...
And off marches Mamm, head high and back straight, with
Catan’s face tipped arrogantly into the air at her side.
Later, after the afternoon tasks are completed, the
evening’s chores done, and another meal passed and cleared in quiet
contemplation, the family gathers at the south fireplace where they take their
seats in the hearth circle there.
Mamm’s question comes.
‘Where were we?’
For a moment there is silence.
‘Umm…,’ says Dothann.
‘I know!’ shouts Rua. ‘I know!’
‘Well?’ asks Mamm. ‘Are you going to tell us?’
‘LittleMamm and David leave from Iona to go to the
Far Western Lands!’
‘Oh yeah, that’s right!’ pipes up Dothann. ‘Go with
the protection and blessing of the Holy Trinity – wherever you travel – in
safety and in joy!’
‘Yep. And Mamm, our OWN Mamm, has become the Keeper
of the little oaken chest, with the tears still locked in the wood of it! We
can still see them if we look, right Mamm?’
‘Ah yes, right again you two! Nicely done.’
And Mamm of Dunnottar resumes the telling of the
Story of her heirloom under-bed storage chest, its adventures, and the lives of
its Keepers.
We find the son and daughter of David and
LittleMamm, a few years after that farewell on Iona, at home on Dunnottar where
they are being raised and trained.
Ataulf and Mamm have but rarely seen their elder
brothers Davidson of Chattan in the north and LittleEthan of Tarnos in Gaul;
they are busy with their studies and both Davidson and LittleEthan have been
brought up in the responsibilities that will become theirs when they inherit
the holdings in Chattan and in Tarnos that their parents will not be around to
inherit, being as the two of them have sailed off to the Far Western Lands, at
long last unable to resist the demands of that Call.
‘Right! That’s right, Mamm!’
And Mamm smiles at the curly red head of Rua.
Ataulf looks at his little sister, Mamm of
Dunnottar, disbelief clear in his copper-gold eyes.
‘You want to do WHAT?’
The grass green eyes of fire-headed Danann of
Perth and his daughters the equally fire-headed Warrior Twins Sass and Saille would look out of
place beneath Mamm’s dark curls but for the adamantly fierce look in them,
making it clear that this youngling girl has inherited more than simply an eye
color from her famous warrior great-grandfather.
Eleven year old Mamm may not have gotten the
fiery red locks, or the height, but seems to have received a double dose of the
fiery temper.
Ataulf on the other hand, with a mere dozen
years under his belt, is rapidly approaching the legendary size of Danann of
Perth although his coloring is that of his father David: brown hair and those
coppery-gold eyes. He has long outgrown his little sister and is now about
three times her size. Were their parents standing with them on this day he
would tower over both of them as well.
But LittleMamm of Iona and David of Chattan
have been gone for several years, following the Call of their Destiny to the
Far Western Lands. It is now the year 388; it has been five long years since
they sailed away.
These their two youngest have trained on
Dunnottar for all of their short lives, LittleMamm and David providing the
first years of that training themselves before finally giving in to the Call
that filled the two of them for all of their lives.
Every waking moment has been filled with
learning – their eager and fertile brains soaking up knowledge like sponges
even before birth.
Their desperate parents have sought to instill
in them the Wisdom of the Ages, knowing the Call to the Far Western Lands
cannot be resisted forever.
They have Shared as much of their Powerful
presence as the minds of their young offspring can hold, knowing all too well
that their together time is short.
Now they have gone, LittleMamm and David,
trusting to Dunnottar, and to TallUllin of Iona, these their younglings, Ataulf
and Mamm.
Their eldest, David Davidson, is training in a
whole different way, heir to the lands in Chattan which David his father will
not be around to inherit.
Likewise LittleEthan, their second son, trains
in preparation for accepting, in his mother’s stead, the Tarnos holdings of her
parents, MammTwo and Ethan.
The siblings have long been parted by duty and
by Destiny.
Mamm wants to fix that.
‘I want to go visit our brothers.’
‘That’s what I thought you said.’
‘Well? Are you coming with me or not?’
Ataulf straightens to his full
already-intimidating height, throws back his ever-broadening shoulders, lifts
the square chin of his father, and looks down his nose into the Power swirling
in those brilliantly green eyes.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘But Ataulf, will you make me go on such a
journey all alone? What would mother and father say? You’re supposed to watch
out for me!’
