The Ancients: Evander "O' Isle" Ovile

[Decorera]

Summer 1220 - Ireland

 

[Decorera]

Evander raced his wolfhounds across the fields. The huge male, Conri, ran in great leaps that quickly carried him far ahead of his master. With one long woof, Conri turned and bounded back; leaping easily over the heavy rocks that scattered the fields. The equally large female, Neamhain, trotted alongside Evander; her long glossy coat swaying as she easily kept up with Evander's ground-eating pace. She showed her shiny white teeth to her mate as Conri bounded up and tried to usurp her place at the young man’s side. He playfully leapt away and trotted to Evander’s right. Soon the three reached the lough and the hounds piled into the cold clear water.

Evander laughed to see his great hunting dogs swimming around like drowned rats. He called and yelled, egging them on to greater feats of playfulness. Finally tiring of the game, the fifteen year old warrior shook out his golden hair and went to find a sunny patch of grass. Sliding his claymore from his shoulder, he laid the sheathed sword in the grass and lay down beside it. The young warrior closed his eyes, watching the sun glow red beyond his eyelids. He breathed in the sweet scents of sun warmed grass, the dark wood forest, and the clear water of the lough. The sweet air was however overwhelmed by the scent of wet dog as Conri and Neamhain decided to join him in his afternoon snooze.

[[Neamhain is pronouced: NYAV in ]]

 

[Decorera]

Neamhain growled softly, low and deep in her throat. Evander woke silently and was alert in moments. He looked at his hounds. Both of them lay still but alert; their ears cocked towards the left. Signaling for them to wait, Evander crawled forward through the high grass. He looked down over a little ridge towards the lower part of the lough. A sluggish little stream wound its way into a thick wood; Verg’s territory.

Verg was a cruel man and just as bad a chieftain. He had never managed to expand his bog-infested territory except by murder or blackmail, and couldn’t expand much even then. Not that any of that could be proven, but it was well known that Verg ruled by fear. He had taken control over his clan when his father had died unexpectantly of disease. The other chieftains suspected poison but there was no proof. And, quite frankly, few besides Evander’s father had cared much.

Evander watched the wood, his breath barely stirring the grass. His gaze sharpened to look deep into the dark wood until he caught sight of what the dogs had heard.  

[Decorera]

A young red-haired woman dressed in tattered clothing followed a warrior, equally tattered, through the summer woods. She stumbled and clutched at her stomach. “Céth,” she called weakly, “Wait a mo.”

The young warrior quickly turned and supported the obviously pregnant woman. “Altha, are yore alright, mo gra? Es et the babe?”

“Yes, he’s a kicking.”

Céth rubbed at the 17 year old woman’s swollen belly, “Settle duwn en there, boyo. Ye’re a hurte yore matta.”

Altha clung to her husband for a moment longer before pushing forward, “Cume on, Céth. We daren’t stay here much langer. Verg will be after us like a hellhound and we’d best be aff o’ his land afor he finds us.”

“Yore right, o’ course. Here. Hang onna me. I’ll set ye right.”

The young couple made their way by following the muddy stream. It was just a few minute until they reached the edge of the woods. Altha gasped as they stepped free of the confining woods. “Nary a comelier sight did I she.” She breathed happily as she looked at the rolling fields and little woods, the large rocks and the lough.

Evander's voice rang out above them. “I’ll take it as a kindness that ye say so.”



[[Note: Altha's hair should be red, but I could find no satisfactory red hair couple pics.]]  

[Decorera]

Céth whirled and drew his sword, “Com out, ye villain. Dinna hide from meh.” He shepherded Altha behind him as Evander’s laughter rang out.

“Up here, warrior.” Evander stood flanked by his hounds. Up on the rise, even with his sword sheathed, the fifteen year old seasoned fighter was an impressive sight. But Evander waved the hounds back down and strode down the hill towards the young couple. He looked over the man first. A handsome man, about eighteen, obviously a seasoned fighter judging by his scars, his clothing was well made but worn suggesting hard time lately but not always. The woman was worn with pain and her pregnancy but Evander could see that she was a very beautiful woman underneath. And strong; he sensed strength of will inside her that he rarely saw in folk.

“Welcome to the lands o' Lainroug. I am Evander Lainroug, son o' Conn Ruarc Lainroug. What business brings ye nigh?”
Céth stepped back warily eyeing the muscular fifteen-year-old, “Strange that the first man we meet en Lainroug es the chief’s own son. His heir, from how I hear et.”

Evander smiled charmingly and the couple was eased by it. “My grandmother would call it fate or mayhaps the will of the Goddess since yore woman is obviously in need o’ aid. Take yore rest here awhile and then I’ll a take ye home with me and show ye the hospitality Lainroug shows their guests. It will be to yore likin, I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid we daren’t, Chief-son. We canna only hope to pass through yore lands quickly afore Verg is after us.”

“So ye’ve angered the basterd? Well, that makes ye a right friend of mine. Come on. Sit down. Tell me about it and we’ll see what we can do.”

