The Native Tongue

By Patrick O'Sullivan

The Native Tongue

 

When wine flows tongues wag. Tempers flare. A war of words escalates toward bloody war, resurrecting the sins of the past and threatening to surpass them.

A blind harper; harsh-tongued, hot blooded, bearing a grudge that could spark a war.

 

A merciless judge; discarded, exiled, determined to see the Queen's law enforced to the letter.

 

And Daniel Duncanava; dutiful son, faithful servant, loyal subject. A mild man, determined to stop these two jabbering fools. Stop them before their petty squabbling ignites a hidden powder keg that will divide his family, shackle his nation, and ravage the future of the world.

 

Both Lord Goromond and Sir Moray turned at the sound. I had accidentally armed Peregrine with the steel-stringed harp. That harp was the native harp; it didn't know any of the sounds of polite society. It was a night harp, and the sounds it spoke were the empty spaces between the strings, the silences a Queen's Magistrate was never meant to hear. It was a sharp and dangerous weapon in Peregrine's hands, doubly so now that his madness had surfaced.

—The Native Tongue, by Patrick O'Sullivan

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dunkerron Press
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781625600042

Patrick O'Sullivan

PATRICK O'SULLIVAN was the OHL and CHL rookie of the year in 2002 and the AHL rookie of the year in 2005. He remains the all-time leader in games, goals, assists and points for the Mississauga/Niagara franchise in the OHL. He played 334 games over eight seasons with the Los Angeles Kings, Edmonton Oilers, Carolina Hurricanes, Minnesota Wild and Phoenix Coyotes in the NHL. He played in three World Junior Championships and is all-time second in games played for the USA in tournament history. He scored the gold-medal winning goal for the United States team at the world junior championships in 2004, the first gold medal in the team's history. The 30-year-old now lives in southwest Florida with his wife and two sons. GARE JOYCE is a senior writer for Sportsnet Magazine. A former writer for ESPN: The Magazine and The Globe and Mail, Joyce has won four Canadian national magazine awards and been a finalist 21 times. He is author of seven books of sports non-fiction, including When the Lights Went Out, Future Greats and Heartbreaks and The Devil and Bobby Hull. Under the nom de plume G.B. Joyce, he has written two mystery novels, The Code and The Black Ace.

Book preview

THE NATIVE TONGUE

by Patrick O’Sullivan

The Native Tongue

I HAD BEEN SERVANT TO THE BLIND HARPER Peregrine for a year and a day when he finally went mad. We were at the Rennisfort, in Lord Barient’s demesne, a pretty place, more house than fort, with large windows and lush lawn, without bawn or fortifications of any kind. A hundred years ago a chief couldn’t build such a home for fear that his neighbor would seize it. Since the conquerors had come there was the Queen’s law, and great men like Lord Barient were safe in their properties. Men such as myself were scarcely safe in our skins.

Peregrine, in his madness, chose to illustrate this with his cane. He flailed upon me for some time and even landed a few good licks as he shouted. At first I learned nothing new; I was a lazy, good for nothing slug of a second son, it was a privilege to serve such a great master as Peregrine, and if I didn’t appreciate the honor there were many in the West who would.

There is a new Queen’s Magistrate holding court at Carrigmore, Peregrine declared, each syllable punctuated with a stroke of his cane.

The idea so stunned me that I neglected my defenses. Peregrine landed a blow that would have staggered me if not for his grip on my shirtfront. Pack my belongings, he said, and he loosed his grip. We leave within the hour. He stalked away, his cane tapping angrily before him.

I did as he asked and was waiting with the donkeys when Peregrine and Lord Barient entered the stable yard.

I say, Peregrine, where is your third mount? Barient asked.

I have just the two. The boy walks at a fair pace, Peregrine said.

No, that won’t do, Barient said. He called a stable boy over and soon the boy returned with a horse bridled and saddled.

Mount up, Peregrine, and you’ll be at Carrigmore before nightfall, Barient said.

And hung before the sunrise, Peregrine said. The Queen’s law forbids a harper to ride.

Perhaps you might give up your profession for the length of the ride, Barient said, eying the two large harps that hung from a fixture on the second donkey’s back. Do you play while traveling?

I do not, Peregrine said. But there are those who lack your discernment in matters of law.

Well then, Barient said. Have the boy ride.

And both of us hung, Peregrine said. The boy will walk.

Nonsense, Barient said. His brother rides. Do you know how to ride, Daniel?

It was against the Queen’s law for me to ride. If I may not lawfully ride, then logic says I cannot lawfully learn to ride. Lord Barient was a decent man, but it was his duty to enforce the Queen’s law. I didn’t want to lie to him.

A scion of the old order is born able to ride anything with legs, Peregrine declared.

Barient laughed. Is that so?

It is, Peregrine said. But I prefer a boy who keeps faith and walks to one who rides.

This was an old argument between the two. All of the Lords of the West save my brother Ezekiel came into their estates as conquerors, men born to the Queen’s religion in the East. Ezekiel had taken the Queen’s religion and renounced his own. Peregrine questioned Ezekiel’s decision but I knew my brother’s heart.

One day, as we were out walking, Ezekiel made his thoughts clear to me.

While Lord Barient raised the Rennisfort our father raised hell, and sons, and a small chapel to the glory of God, Ezekiel said. Instead he should have raised an army.

Our grandfather had been driven to the edge of the world, where a tree wouldn’t grow, and the land yielded nothing but stones. He held onto that not by victory but by attrition. The war of conquest ended in a field near our home at Duncanava. There were more dead in that one field than people left living in all of the West for years afterward.

There are two armies in the field below the chapel, I said. How do you propose he raise one without raising the other?

It can’t be done, Ezekiel said. But God willing, I will raise them together.

A horse neighed and I looked up, disoriented.

Give us your thoughts, Daniel, Barient said. You look as if you have something to say.

It took a moment to recall myself to the present. It had begun to rain.

Perhaps the horse could carry the baggage? I said.

That’s not a proper use for a horse, Peregrine said.

Lord Barient’s gaze never left mine. He smiled, but his eyes told a different story. Perhaps not. But a good horse does what it must. That alone is the measure of a horse.

I transferred Peregrine’s belongings from donkey to horse while Lord Barient and Peregrine ducked beneath an awning and continued their conversation. When the animals were ready Lord Barient bid us safe travel and we left the Rennisfort behind. I had never cared for riding on a donkey, so once out of view, I dismounted and travelled on foot. Peregrine didn’t say a word the entire way. We were arrested when we arrived at Carrigmore.

Sir Moray, the new