Ah the guiles and wiles of a young girl.
Mamm lets her brother have a good look at the
tears suddenly swimming in her luminous eyes and lets one fall from thick dark
lashes before lowering her face to her hands.
Well of course she’s peeking through her fingers, watching
the emotions play across the face of her big brother.
The stern look gives way to brows drawn in
suspicion as his eyes narrow into a squint. Then he tilts his head a bit to one
side, thinking. Up goes that chin again in determined resolution. Up goes one
hand to ruffle his hair in indecision.
While the hand is up there it snakes over his
shoulder and pulls the short sword from its scabbard between his shoulder
blades.
Mamm is maybe a bit startled when the point of
the sword appears beneath her nose.
Maybe.
At any rate she clears her hands from her face.
Her eyes just a little too wide and round to
present a convincingly startled look, she stares up at her big brother.
‘Do you threaten me, Ataulf? Put that thing away.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No. Not until you promise me on all that’s
Holy to do always as I bid and to obey my will in all things, forever, little
sister, and to defer to my superior wisdom at all times.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No. Don’t be so dumb, Ataulf. We do not use what
is Holy in any such manner and you know it. I will not add to my already long
list of wrongs by profaning the Holies. Nor, just so you know, will I now or
ever swear to any such an oath as you have demanded of me – neither to you nor
to any person on the face of God’s green world!’
The fire having returned full force to his
little sister’s eyes and Voice, Ataulf lowers the point of his sword from her
face, lowers his arms, and lets his shoulders slump as he looks down at the
grass of Dunnottar’s Grove beneath his feet.
Two can play at this game.
Raising his unencumbered hand, Ataulf rubs the
space between his brows and raises not his head for many moments, eyes closed.
Recognizing this ploy for what it is Mamm
stands silent and still, waiting.
Finally she gives up and pokes him in the belly
with a long slim finger.
‘Ataulf?’
No response.
Another poke.
‘Ataulf? Are you in there?’
No response.
A tug at his bent elbow.
‘Ataulf!’
Finally a reaction.
‘Let me be, Mamm. Can’t you see I’m thinking?’
‘Oh. Forgive me, Ataulf. I’ve never seen you
think before.’
This earns her a hot glare through one slitted
eye before said eye closes again.
‘Well alrighty then. You think. I’m going to go
pack for my journey.’
And Mamm of Dunnottar turns to walk away over
the green and gold dapple of the floor of the Oak Grove of Dunnottar.
She knows full well that behind her Ataulf has
opened his eyes to watch her leave.
‘He’ll catch up,’ she tells herself.
And so he does.
Upon learning the plans of the siblings,
Dunnottar refuses to allow these two younglings to go traipsing off across
Albann to Chattan (let alone to Tarnos in Gaul) without an escort.
‘It isn’t safe. The way is long between
Dunnottar and Chattan. We’re on the east seaboard, remember – and Chattan is
clear up north. You would have to pass through the lands of some who are not
all that friendly toward us, and you’d have to go through the Cameron Lands
before you could get to Chattan. And you know what bad blood lies between them
and Davidson already. You would be a fine pair of hostages, wouldn’t you?’
‘We’ll go to Tarnos first then, and bring with
us kin for escort and guard to go to Chattan.’
‘No, no, no. The sea is treacherous. There are
pirates and raiders roaming about out there; would you become slave to some
foreign owner? You are but eleven and twelve years. It is not reasonable for
you to make such a journey.’
‘Well, for the Mother’s sake! Our mother was
traveling – alone, mind you – between Iona and Chattan when she was years
younger than we are!’
‘That’s different.’
Well really, you know, it isn’t all THAT
different, but Dunnottar doesn’t see it that way.
‘How is it any different?’
And there is no logical answer.
‘She snuck off, that’s all. Would you prefer
that we do the same? At least we’re not sneaking.’
‘Regardless, we cannot in good conscience give
our assent to this. No. You can’t do this thing,’ they are told.
Now, telling anyone of this lineage that they
can’t do something is a bad idea. It’s the equivalent of dumping a boat load of
oil onto a flicker of flame.
