.

And do each of you swear and promise, I continue, before the Mother Goddess and the Sky Father, and all these who are assembled as witnesses, that you will be true and faithful to each other?

This we will do and swear, always and forever! they both answer.

And by what symbol do you seal this pledge?

Morna produces a thin, golden band, incised with a continuous design of the ancient Celtic "marriage knot". With this ring, do we seal our pledge! He smiles as he slips the band onto Verctissa’s finger.

Then, by Oak, Ash and Thorn, do I now pronounce you Husband and Wife! I untie the green ribbon and place it in Verctissa’s hands. Keep this as a happy remembrance of this occasion, I say with a fatherly smile.

A great shout goes up from the assembled crowd, and there is much back-slapping between the men and hugging amongst the women. Soon, all are streaming back into the bruighean to continue their eating and other merriment. I snag two beakers of honey-mead and seek out the pale-haired Theneva. Spying her in a group by the fireside with the other hostages, I approach. Lady Theneva! Come and sit with me, I say as I offer her one of the beakers. I would know more of your tale and of your homeland. I guide her to a split-log bench and sit, half facing her. I raise my cup and pronounce, Slainte!

She raises he cup and tries to get her tongue around the unfamiliar word. Slancha? she says, inquisitively.

’Tis an old Irish word with many meanings…. "Good Cheer!" "Be of Good Health!" "’Tis good to see your face!" Ah, yes! I chuckle. There are many ways to use the word.

We talk for some time, pausing now and again to listen to the delightful music from Odhanan and Morna. I see Verctissa is not far from our Bard’s side. As the sun sets, Ruis takes up a bodhran and starts a slow beat. It is time for the procession to the Circle. I stand, taking Theneva’s hand and together, we join the slowly-moving group in the walk up the hill.
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Posted on: 12:45 pm on Oct. 26, 2002

MaryIceni
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"We must hurry before full dusk falls!" I call to the driver of the wagon.

"I am going as fast as I can, my lady without adding further injury to your husband," he called. My brother looked at me from his horse beside the wagon. Cormiac had been gored by a wild boar just an hour ago and I knew that the sooner we got to the bruighean, the sooner he could be helped or helped to the next world if that was his fate. I began weeping.

"We are here, my Lady," the driver said...we had arrived soon after a wedding had ended. MacMorna! I had heard rumors on the wind he would wed a woman who had been brought back as a hostage and now I knew it to be true. My six month old son wailed with hunger and the door opened... .
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Posted on: 1:54 pm on Oct. 26, 2002

Flidais
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After many greetings and introductions, I find a comfortable place near the hearthfire and settle down to enjoy the music. Fraoch sits attentively by me, his hand on my knee. Odhanan is very gifted. He and MacMorna play together as if they have known each other for a thousand years. I lose myself in the song of the faery hills, drifting pleasantly away.

When my father pops in and whispers something in my ear, it is no surprise. I rise to my feet and get everyone's attention, grinning impishly at Mac and his bride-to-be.

I am sorry to steal away the harper but he has an important duty to perform! Those of his friends who might want to wish him well in his last few moments of bachelor-hood, may gather in front of the Bruighean!

Ribald laughter ripples through the bruighean, centered mainly around Dobhar and the NiaFer war band. The war chief jumps to his feet and leads the happy applause. Nevvyn directs us outside, into the shimmering sunset, for the handfasting ceremony.

The exchange of vows is simple and beautiful. Verctissa is radiant and MacMorna absolutely glows. As we stand with Dobhar to witness the wedding, Fraoch slips his arms tenderly around my waist. Is he thinking that we may be the next to marry? I put the thought quickly from my mind and concentrate on what Nevvyn is saying.

Then, by Oak, Ash and Thorn, do I now pronounce you Husband and Wife!

Everyone rushes forward to congratulate the pair. As I hug Verctissa and offer my best wishes to her, I notice the sky is quickly darkening.

We return to the shelter of the bruighean just in time. The hollow thud of Ruis' drum tells us that Samhain is drawing near. The laughter and revelry is stilled for now.
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Posted on: 4:30 pm on Oct. 26, 2002

Cormiac2
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"Hurry, we must gt there before full dusk!" I heard my wife call to the driver.

