Valley of Sages: House of the Wild Fox

By S E Kynett

In ninth century Ireland, a period of political and religious upheaval rock the stagnant peace of time-worn traditions. Ancient Gates connecting the eternal Otherworld with the outside realm slowly succumb to the crush of burgeoning civilization and doubt. One remains standing; powerful and vibrant, well-guarded in the Gleann Saoithe.  

Young Sionnach, child of the Gods and the last pure-blood Tuatha Dé Danann, is key to unlocking the tremendous potential of the Gateway. Rumor of the power to be unleashed draws ruthless exploitation of the young woman, as well as hostile, covetous attention from across the lands.

Together with her childhood adversary, the young king Rhytheseus, she must protect the Gleann and the mystic Gate to the Otherworld from conquest. To do this, they must unleash and command the ancient demonic forces of nature, risking far more than their mortal lives.

House of the Wild Fox is the first in the Valley of Sages trilogy, chronicling the epic struggle between the old powers and the new. The fate of the children of the Elder Peoples and the integrity of the Christian faith in Ireland hang on the fragile wings of one young fae woman and her reluctant king.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662450310

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Valley of Sages

House of the Wild Fox

S E Kynett

Copyright © 2021 S E Kynett

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-5030-3 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-5031-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 1

One by one the mystical gateways that linked the worlds were crumbling. Overgrown by cities and towns, plowed under by expanding human civilization, destroyed by advancing armies and superstitious religions. Soon, all paths between the outside and the magical Otherworld would be closed. The realm of the ancient ones faded into the hills and dwindling forests. Feared, hated, and forgotten by those who once celebrated the old gods, the children of the mother goddess Danu withdrew into the twilight.

The ancient god watched at the pool. Events past, present, and future swirled through the waters like ripples from a stone. Thousands of years of history in the outside world passed by without touching the tiny universe within.

The bond between man and the Tuatha Dé Danann has diminished. The great fires that once burned to welcome the spring have been extinguished, the Great Dance that once blended the races of man and fey suppressed. Our blood has grown weak and thin, and the blood of man grown base and common. The great shaggy head of the god trembled in dismay.

There will be war between brothers. Silent cries echoed from beneath the unruffled water as armies clashed and cities burned within the pool. Many peoples trampled. Many lights extinguished before we can live again. Even the Undying Ones will have to fight and die to survive. In the sacred Valley of the Sages, the Gleann Saoithe, a man of power sold out his own people for a higher seat at the king’s table.

A faint undulation disturbed the surface of the mirrored pond for the first time in the god’s memory. Fine blades of pond grass flitted across the water, rippling between the two separate worlds. Eternal eyes, one blue and one amber, gazed back from the pond’s depths. A living prophesy reached her infant fingers up, to send more tiny waves across the surface. A young girl, untamed hair of palest rose gold blowing wildly in the coming storms, smiled serenely through the water at her father.

You will unite the worlds again. A heavy burden, my daughter. Mist filled his golden eyes. But you will never be alone, child.

The antlered god Cernunnos dipped a long fine finger into the water to brush a lock of hair from the brow of a youngster, asleep in his bed. In the Gleann Saoithe, the boy, the future lord Ailill, dreamed of many dancing bodies around enormous bonfires. In the dream-flames, he gazed on beautiful people of the ancient world mating with his own people and bringing a surge of power back to the valley.

For generations, the Beltane festival had devolved into little more than a spring fair and the fertility rites to mere children’s games. The extraordinary magic that set the people of Gleann Saoithe apart from the outside world was slowly waning. Unconsciously, he resolved to bring the rites back to the Gleann and mix the blood of his people with that of the magical fae in the Otherworld.

Shrieks rent the crystalline air, sending a cluster of ravens squawking with annoyance from the icy roof of the Great Hall. A gaggle of small figures, bundled in brightly colored woolens and furs, charged through the soft snow in feigned rage. Carved wooden swords clacked a broken rhythm on garishly painted shields, as the diminutive army cried their challenges to the enclosing mountains.