Eyes of stunning green and, higher up, eyes of
copper-gold blaze hot enough to create a vitrified stone wall.
Everyone backs away except for TallUllin who
coughs into his fist, covering a grin.
‘I’ll go with you two, since Sass and Saille
are who knows where doing their Fienne Warrior thing and there’s no telling
when they’ll be back in this area. Having those two Warriors along would be
nice, but . . . they have to be where they have to be and do what they have to
do. There’s business I have to tend to anyhow. We’ll make a pilgrimage of this
journey although I’m not sure you’re ready for it. Dunnottar does not deserve
the blaze of your tempers. You will apologize straightaway or this deal off, do
you understand me?’
TallUllin has not his name without just cause.
Taller by a head than even Danann of Perth at full height, his gaze is
far-reaching. And he sees more than his gaze alone can account for; he looks
also with his Spirit and listens with his heart.
In Mamm and Ataulf of Dunnottar he recognizes
regret and knows the apologies will be real and not just feigned for show and
expediency.
And so they are off on their journey.
‘Will we go first to Chattan?’ asks Ataulf.
‘We go not to Chattan at all,’ is TallUllin’s
curt reply.
‘But . . . but,’ says Mamm. ‘We’re going to see
Davidson! He’s in Chattan!’
‘He is not in Chattan. His is even now on his
way to meet us at the Sacred Yew. He and I have things to discuss before I go
on to Iona. You will see your brother, but you will not see Chattan, not on
this journey.’
The coals of a returning blaze begin to kindle
in eyes of green, in eyes of copper-gold.
Ataulf Speaks his mind.
‘We would see our brother, TallUllin. That is
why we are here. Yet it is not Davidson alone we would see. We need to go to
Chattan where his herds are pastured. We are, both of us, of an age to be
horsed. You well know the heritage and the pedigree of the Chattan herds,
TallUllin. Our mounts await us there and they are ours by birthright. You
cannot deny us.’
‘Oh.’
TallUllin dismounts and folds his long self
onto a rock more gracefully than one would expect of someone with his gangly
limbs.
‘I forgot.’
Mamm hops down from her pony and stands hands
on hips.
‘You forgot,’ she says. ‘You forgot?!’
Stamping her little feet with great emphasis
she advances on the seated TallUllin whose bald head is growing progressively
more red with each emphatic stamp.
‘How could you forget such a thing, Ullin? How COULD
you?’
Voice rising in tone and decibel with each
word, Mamm continues.
‘You know we need to be horsed! We cannot make this
journey mounted on ponies. The horses we need are in Chattan, not at the Sacred
Yew. How dare you forget that? We cannot and will not go on pilgrimage
un-horsed. WE WILL
NOT!’
Now Ataulf adds his voice. He’s perhaps more
calm but those coals are rapidly heating behind his copper eyes.
‘We do need the horses, Ullin. Would you have
us shamed before our ancestors by being ponied rather than properly horsed on
this pilgrimage? Our ponies are not strong enough for such a journey – and it
has been long that I ride with my knees almost to my ears on my small mount! He
is too small and I am too tall.’
TallUllin’s head, now scarlet, drops between
his shoulders.
‘Davidson is already on his way. There is no
time to get word to him, and no time for us to travel to Chattan. The need
behind our journey is urgent. We cannot delay.’
Mamm stands silently shooting flames at the top
of TallUllin’s already burning bald head.
‘Then what are we to do?’ asks Ataulf. ‘No
other horses will do. We must have our own, bred to meet our requirements. And
you know as well as we do that the Choice must be between rider and mount. We
must go to Chattan, to the herds, so the Choices can be made between them and
us. You know this, Ullin.’
‘I know, I know,’ mumbles TallUllin from behind
his hands.
Now Mamm turns it loose and goes to full
burning blaze.
‘You know, you know! But you forgot!
What are we supposed to do now, Ullin? Huh? How are you going to fix this?’
TallUllin of Iona raises his head and looks at
Mamm’s blazing face with a bit of steel coming into his normally placid
chestnut eyes.
‘Mamm,’ he says.
‘What?!’ she shouts.
‘Sit down and shut up.’