I didn't hear the driver's reply as the pain took over and I blacked out temporarily. I moaned and felt Mary's gentle hand wipe my brow. "It'll be alright, love. We'll get there," she said.

I heard my son wailing from hunger and felt the breeze as the door opened. "Nevvyn! Please, my husband was gored recently while we were on our way here," Mary said, after having silenced our son with her breast... .
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Posted on: 6:42 pm on Oct. 26, 2002

Odhanan
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Odhanan stands tall at Ruis' side and the procession grows slowly. He tries to let his mind imagine the implications of his present responsibility.

His fingers caress Ruis' hand while walking. The skin is soft but so cold. He wonders if it would be better to take her in his arms, but he realizes quickly that it would break the solemnity of the moment. He turns is head toward her and is surprised by her sudden beauty. Is it the magic of the procession that makes the druid so attractive all of a sudden? One beating heart...

Still walking calmly, Odhanan blushes slightly and tries to hide his thoughts... He doesn't feel worthy. A crowd of children appears from nowhere to surround the procession. He doesn't know their names nor their faces, but is that really important? Perhaps are they the new generation of the Clan NiaFer, he doesn't know.

Away from the procession, Lewin just left the Old Wizard of the Woods. He follows the procession, still thinking about the few words he exchanged with Nevvyn...
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Posted on: 7:48 pm on Oct. 26, 2002

Zoe Xanthippos
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I was greeted warmly by these people of the north. There was a momentary feeling of recognition as the bard greeted me but I put the thought aside as more and more people converged on the bruighean. A healer, a man with a large retinue, the Rian with her escort, and then a familiar face, his name was MacMorna I remembered, who had often travelled in my own lands.

As the crowd grew, Iris, Myrrhine and I seated ourselves off to one side of the hearth, comfortable for now to just watch all the greetings and to try and disentangle what appeared to be complicated relationships between the groups. Myrrhine and Iris, captured by the melodic rhythms of the language here, were trying to repeat some of the phrases that we had heard with little success, causing much laughter among the three of us.

The bard Odhanon commanded the attention of the gathering then and began to sing a song of the Fairy Hills, an introduction to the story of Setanta, or CuChulainn, as he graciously explained for our benefit. More songs followed as the shadows lengthened and it amazed me how much of the stories I was able to make out despite the differences of speech. Perhaps our languages were the same, back somewhere in time.

The singing came to an end with toasts and applause as a woman stood up before the hearth and announced a handfasting which caused the assembly to enthusiastically move outside. Following, we witnessed a simple but moving ceremony. To my surprise, it was MacMorna who was taking a lovely woman as his own.

It was dark now and from somewhere out of my sight a drumming began. The people quieted and began to form into a line. This must be the beginning of the procession to the sacred stone circle on the hilltop that Ruis had told us would take place. I watched and there seemed to be no prescribed order, unlike Athenian processions where everyone had a designated place according to rank. Here all seemed to be equal on this night at least. As we climbed, the drumming set the pace, a heartbeat it seemed, one heartbeat leading all of us into the darkness.
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Posted on: 9:05 am on Oct. 27, 2002

Iris
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The afternoon had passed swiftly, as the people listened to the haunting words that Odhannon sang...as MacMorna played. Iris was soon lost in the mists of time as she listened to the words and the rhythms and vivid images flashed in her mind. She did not question that she knew what was being sung; she only knew that she did.

As the singing came to an end, everyone moved outside, to witness a handfasting ceremony. It is a simple ceremony, much shorter and less complex than those of the typical Athenian wedding, which could go on for days. Its simplicity makes it even more moving, however, and one can see the love between the two people radiating like a glow around them. Iris dabs her eyes as tears trickle down her cheeks at the sheer joy in their faces. It reminds her of the love between her dear friends, Kyria Atheena and Kyrios Kritias Aristophanes.

They head back into the bruighean as they hear the sounds of the drum, announcing it is time for the procession to begin. Ruis and Odhannon lead the procession out into the gathering darkness, as the drums echo in the stillness of the night.

As the group following behind Ruis and Odhanon file out into the darkness, Iris stays close to Zoe and Myrrhine, feeling comforted by their presence. What this night will bring, Iris has no idea, but she knows for certain that her life will never be the same.
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Posted on: 11:40 am on Oct. 27, 2002