Only the Stones Survive: A Novel Read Free Page B

eyes were old when the world was young, stood up. Everyone’s attention went to her; she had that power. When Eriu spoke the crowd fell silent. No bird could rival the music of her voice. “How can you accuse the Fír Bolga of being savage in one breath,” she asked in a reasonable tone, “then want to turn the Earthkillers against them in the next? Is that not the ultimate savagery? As you well know, we have ample means at our disposal to discourage violence without committing it ourselves. We can repeat the techniques we have used before to call upon the resources of the sacred island.”
    In support of her sister, the queen called Fodla the Wise counseled, “Beware how you cry for war, my people. When there is keening on the night wind in the halls of the Iverni and the Velabri, there will be wailing likewise in our own halls.”
    Dos na Trialen na Barinth, Prince of the Lakes, was next to speak. “What Eriu suggests may be the obvious solution,” he told the Dananns, “yet I warn you there are drawbacks. Such a response might require little effort, yet we cannot be sure of the results. Our powers are broad but not precise, and one mistake could erupt into war very quickly.
    “Let us consider some alternatives. I propose we visit the disaffected tribes in person and seek to resolve their problems through negotiation. For example, they should be amenable to an offer of additional grain. The elders have predicted the weather will be unusually harsh during the next darkseason.”
    Greine, titled MacGreine, the Son of the Sun—and also husband of Eriu—stood up next. There could be no doubt of his right to kingship; his face and form exemplified Danann nobility. He spoke slowly, leaving space between his phrases so his listeners had time to think about them. “Discouragement is practical. Negotiation is wise. But if there is a revolt anyway … and I’m only saying if … we must be able to defend ourselves. It might be prudent to consider our weaponry in case anything untoward does happen.”
    Greine’s two half-brothers, MacCuill, the Son of the Wood, and MacCet, the Son of the Ancient One, were nodding in agreement. But Banba the Brave, youngest of the three queens of the Túatha Dé Danann, drew the sunlight into herself until it burnished her coppery hair. “Let us forget this talk of Earthkillers and put our trust in the bronze swords and spears forged by our ancestors!” she cried in a clarion voice. “Every one of you must have some stored away in honor of the past. Those strong old weapons will serve us well with no risk to the land.”
    A man halfway between youth and age leaped to his feet. “I agree with Banba! I propose that we can form companies and begin weapons practice at once. Sippar, Rodarch, Agnonis and Ladra, you can join me.”
    His enthusiasm took hold like fire in dry grass, scattering sparks. The men who were eager to fight became more eager; the ones who wanted negotiation grew more determined. Those who supported Eriu’s way were mostly the elders, whose voices were not strong enough to outshout anyone else.
    Greine waited. From time to time he exchanged a look with Eriu. I had seen my parents exchange that look; it said more than words ever could.
    I turned to see what the Dagda thought of all this. The old man was sitting as he had been from the beginning, with an impassive face and his arms folded across his chest. He had passed the rule of Ierne to a newer generation and would not interfere.
    Was he right or wrong? I still do not know, though I have asked myself that question many times.
    Even the Dagda could not see the future.
    Finally, Greine raised his arm. In his fist he held a staff carved of white ash, the symbol of regal authority. When he spoke he did not shout, yet his voice went everywhere. “The responsibilities of a king are heavy,” he intoned. “None is heavier than that of making a decision when his people cannot agree among themselves. My wife has laid out