"Cabhrú linn, sábháil sinn. Laughing cries answered the youngster’s playful assault. Several older children answered back with a hail of snowballs, bravely defending their home from the ersatz invasion. The Sluagh Sìdhe have come down to steal our children! Help us, save us, the fae king rides!"

Lord Uisliu watched the villiage children gleefully throwing snowballs at the mock charge, while his eldest son rallied the demons behind his sword. Ignoring the epic battle nearby, several young girls hung bundles of holly leaves, mistletoe branches, and nuts on the great spruce tree beside the Hall to offer food and shelter to the fairies. The midwinter festival dawned with gusto.

Inside the Hall, the smell of roasting meats filled the rooms with irresistible airs. The Lady Moira bustled about the Hall, overseeing preparations for the feast and tending to their youngest, nine-month-old Brady.

Moira came out to speak with her husband. Eish, love. We have more people here than anticipated, I must raid our winter stores to prepare the feast right. We’ll be in danger of coming up short later, what—

He cut her off with an embrace and warm kiss. "Grá Àlainn, we’ll manage. We’ve never starved before, and we won’t now. Your household can handle this for a while. Perhaps you and I can slip off to the empty meeting chamber for a few minutes. No one will miss us." He brushed his hand down her abdomen.

Her body, softened by four children, was still trim and intoxicating. Stray wisps of black hair escaped her skullcap, and her deep brown eyes snapped playfully at him. Brady started to fuss in her arms. Uisliu took the boy from her and cooed the infant into calm again. The boy gurgled contentedly, chewing on the straps from his father’s woolen cap.

Moira laughed. I think we’ll be missed. We have a festival to host.

He sighed and handed his son back. I guess I’ll just have to wait until tonight, Moira. Unless I find a willing lady from the shires before then, he teased her.

She growled playfully. You do what you must, my love. One of Lord Laeguire’s groomsmen has been giving me the eye. Perhaps I should see if he got the horses settled into the stables comfortably? She winked at her husband as she kissed her son’s head. Returning to the Hall, she looked back and teasingly wiggled her hips.

Uisliu’s grandfather had resurrected the ancient festivals that represented the eight spokes on the wheel of the year. Yule at midwinter, the spring fertility rites of Beltane, the first harvest of Lughnasadh, and the celebration of the lives of loved ones who have passed on at Samhain. The other four spokes of the wheel—Imbolc, the vernal equinox, midsummer, and the autumnal equinox—were celebrated at various shires as the people decided.

Most of the people in the Gleann and surrounding shires were, to some degree, empathic. A few, like his father and the other eldritch Elders of the Gleann, had stronger mental powers of illusion and telepathy. Such powers served to protect the sacred Gate to the Otherworld from encroaching Christianity, advancing over four centuries from monasteries along the coast.

Shandy, please, Shandy. Tell us about the Gate again. We want to know about the fairies and the people of the fae. Please, please, please… Five-year-old Lughaid, Uisliu’s second eldest and proposed heir, couldn’t yet pronounce seanathair, grandfather in Gaelic, the ancient tongue of the mountain peoples.

Outside the Hall, the wind began to howl with fury again. Thirty youngsters gathered around the immense fire after the feast, a few already starting to nod off.

Uisliu’s father was the former lord and Hall historian, an endless storehouse of knowledge. He had penned several comprehensive books on local lore and history for his son. The Elders considered it a solemn duty of the Lord of the Hall to ensure the extraordinary history of the people was never lost.

Shandy warmed up to his subject quickly. Gather around, then, and I’ll tell you the story of your ancestors. Long, long ago, a noble and magical race of people lived here. His dark-blue eyes twinkled as the children gathered at his feet to listen. The firelight glinted off a few silver threads mixed in with the sandy-blond hair and highlighted the red cast of his trimmed beard.

