larger island to the east. From comments by the men, about a place visited by some that had a great stone circle, that other coast lay closer to Eire than Cian had realized. Elcmar saw him looking east.
“Over on the Big Island, the locals rearranged their great stone circle. To suit newer beliefs, so. Those people don’t be standing in place with stargazing and decorating rocks.”
“Why don’t you set up camp on that eastern island?” he dared ask.
“Metals,” came the gruff reply. “Eire has copper, so. And gold, to be sure.”
If Elcmar wanted to needle him, he paid it no attention. Cian knew of the rugged Channel that divided that larger island from the Continent to the south. His ancestors received visitors from far southern shores who bore tribute in exotic pots, fine axeheads, and yellow flint. Those items in turn made their way from the Boyne to distant passage mounds. That his Starwatchers had long maintained broad contacts, exchanging knowledge from the Continent with tribes east across the strait and north among scattered islands in colder waters, Cian kept to himself. Faraway tribes looked to the Boyne as their center, a center for starwatching. Innate pride, and caution, combined to seal his lips.
When at last they turned west into open water, the broad sea rolled smoother. Cian looked at his hands. The boat’s hemp rope that he hung onto left a ruddy stripe across his palm, a mark of his first travel on the great waters.
His journey introduced him to new beauty from the ocean vantage point. He had no idea until this sea voyage, of Eire’s majestic eastern and southern coasts. Sheer, dark cliffs rose from headlands and along inlets. Small islets rose vertically to assert in stony heights what they lacked in girth. The waters washing the island’s shores showed every imaginable shade of blue, from light aqua in shallow inlets blending to brilliant lapis depths. They passed the place where the three sister rivers flowed together into the sea, all the way from sources at the island’s navel, the midlands not far from his home.
Flocks of crying gulls circled above the boat. Cormorants soared and plummeted for prey. He saw golden-headed gannets plunging from on high, and for the first time the migrating curlews, their trilling cry lingering above the boat. Jets of water lashed up through holes in the rocks and crashed back out into the ocean. Placid crescent-shaped bays with golden sandy shores beckoned. Sloping green meadows rose behind the cliffs and beaches up to deeper green forests on the flanks of grey-green mountains. Cian longed to be showing the island’s beauty to someone he knew would appreciate it with him. But the bobbing currach carried him ever farther away from the Boyne.
Despite crowding and rigors on the boat, he enjoyed every overnight camp with the intruders: making shelter, and then cooking what they caught in water or hunted after coaxing wood into flame. All in the same boat, or warmed by the same fire, the warriors acted more equitable toward him. Their taste for adventure, and gifted storytelling and music, were not lost on Cian. He observed their strengths and weaknesses. They constantly took fermented beverages and acquainted him with various brews.
“You do not trust any fresh water,” he commented.
One of the warriors chuckled and held out a cup. “Try this to ward off the evening air, Starwatcher. A concoction made in a warmer climate. We call it Water of Life.”
The Invaders said that drink gave them relief from the northern chill and darkness. Cian took the new beverages in moderation only after he suffered due to overindulging. He ate sparingly of steamed mussels and oysters offered by the intruders; eating seafood in the shell tended to sicken him from the richness of it, he said. The other men snickered, assuring Cian that on this voyage he would get used to strong drink, seafood, and the rolling waves.
He found out how greatly these intruders depended on
“Over on the Big Island, the locals rearranged their great stone circle. To suit newer beliefs, so. Those people don’t be standing in place with stargazing and decorating rocks.”
“Why don’t you set up camp on that eastern island?” he dared ask.
“Metals,” came the gruff reply. “Eire has copper, so. And gold, to be sure.”
If Elcmar wanted to needle him, he paid it no attention. Cian knew of the rugged Channel that divided that larger island from the Continent to the south. His ancestors received visitors from far southern shores who bore tribute in exotic pots, fine axeheads, and yellow flint. Those items in turn made their way from the Boyne to distant passage mounds. That his Starwatchers had long maintained broad contacts, exchanging knowledge from the Continent with tribes east across the strait and north among scattered islands in colder waters, Cian kept to himself. Faraway tribes looked to the Boyne as their center, a center for starwatching. Innate pride, and caution, combined to seal his lips.
When at last they turned west into open water, the broad sea rolled smoother. Cian looked at his hands. The boat’s hemp rope that he hung onto left a ruddy stripe across his palm, a mark of his first travel on the great waters.
His journey introduced him to new beauty from the ocean vantage point. He had no idea until this sea voyage, of Eire’s majestic eastern and southern coasts. Sheer, dark cliffs rose from headlands and along inlets. Small islets rose vertically to assert in stony heights what they lacked in girth. The waters washing the island’s shores showed every imaginable shade of blue, from light aqua in shallow inlets blending to brilliant lapis depths. They passed the place where the three sister rivers flowed together into the sea, all the way from sources at the island’s navel, the midlands not far from his home.
Flocks of crying gulls circled above the boat. Cormorants soared and plummeted for prey. He saw golden-headed gannets plunging from on high, and for the first time the migrating curlews, their trilling cry lingering above the boat. Jets of water lashed up through holes in the rocks and crashed back out into the ocean. Placid crescent-shaped bays with golden sandy shores beckoned. Sloping green meadows rose behind the cliffs and beaches up to deeper green forests on the flanks of grey-green mountains. Cian longed to be showing the island’s beauty to someone he knew would appreciate it with him. But the bobbing currach carried him ever farther away from the Boyne.
Despite crowding and rigors on the boat, he enjoyed every overnight camp with the intruders: making shelter, and then cooking what they caught in water or hunted after coaxing wood into flame. All in the same boat, or warmed by the same fire, the warriors acted more equitable toward him. Their taste for adventure, and gifted storytelling and music, were not lost on Cian. He observed their strengths and weaknesses. They constantly took fermented beverages and acquainted him with various brews.
“You do not trust any fresh water,” he commented.
One of the warriors chuckled and held out a cup. “Try this to ward off the evening air, Starwatcher. A concoction made in a warmer climate. We call it Water of Life.”
The Invaders said that drink gave them relief from the northern chill and darkness. Cian took the new beverages in moderation only after he suffered due to overindulging. He ate sparingly of steamed mussels and oysters offered by the intruders; eating seafood in the shell tended to sicken him from the richness of it, he said. The other men snickered, assuring Cian that on this voyage he would get used to strong drink, seafood, and the rolling waves.
He found out how greatly these intruders depended on
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