Scions of the Tuatha Dé

Prologue

The fate of a fourteen-year-old boy was on the line but the lashing rain did not care. Donal MacLaughlin and his brother, Finn, hid under some thatch that protruded from a house north of Dunfanaghy, Ireland.

“I can’t hear,” Donal said. “What are they talking about?”

“They’re trying to figure out what to do with us,” Finn said.

“I knew that part. I was hoping that you had better luck hearing what was said.”

The house belonged friend of their parents, a friend so close the boys knew him as “Uncle” Murrough. He visited frequently despite the day-long trip it required. The boys’ parents in kind brought the boys across Tyrconnell several times a year to spend a week with Murrough.

The boys’ grandparents had long passed away and no extended family lived nearby. Murrough readily assumed any extended familial duties and responsibilities for them. Last week, those duties included helping the brothers lay their parents to an untimely rest.

“Why is Mrs. MacSweeney here, anyway?”

“Her family still owns our land,” Finn explained.

“Don’t we get a say? Why would she take our home?”

“She hasn’t done anything yet, Donal. Have some trust in Murrough. Who knows? Maybe he’s the one taking us in.”

“But I don’t want to leave our home! How can you be so calm?”

“Do not mistake me for—”

The front door opened. Murrough’s head emerged from the doorway.

“Boys, can you join us inside?” the old man asked. He retracted his head within the house. Finn and Donal exchanged nervous glances as the door between them shut behind Murrough.

Murrough’s wiry grey hair and white beard were the only hints of his advancing age. Aside from the crow’s feet beside his blue eyes and a few lines across his forehead, his face was unnaturally smooth. His spine had no hump, his gait did not shuffle. Finn was growing, but Murrough still stood a full head above him.

Donal tucked in behind Finn as they made their way to the table. Murrough reclaimed his seat next to a short, middle-aged woman.

Mrs. MacSweeney sat on the edge of her seat. Her posture was stiff but the expression on her rounded face was soft. Despite being indoors, she kept on her red brat cloak, trimmed in yellow. It draped over a leine shirt with a small ruffle around the collar. A thin bead collected at the bottom of her green eyes as she searched each boy’s face. Donal assumed she wanted the necessary answers to bypass uncomfortable small talk.

Murrough spoke first.

“Boys, none of us want to have this conversation so soon after, well…”

He swallowed hard and relied on a swirling hand gesture to complete his thought.

“But we have no choice. Decisions have to be made, and soon.”

Donal leaned in, ready to pounce at the opportunity to speak but a hand on his shoulder and a firm look from Finn kept him quiet.

“In many cases, children who lose both parents would become wards of someone in the village and work for them—sometimes in the same house, sometimes split up. If the guardian’s in a trade, the children would become apprentices.”

“That is, of course,” Murrough said, “if the children do not have family nearby. I’m not your blood, but I’ve known you both your whole lives. You have a place with me waiting for you; just say the word.”

Donal squirmed in his seat and looked at Finn, volunteering the older brother to speak up. His brother nodded.

“We can’t thank you enough for the offer, Uncle, but Donal doesn’t want to leave home.”

He broke eye contact.

“I’d rather stay as well.”

Murrough flashed Mrs. MacSweeney a glance.

“You don’t have to apologize; I thought as much. Still, you’re seventeen, Finn. Old enough to know it’s not that simple. Mrs. MacSweeney’s family owns the land. What happens next is as much her choice as it is yours.”

The widow nodded at Murrough.

“It’s never easy being where you boys are,” she said. “Two years Mr. MacSweeney’s been gone now, and the children still struggle. So here’s how it will be. As long as you pay your rent, everything’s grand. If you can’t pay on time, tell me in advance and we can make reasonable arrangements. That will be good enough for short periods.”

“But I’m not your mam and I never will be. If you two won’t do the required work, I’ll find someone who will. You’d have to leave your farm and move in here with Murrough.”

“Finn, let’s be clear,” Murrough said. “Accepting this means you’d have to finish raising your brother while managing the farm. He’s still fourteen. Any plans you had for the friary in Moville will have to wait at least until Donal can make it on his own.”

Finn looked at Donal long enough to force the younger brother to bow his head and close his eyes. Donal knew there was little chance Finn had taken the enormity of it all into account. His nose spent more time in books than in their dirt and it wouldn’t be more than two years before he’d be gone.

Finn swallowed hard. Donal could hear the shakiness in his brother’s voice.

Out with it, Finn, Donal thought to himself. It’s not your fault.

“We can do it, sure.”

Silence stifled the room. Donal opened his eyelids and found Finn’s eyes locked on the widow’s face. Mrs. MacSweeney eyed each person in the room before she leaned back in her chair and sighed.

“So it is,” she said, looking at Murrough.

Finn shifted in his seat and straightened his spine.

“We’re ready,” he said.

“You’re not ready, in fact,” she said. “But you’re serious, and that’s enough for now. My daughter Siobhan will visit each month for the rent and to offer advice, if needed. A word as I walk to my wagon, Murrough?”

Murrough gestured for the widow to lead as the elders stood. She patted the boys on the shoulders and bid them good-bye with a restrained smile before she exited the house. After the sound of hooves and wheels had faded, Murrough returned through the door and nodded.