A thousand years previously, the Gleann was inhabited by a race of beautiful, magically gifted, long-lived people called the Tuatha Dé Danann. The children of the goddess Danu. They moved into the valley and pushed the previous people, the Firbolg, deep into the wild mountains. These Firbolg were a warlike people, raiding and fighting the Tuatha Dé constantly until they finally called a truce. The Firbolg had already pushed the primordial inhabitants, the Fomorians, so deep into the hills they had retreated into the living stone of the mountains themselves.

Over time, the Fomorians became the demons and wild magical beasts of legend and nightmare, remembered by few and believed by none. They were only known for the Wild Hunt, the Sluagh Sìdhe. The demonic hunting party, led by the first king of the Aes Sìdhe, King Nuada, rode on the night before midwinter or when released in times of war. They were said to sweep up any person unlucky enough to be caught in their path when they rode, taking his soul back to the Otherworld with them. Especially children who were naughty and didn’t sleep when they should, Shandy explained.

As the older man spoke, he wove illusions in the air for the children’s amusement. Little ones, the land on the other side of the Gate once sat here, where we sit now. The Tuatha Dé moved deep into the hills too, and now they live inside the hills and mountains. Ghostly hills and mountains drifted in the flames of the hearth, while the youngsters watched in awe. "They live in a beautiful land where it’s always summer. Sometimes, at special times of the year, the Gate opens a little bit, and they slip through to visit us here. And sometimes, we find extra special children that they give us.

"The Lady Eimear, here, she is about to wed the king of Valdorras. She is just such a child. Her mother and father couldn’t have any children of their own, so the Tuatha Dé gave her to them to raise. Now she’s about to become our queen.

Today, the Tuatha Dé live on the other side of the Gate. We can still see and hear them in our dreams and our wishes. We put out food and drink for them in the spring so they will come help our crops grow and our animals have babies. And in the deepest hours of winter, we light this yule log to burn for the twelve darkest days of the year. The light and warmth will help bring light and warmth back to our world.

The assembled clutch of youngsters erupted with questions, flooding the man with youthful curiosity. Little Brady slept on soundly in his arms, as Lady Moira stepped up to the gathering, calling out bedtime. Several voices objected.

"Máthair, please, we’re not tired, Eilish complained. Could you sing for us, please?"

Moira took Brady back from her husband’s father and murmurred a lullaby for the children in a soft, pure voice.

"A leanbh mo chléibh go n-eirí do chodhladh leat.

Séan is sonas gach oíche do chóir.

Tá mise le do thaobh ag guídhe ort na mbeannacht. Seothín a leanbh is codail go foill."

Child of my heart, sleep calmly

and well all night and be happy.

I’m by your side praying for blessings on you. Hush-a-bye, baby, and sleep for now.

After the children had been tucked into makeshift beds hastily arranged in the crowded children’s hall, Uisliu returned his attention to his father. I would like to hear of the wars that overtook our vale. Why did the kingdom invade us so long ago? He glanced at the drowsing Eimear as her father sat up attentively. Is there any danger they might be back? Is this wedding really wise?

Lord Orlámh had traveled for days to bring his daughter as a special guest to the fete. The previous summer, Orlámh had been the first of the lords of the Upper Shires to attend the Lords’ Council at the high king’s seat, in Valdorras. Eimear accompanied him, where she caught the eye of the young king Zyphones. Orlámh’s eyes gleamed in the light, intently focused on the elder sage.

One of their own was about to wed the king. Uisliu wanted to know everything he could about the conflict between Upper Shires and kingdom. Old hostilities had kept the two entities apart for centuries. "Is that all history, or might we have something to worry about in the future? Does the king know of the powers inherent in the people from the Gleann? She may be head-blind, but will their children have eldritch powers?

Son, Eimear will have an adviser sent with her. Someone with powers to protect her and keep our secrets as needed. If any child shows developing powers, the Elders will decide on the best course of action. But consider this promising, the next king in Valdorras will carry the blood of the Gleann. This may be the final healing of the breach between vale and coast, his father explained. He went on recounting the history of the people of Gleann Saoithe.