Céth was about to refuse when he saw the carefully wrapped food Evander brought out. Then he helped his too thin wife to sit and proceeded to tell Evander everything.

“So,” Evander said munching on a piece of bread, “Ye married Altha with all things proper even though Verg was after her to be his woman. Now that Altha is pregnant and needing help, Verg is trying to have ye killed so that he can legally take Altha “under his protection”, is that it?”

Céth nodded glumly, “We dinna have any good reason fer leaving because we don’t have any proof, but there have been far too many “accidents” o' late that I just barely survived. But with no proof we canna go to any other chieftains for asylum. Ye canna protect us Chief-son. We just need to get as far away as possible and hope he loses interest soon.”

Evander grinned like a fox, “Whell now, that is not particularly true. I can think of at least one way to get ye two asylum here.” Before Evander could continue, Conri stood up and barked a loud woof. Evander was on his feet and staring into the woods quicker than lightning. “Bejesus,” he swore quietly.  

[Decorera]

Three men on horseback rode out of the muddy woods. One was tall with hair as red as a fox’s, another was built like a tree trunk and bristled with weapons. The first one had an expensive leather saddle cinched too tight around his horse’s barrel. His shiny boots had a smear of blood along the inside, where a loose boot nail had scratched the horse’s side and the man had not cared enough to do anything about it. The man was sallow faced and greasy. It was obvious the man rarely thought about personal hygiene.

“That’s Verg.” Céth whispered to him. The older man had come up beside Evander, sword still sheathed. “The mountain o' a man next to him es his first warrior, Manath. The red bearded one es Thell. He, at least, can be trusted to follow the laws."

“Well, well, well, look what I found, boyos! Our couple o' runaways. Thank ye, chiefling, for finding them!”
The last bit of that whiny-toned remark had been directed at Evander. Verg and Evander had crossed paths before, and so far Evander had managed to come out on top. It was clear that this time Verg was certain he would be winning this round. However the chieftain was rather reluctant to actually enter Lainroug lands. “Why dinna ye shepherd my lost lambs over to me, Evander? I’ve heard ye make a wonderful sheep minder.”

Evander smiled tightly, “And I hear it has been so long since ye checked yore own livestock that all yore animals are off their feed. Do pardon me. I’m afraid I have just invited meh guests to sup with me, so it would be disrespectful o' me to rescind meh offer. Of course, ye and yore men are welcome to join me as well, Verg.”

Verg bared his teeth in a rotten challenge. “I dinna think so, Evander. Those two are commin with me.” He thought quickly for an excuse that would override the hospitality laws. “I’m afraid these two are proven thieves and they are wanted back at the village for their trial.” The red bearded man shifted uncomfortably and eyed his chieftain.

Evander smiled serenely, “Really! Thieves! How awful. What did they steal?” He smiled smugly as Verg struggled for an answer.

“That doesn’t matter. These two are o' my clan and I am ordering them to return now! For their own safety.” He slid on the end while leering at Altha. The woman shivered and her husband gripped her hand tightly. Evander snorted in amusement. "The saftey of 'theives' has never been such a concern for you." Verg flushed and nobody moved. Verg frowned in anger. “Fine. I’ll take them meself.” He kneed his horse forward. However the horse hadn’t taken three steps before Evander’s calm voice broke in.

“I’m thinkin ye really wouldna wanna be doing that. Because it is easily contestable that they are no longer part of yore clan. Or at least, are a part of mine.”  

[Decorera]

Verg drew his horse up short and stared at the youngster that insisted on making trouble for him, “What was that, boy?”

Evander smiled his sharp little smile, daring Verg to cross him. “Ye see, these two have just accepted my offer o' marriage. Altha wanted a second husband around with the baby comin on and I think it is pretty well known that I am a lover o' men as well as women.” Evander took a hold of his sword hilt. “If ye wish to force my betrotheds off o' Lainroug land, ye are welcome to try, chieftain.”

The huge man started to ride up next to Verg but Thell, the red-bearded one stopped him. Thell looked at Verg’s angry face then regarded the couple, “Céth, Altha, does this man speak true? Have ye accepted the proposal o’ Evander, son o’ Conn Lainroug?”

Céth stared at Evander’s calmly smiling face in disbelief until he felt a tug on his hand. He looked down into the determined face of his wife and nodded. “Yes, Thell. We have. Altha and I are now the intended o’ Evander, son o’ Conn Lainroug. For all to be legal, we must remain in his lands for the year of hand fasting, as is the law in cross-clan marriages.”

Thell nodded and said firmly to Verg, “Chieftain, tis the law.”

Verg looked mad enough to throttle Evander. His pale eyes glared out from under stringy greasy hair. The chieftain urged his mount a step forward, determined to wipe the smug smile off of the warrior’s face. Two grumbling growls pulled him up short as Conri and Neamhain stood up on their ledge, teeth bared. Verg gritted his teeth and began to retreat. If Thell was going to keep Manath from interfering, Verg knew he would have been hard pressed to defeat Evander even without his hounds. Verg’s eyes burned hatred as he slowly gave ground until he was back across the border.