Shocked out of her rage, Mamm does just exactly
that, suddenly remembering this is TallUllin of Iona she has been ranting and
screeching at. He not only out-ranks her (and everyone else) by a Roman mile,
he’s a whole lot bigger than she is. Not to mention several thousand times more
Powerful.
So yes, Mamm of Dunnottar sits down and shuts
up rather abruptly.
‘Now maybe I can think.’
The contemplation doesn’t last long before
TallUllin jumps to his feet and begins pacing in a circle, muttering to
himself.
At last he comes to a halt and gazes down down
down at Mamm who in return looks up up up at him.
As the gaze holds, Mamm’s face changes
expressions. She isn’t smiling; not quite, but almost.
TallUllin of Iona Speaks.
‘I can’t fix it, Mamm. I just can’t fix this.
But you can.’
‘Me?’
‘You.’
‘Ha. I didn’t get us into this mess; you did.
Not only that, but I’m only just a little youngling girl. How do you expect me to fix anything?’
‘Call your mount, Mamm. You have Called
hundreds of times when need demanded. Your need now is great. Call your mount
and she will come to you. The Mother will send her.’
‘Oh.’
And so she does, closing her eyes in deep
concentration.
Ataulf, left out of this little conversation,
stands with arms folded across his chest, glaring at first one and then the
other of his travel companions.
When Mamm finally opens her eyes back up it is
to immediately encounter the hotly furious ones of her brother.
‘What?’
‘What, she says. What! I’ll tell you what, little sister. If you think for one minute
that I’m going to pony along behind your royal highness, up there on your fancy
blooded horse, you can think again. I’m going back to Dunnottar.’
‘What in the Mother’s name are you going on
about, Ataulf?’
‘You can Call your mount. Good. Fine and dandy.
Whoopee for you. You’ll be up there having a high old time riding one of the
best fecking horses the world has ever known, all the la-de-dah fancy lady.
Well more power to you. I’m going home.’
Ataulf stomps over and mounts his pony.
And the pony promptly bucks him off, hurt to
the core by the insults he has just perceived in the rant of Ataulf.
TallUllin turns away to hide his grin; but Mamm
has no such qualms when it comes to her brother and bursts into gales of
laughter at the sight of Ataulf on his backside in the dirt.
Getting herself under some semblance of control
she walks over and offers him a hand up.
Swatting at the hand, Ataulf gets himself onto
his own two feet and begins stalking back in the direction of Dunnottar.
‘Ataulf! Ataulf, wait!’
Mamm runs after the stiffly proud back of her
brother, darts around him, and plants herself in his path.
She’s not much of an obstacle. Ataulf brushes
past her without a look, continuing on his way.
‘Fine! Be that way! You’ll have to ride fast
and hard to catch up with us – by the time your horse finds you on Dunnottar
we’ll be halfway to Iona and you won’t even get to see Davidson! I hope you’re
happy.’
This gets his attention and Ataulf wheels to
face Mamm.
‘What mount, Mamm? Huh? Can I Call my mount? No
I can’t. I’m male, remember? No Calling allowed. Remember? I no longer have
even a pony to ride, apparently. My walking pace would slow you down in your
urgent business. I’m going home I tell you.’
‘Pfffft. I have no urgent business. That
belongs to TallUllin and Davidson. And what do you expect of your pony when you
speak such things before his very face? He has served you well for years,
Ataulf, and you talk like that right in front of him! I don’t blame him, nor my
own pony when it comes to that, if she decides to put me in the dirt too. We
shame ourselves with our words on this day, Ataulf.’
Ataulf glances over to his pony, who has
followed Mamm and listened to her words.
When the pony turns his head away, Ataulf’s
eyes soften. He goes toward his pony but the pony steps from him, head still
averted.
‘I’m so sorry.’
And Ataulf croons a little song long known to
the pony as he again makes his approach.
This time the pony stands still, then turns to
tuck his head under Ataulf’s elbow for a moment.
Mamm’s pony now trots up and both are again
mounted, heading back toward TallUllin who is pacing a circle in the dirt.
As they ride, Ataulf looks sideways at his
sister.
‘You Called my mount as well as your own; that’s
what you did, isn’t it?’
‘Yep.’
. . .