The Firbolg emerged from their mountain homes to trade mined metal ores for food and necessities. They carefully avoided mixing their blood with that of the Outsiders, and as a result, their numbers plummeted from inbreeding and isolation. These people, with white skin, black hair, and black eyes, stubbornly clung to the edge of survival while rejecting nearly everything outside their own tiny tribes.

Over time, invading settlers filtered into the Gleann and pushed the Tuatha Dé into the rocky wastes. When the Firbolg made their last stand against the encroaching Tuatha Dé, the children of Danu had no choice left but to retreat after the Fomorians into the living shadows of the mountains. The entrances to this new world were marked with henges, circles of rough-cut standing stones thrown up as gateways between the two worlds.

As time went by, the hidden world inside the stones retreated further from the foreign trespassers, until the Tuatha Dé within faded into myth. Many henges were destroyed to make room for villages and towns of these new invaders. The Otherworld and the magic of the Tuatha Dé were dying.

Once, the Gates would open at the major festivals of the year so the people on both sides of the Gate could mingle their bloodlines. The children that resulted from these festival days developed extraordinary powers of the mind. Over centuries of intermixing their blood, most of the people within the Gleann and surrounding Upper Shires had common blood, and almost all had some trace of power.

No one ever saw the Gate opening anymore, although the Great Dance around the Beltane Fires still attracted dancers no one had ever seen before. On occasion, ethereally beautiful men and women, with palest rose hair and skin as white and creamy as new-drawn milk, would join them. They would sing and dance and lay with the people of the vale around the fire. The children of these unions would carry forward the blood of the Tuatha Dé, usually marked by varying shades of red hair and eldritch gifts.

Father, I know those tales of our ancient history. I want to know of the conflict between the kingdom and us. Please. Uisliu impatiently interrupted his father’s wandering history. The former lord could sometimes get long-winded when relaxed and deep in his cups.

No tale ever stands alone, son. All of history is built on what came before, just as our future is built on our past and present. What we do today will reverberate down through the ages. His father gently reprimanded. This valley is under your care. You must remember that lesson. Nothing you do will ever come to nothing. Always think ahead before you make any decision.

The last wave to disturb their tranquil home swept everything from the mountains of the Aes Sídhe to the shores of the Muir Menn, the Clear Sea, under their dominion. The invaders from Hellas were tongue-tied with the local language, so the blessed Gold Shore, the Cladaí Óir, was bastardized into Valdorras.

Many generations before Uisliu’s birth, an Elder, lord of the valley now called Gleann Saoithe, Valley of Sages, was cursed with higher ambitions. He traveled to the minor king’s seat in Valdorras and yearned for more beyond his remote, rustic vale. He longed for the towering stone keeps, crowded city streets, and luxury inherent with a high political position.

Lord Treallús befriended the king, who also suffered from overreaching ambitions. This king believed himself rightful heir to the high throne of Airgíalla, the overkingdom holding Valdorras as vassal state.

Defying the Elders of the Gleann, Lord Treallús revealed his eldritch powers to the king. He promised vast wealth and power, in exchange for troops to overrun his home and capture the mystical Gate.

Royal legions marched on the Gleann, gliding through the protective illusions at the high passes to the vale as if they were not there. Before an alarm could be raised, the army stormed the peaceful valley. Defenseless animals and people alike were slaughtered. Fields, ricks, cots, and orchards burned.

Despite the fierce defense offered by the surviving inhabitants, the invaders pressed forward relentlessly.

Bloodcurdling shrieks rang out as a hoard of Firbolg wildmen swept from the stony heights behind the kingdom forces. Aghast at the unexpected attackers, the disciplined army splintered under the new onslaught.

Frightened by the unexpected rout, Lord Treallús desperately turned on the Council of Elders. Many fell to his thirsty sword before the survivors could cloud his mind enough to cry for help. Cursed with empathy, an eldritch cannot take a life without suffering pain and death himself. The Elders could do no more than hold the traitor in thrall until able swords arrived.