“That went better than expected. Let’s take your things back home.”

****

“Are you listening to me?”

Donal’s face dropped out of his right hand. It would have landed in his porridge had its perch been lower. His brother, Finn, paced around the open hearth in the middle of their cottage.

Finn was nearly his father’s double. It was the reason Donal found his brother’s lectures so irksome. He stood the same height, his face elongated into the same oblong shape. His hair was the same shade of auburn and it, too, waved in whichever direction the pillow willed it. Finn did everything but puff out his chest and stick a condescending finger in the air to fake his father’s natural gravitas.

“This is what I’m talking about!” Finn said, gesturing at Donal with two upward palms.

“I’m sorry, Finn. I’m tired, that’s all.”

“And why wouldn’t you be? You just rolled out of bed—only four hours after I did.”

“That’s not fair! I was kept up all night by—”

“—Nightmares. I heard. Like the night before. Like I will tonight, probably.”

Donal jumped to his feet.

“Oi! Too far.”

Finn raised both hands in front of him, stepped backward and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m simply trying to tell you that things are bad this year. Worse than the first two years. This farm is too much for one man in good times, but now? I badly need your help.”

“You already have my help,” Donal said. “I help all the time!”

His voice dropped to a mutter.

“Not that you’d ever notice or thank me.”

Finn halted his pacing and faced Donal.

“Thank you? For what? I cannot even get you to milk the cow or collect seaweed without either begging or yelling. Thank you? For climbing out of bed in the middle of the day and doing two hours of shoddy work?”

“Do you think I like waking up in that state?” Donal asked. “Dya’think I want to see those things every night? Or even during the day?”

Finn flopped his hands at Donal.

“And now you’re napping during your chores?”

“I am not napping during chores!” Donal said. “Sometimes they’re as plain as you standing right there as I do ‘em.”

This wasn’t how Donal planned to tell Finn about his waking nightmares, but he was cornered.

“I don’t understand,” said Finn. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me. Are they something like visions?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Does it happen a lot? During the day, I mean.”

“Couple times, lately. Can we please stop talking about this?”

Finn’s brown eyes softened.

“I want to understand. To help if I can.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“We could talk to Murrough. He might know what—”

“Finn! Enough.”

Donal slumped into his seat. His eyes drifted to the white clover outside the window while he gathered the courage to look back towards his brother.

“You’re not ready to talk,” Finn said. “I get that. You need to remember, though, that you’re not the only one who lost your mam and da. I still have to go out there to sow and harvest. To milk and shear. To cook. To gather, haul and sell.”

“I don’t get to tell the MacSweeneys each month, ‘Sorry for not getting you your money. I’m sad and I have terrible dreams!’”

Finn raised a hand.

“I know that’s not what you said, but that’s what it will sound like, fair or not. After three years, we’re testing their patience as is.”

“Ah well, I know all about what you do,” Donal said.

His face was hot and his mind spun. At this point he only cared about landing as many body blows as would make him feel better.

“You’re not bashful about it. Why are you doing all of that, though? You didn’t dream of being some dryshite farmer. Why don’t you leave town and do your fancy learning and praying already? You’re not doing this for me, are you? Lord knows I didn’t ask you to stay here!”

Finn’s tone sharpened.

“And I’m not asking,” Finn said. “I’m telling you. You’ve got work to do today. I’m going to town to sell what little we can.”

Finn turned on his heel and walked out the door, slamming it shut.

“Oh, I will, yeah,” Donal yelled at the door.

He glowered at his food, waiting for his brother to get in the last word from the outside. It never came. Donal had nothing to do but take out his feelings on his breakfast.

****

Finn loaded a bag of oats, two bags of barley and two wheels of cheese onto his family’s pull cart. He might not reach the markets in the Crossroads and be back by sunset, but he could make it to Ards Beg or Gortahork.

The door opened over his shoulder and Donal stepped into the yard. The blood had drained from his face, leaving behind his usual pale complexion framed by black hair that draped to either side.

The fire behind Donal's brown eyes had cooled and his angled jaw hung lax once more. He walked in minced steps toward his brother. Finn wasn’t keen on another fight, however, and jumped at the chance to steer their next conversation.

“Siobhan is coming this afternoon,” he said. “I’ve got a few more bags and some cheese to give her, hopefully it will make up for the money that we’re missing.”

“Could you not wait a little longer and give it to her yourself?” Donal asked.

“You will do it and any other jobs that need doing, and that’s that. If you do not do all of these things, you will have to make your own meals until Murrough visits.”

Donal’s brows furrowed and his head cocked to the side. Finn closed his eyes and sighed.

“That is two full days of meals,” Finn said.

He reached for the cart but pulled his hands back and looked over at his younger brother.

“Donal, I’m sorry for giving out to you earlier. I was frustrated. This thing eating you at night, I know you don’t want it. But I really do need your help and the less we fight about it, the better, in my eyes. Let’s try and get through this week and then see to these nightmares—both night and day.”

Donal’s face pinched as he looked down to his shoes. He raised eyes toward his brother once more, brows raised. Finn knew that expression well.

“Apology accepted. I’ll see you soon.”

Finn flashed a half-hearted smile and pulled the cart away from the house.