SNEAK PEAK

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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.’

. . .