The king’s men were decimated; none escaped to carry word of the army’s fate back to the king. Lord Treallús discovered himself alone and exposed to the wrath of the Gleann. They overran him and burned the Great Hall with him and his heir inside. Of the original Great Hall, only scorched foundation stones remain, with treacherous ghost lights to lure unwary travelers.

Son, there is a good lesson for you. All his powers couldn’t save Treallús from the vengeance of his own people. And the king never learned what happened to his army. He sent numerous spies, but the Elders always managed to detect and misdirect them before they could learn anything.

I don’t understand how a lord, an Elder, could betray his people. How could he kill the Elders without following them into death? The thought of a powerful eldritch who could take another life without suffering the ultimate price terrified Uisliu. Could such a thing ever happen again, Father?

No one knows how he did it. We suspect he was just born wrong. Powerful fae blood and deeply wrong. There are other beings beyond the Gate, not so benign, who can emerge to mate with us. The Gate is the greatest gift and the greatest liability in this world. You must keep it safe, secret, and protected.

Father, is that why the Elders now have the final word on all matters? I wondered why they could overrule you with just a word. Do they have so much power? Or do they wish to prevent anyone from gaining such power again? Uisliu’s head was aching from the vast implications. An eldritch born bad. Defenseless, nonviolent Elders with the ultimate say in vale matters.

Yes, son. And that is also why they now have a protector to provide the sword they can’t wield. You.

The remainder of the midwinter evening passed in lighter song and dance, until everyone in the Hall took their cloaks and blankets to find company and empty corners for the night. The old historian nuzzled up to a pretty lady from Eaobairt, towering nearly a foot over her as he led her off to his chamber.

Uisliu smiled broadly as he watched his wife’s uncle, Dundace, become drunkenly indiscreet with another lady on a bench near the dimly glowing hearth. Those cheerful, bright blue eyes could charm any woman.

Three years later, Uisliu was finally settling into his role as the Lord of the Gleann, without the guidance of his father. The former lord had been chosen to be sent along with Eimear to Valdorras. He and his father exchanged missives infrequently, always concerned about discretion with the kingdom. The new king was proving more controlling, hot-tempered, and paranoid than anticipated.

He and Moira prepared for a special Beltane festival. The children were being cared for by several elderly aunts, and the Mayday celebration had been bigger and richer than ever. Itinerant musicians, performers, and merchants from all over the Upper Shires came to make this the grandest event in memory.

This year, he and Moira had, with the Elders’ approval, decided to take the Great Dance to the old standing stones at the end of the valley. Dundace, and several younger helpers, had already set the piles of wood for the bonfires, where everyone would be only a few minutes’ walk from the henge.

The fires were lit, people singing and dancing already, and the musicians winding up their songs for the start of the Dance. Uisliu and Moira led the singing procession through the deep forest to the ancient stone arch. They proceeded, single-file, over the tumbling waters surrounding the river island. This year, the full moon coincided with the celebrations, and already the treetops were glowing with pale-green light. As they approached, the trees, flowers, and ground all began to emit a faint radiance. Gasps of awe tinged with fear came from the people with them.

As they crossed the bridge, the warm wind teasingly played with the simple loose robes Uisliu and Moira wore. Deep blue spirals and mystic designs were painted on both their bodies, faces to feet. The air around them felt like it was full of sparks, anticipation as if a great storm were brewing. Within the circle of menhirs, the flat stone forming an altar also appeared to kindle with a moist glimmer.

Several Elders had come across with them, along with Dundace, for the ritual. Crossing the boundary of the stones into the center of the henge, Uisliu was aware they had just crossed into a space between two great forces. The people filing across the bridge appeared slightly faded, as if a sheer linen curtain had been pulled across the stones. Electricity flowed through his fingers as he reached out to caress his wife.