Thell turned to leave and took Manath with him, but Verg stayed; posed on the border. Watching Evander gather up his hounds and walk away with the woman Verg wanted for his own and the man Verg wanted to kill. “Evander,” he breathed as poisonously as a curse while the sun drowned in his dark forest.  

[Decorera]

Typically one’s memoirs begin with birth. However, as I chronicle my human years, I chose to begin here. The memory which heralded the greatest joys of my human life: my beautiful wife Altha and my beloved husband Céth, but also sowed the whirlwind that would destroy everything I held dear. Evander of the Emerald Isle of Ireland begin his story.

[[Evander's spouses: Céth and Altha. Evander's hounds: Conri and Neamhain]]

 

[Decorera]

Midwinter 1205 – Ireland

 

[Decorera]

The cave mouth glowed in the dark night; the firelight trickling out to sparkle on the heavy snow. Any animals that might have dared to try the cave had long since been driven away by the agonizing cries ringing from within the cave. A woman screamed again and again until finally a baby’s cry echoed from the warm dry cave.

An old woman, nearly sixty, held the hand of the panting girl lying on furs by the hearth. She covered the sweating girl and spoke softly to her, “Shush now, Fina. Yore work is done. Tis in the hands of the Goddess now.”

A cry rang out from the middle aged woman had been cleaning the newborn, “A boy!”

Fina looked at her mother in shock, “But no! It should have been a girl! Grandmother!” Fina looked towards the elderly woman in fear.

Grandmother Duana patted Fina gently while she stared at her daughter, “A boy? Are ye sure, Mealla?”

Mealla, mother of Fina, glared at Duana, “I am quite sure, mother. It is something that is hard to mistake.” The old woman drew up in anger and was about to give Mealla a piece of her mind when a commanding voice rang out from the back of the cave.

“Stop it, both of ye. Give the child to me.”

A woman stepped from the shadows. She was so old that her hair had gone entirely silver but her face had fewer lines than Fina’s. She moved and stood with grace and her cloud-colored eyes burned with ageless wisdom. She move to Mealla and held her hands out for the child.

Mealla bowed and placed the child in her hands, with a murmured “Priestess.” The priestess of the Goddess looked at the squalling child. Slowly the child stopped crying and opened his eyes. The newborn's golden eyes met cloudy grey ones and the babe lay still. Without looking away from the child, the priestess spoke,

“Daughter, Granddaughter. Go back to the village and tell Conn Ruarc that his son has been born. Send them with a sled and many furs to bear the mother and child back to the village.”

The old grey haired woman, bent with age, looked up at the youthful woman in surprise, “But, mother, I - "

“Go.”  

[Decorera]

Duana and Mealla left, slowly trudging their old bones through the snow. The priestess carried the babe at her side as she moved about the cave; lighting incense and building up the fire. Spicy smoke began to curl its way about the cavern, unearthly but beautiful. Finally the priestess lay down by Fina in the furs. “Daughter of my granddaughter, what do ye see when I show ye this child?”

Eyes wide, Fina looked at the priestess and then looked at the babe. “I see a child, my son that should have been my daughter.”

The priestess snorted, the smoke curling away like old dragon's breath, “The child is born as the Goddess wills. The child is male. Think no more on that, Fina. What else do ye see, child?”

Fina shook her head, “I don’t see anything else, Mother Aisling.”

The priestess Aisling shook her silver head. The smoke swirled around her face like the goddess's veil. “Yore a good child and ye will be a fine mother and wife, but ye will never be a priestess. This child is born under the stars of Lysiney and Duathain, the heralds of transformation. He is born on the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, when all men wait for the gods to return the sun to earth. His eyes are as golden as the wolf's. He will grow as fierce, as loyal, as wild. His life will be one of great deeds and great change.” The priestess’ cloudy eyes seemed to glow in the smoky firelight. Fina found she could not look away.

“As his mother, this choice is laid before ye. Yore son will do both great and terrible deeds. His life will bring joy and ruin to us all. His birth is the herald of our destruction. Choose now, if the child shall live or die.”

Fina shrank back in fear. The priestess' hands shot out of the smoky fog, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her back, “The choice, girl! Ye must choice before the sun rises. Once it rises there is no altering destiny.” Fina covered her eyes to escape the burning silver gaze. “Choose!”

“Live!”

Aisling sighed and handed the sleeping child to her sobbing great granddaughter. The priestess rose and covered the two with more furs. She built up the fire, extinguished the incense, and retreated deeper into her cave. ‘I hope ye chose correctly, child. For us and for our people.’  

[Decorera]

Perhaps if I had known what my great-great-grandmother had prophesized at my birth, I would have been more careful; less reckless. Perhaps I would have thought more about my actions and made fewer mistakes. But all in all, I think not.
Things go as God and the great Goddess will.