Dundace grinned at him and held up a finger to forestall his intentions. He proceeded to set out candles and small clay bowls with burning herbs, while the Elders chanted in the ancient tongue. The designs painted in woad on their bodies began to glow softly, filling them both with wild heat.

Soon, no matter how hard he tried to maintain self-control, Uisliu couldn’t hold himself back. His hands strayed to Moira’s waist, brushing over her soft skin and raising more electricity with each caress. Intense heat coursed through his veins. The light pouring forth from the stones of the altar reached out like more lovers’ hands, pulling them into the whirling dance that began hundreds of centuries earlier.

Uisliu could wait no longer. Some enormous force was pushing him forward, as he lifted Moira onto the altar, now soft as a feather bed under his knees. He lost all sense of where he was, who he was, and why he was there. The power cascading through his body into hers became the center of his world. Mortal sexuality faded to insignificance, transforming into an overwhelming waterfall of otherworldly energy, flooding the vale with incandescence.

Thousands of men throughout the ages of the world reached out and pulsed through Uisliu’s body, filling Moira to the breaking point. She cried out in thousands of women’s voices as the moon and sky all sang with them. Her black hair streamed over the broken edge of the stone, reflecting flame red in the moon. Uisliu felt his toes morph into mystical hooves, digging into the altar as he plunged with sparking power into her universe.

A horrified shriek rent the air, dragging Uisliu out of a sound sleep. The eastern horizon glowed. Dawn light of the spring equinox drenched the far mountains with liquid gold. He leaped out of bed, tossed a heavy robe over his sleeping tunic, and raced downstairs to the main hall prepared for trouble.

Three of his children had arrived first, as their bedchambers were closer than his own. Six-year-old Eldan cried, while Lughaid and Eilish, eight and nine respectively, stared open-mouthed at the hearth. Dundace tried unsuccessfully to calm the hysterics of the servant girl.

Daddy, there’s a baby cooking on the fire. Why did someone cook a baby, do we have to eat it? I don’t want to eat a baby for breakfast. Eldan was nearly as hysterical as the girl. To the poor child’s experience, anything put on a fire was either wood to burn or food to eat.

Uisliu stared in sickened horror. Nestled within the glowing embers lay a naked infant girl, no more than six weeks old by her size, her skin as red as the coals. On her chest lay a large silver pendant, a carved and pierced triskele identical to those images carved on the side of the altar stone in the Gate. He grabbed Lughaid’s arm, as his son reached into the flames with a poker. Son, we don’t want to hurt her any further.

Father, she’s already dead and cooked. We have to get her out of there, it’s not like it’ll hurt her anymore. That’s just sick. Why would anyone want to kill a baby? And why would anyone want to cook her? Lughaid gave him the poker and tilted his head quizzically. Whose baby is this, anyway?

Father, what are you doing, you’ll burn yourself. Lughaid’s right, the poor little girl’s already dead. Just scoop her out so we can bury her properly. Eilish tried to forestall her father from reaching into the hearth, voice filling with tears.

Some instinct drove him. Uisliu felt for certain this was not what it appeared. Behind him, Moira gasped and whimpered with dread.

To his shock, the baby twitched, to all appearances asleep, not dead. He knew that had to be an illusion, until she reached up from the flames to start sucking her own tiny fist. What the hell?

Pull her out quickly before she returns to the Otherworld! Uisliu, get her out of there. They have given you this gift, take her, before they take her back. Dundace grew frantic. Remember what your father taught you. Your actions will reverberate throughout history. Take her now!

Wasting no more time, he reached in to grab the child. His hands and arms burned, the girl reflected the fierce heat of the glowing embers. Instinct pushed him forward, and he refused to drop her in spite of the blinding pain. She wiggled in his grasp, and he realized she was not breathing. Already her lips were turning purple. She was in danger of suffocation.

Taking a pained, gasping breath, he raised her up to his mouth, feeling the intense heat from her body. He gently kissed her tiny lips, exhaling delicately into her mouth until she gasped and let out a wail of protest. Instantly the burning pain disappeared, and she was just another distressed baby.

He clutched her protectively to his chest and gazed at his wife in wonder. She is ours, my love. Is she fae? I don’t know how, Moira, but I know we made her. Last Beltane, on that stone altar, we made her.

Sionnach. My grandmother was named Sionnach, and she gave herself to the mists when she was ill and in too much pain to make another winter. Look, her skin has turned white as snow, just like the fae. But we must find a wet nurse and get her dressed and warm. Such beautiful hair, like the palest of apple blossoms in spring. Moira brushed tears off her own cheeks.

Eilish and Lughaid were stunned into silence, but Eldan came over to touch the tiny girl. In response, the child wiggled again and stopped crying. I’m glad you weren’t cooked, Sionnach. You’re pretty. And I get another baby sister. Thank you.

Uisliu felt the front of his tunic becoming wet and heard water dripping on the floor at his feet. Moira, I think we should start with finding her a breechcloth. And a clean, dry tunic for me. Little Sionnach sighed and gurgled contentedly. Looking up, she gazed back at him with enchanting eyes. One was blue, and one was golden amber.

Dundace finally found his voice, suspiciously thick. Lad, you’re not a father to a child until you’ve been peed on at least once.

Chapter 2

The first of May had finally come. Young Sionnach and her older sisters were so excited they couldn’t sleep. "But, Máthair! Why can’t I stay out for singing around the fires? I’m twelve now, I’m old enough to stay out late! I’ll get up early tomorrow morning and do all my chores before midday, I promise." She pulled out her most mature, charming smile and adult tone.

Her mother wasn’t convinced. No, you and your sisters will have your own little party in the Hall after the feast then go to bed promptly. No sneaking out this year. You could have gotten in trouble last year. And remember to stay away from the fires. You have no idea how long it took for your father and I to put the gossip to rest after your silly stunt.

Sionnach tried to suppress the guilty smile at the reminder. Five years previously, when she was seven, she had decided to join the older children’s game of jumping through the bonfires. Several children rudely mocked her for being too small, suggesting that she might catch fire and burn up. In defiance, Sionnach ran directly into the heart of the bonfire and stood with her arms outstretched while her clothing flamed and burned off her. She laughed, unharmed, as the older children shrieked in horror.

Her brother, Lughaid, had come racing to her side at the ruckus. He leaped through the flames to grab her and drag her to safety. Lughaid quickly wrapped his tunic around her naked form, while she giggled uncontrollably at the terrified reactions of the witnesses.

"I’m sorry about that, Máthair. I truly hadn’t known fire could hurt people. It feels warm and tickles me, but it doesn’t hurt. I’ll never do that again, I promise." Sionnach hid her annoyance. Every year her mother reminded her of that foolish indiscretion.

I know, Sion. You must be careful, you are special, other people might be frightened by that. I do wish you could freely be yourself and not have to hide your gifts, but that is too risky until you are old enough to judge who to trust and who to be wary of. Your time will come. Child, remember, never spill tomorrow onto today, tomorrow will come soon enough. Lady Moira brushed a possessive hand over her youngest’s unruly hair.

Sionnach took a deep breath, silently rehearsing the words she had practiced for just this moment. Mum, we can never reclaim yesterday, and tomorrow is always a day away. I know that, but I’m stuck in between. I’m no longer a child, but nobody sees me as a woman yet. At least let me visit the peddlers and sweets stalls by myself. I can handle myself, I have my own money saved up, and I don’t need an escort. Maithi will be with me, and we’ll be fine. She noted the look of consternation on her mother’s face. Lady Moira was wavering.

You and Maithi stay together, and don’t fill up on too many sweets and pastries this year. You remember how much your belly hurt. Make sure you get back well before the feast tonight, I still need you two to help with setting up the tables. You will set two extra places at the high table, one for yourself and one for Maithi. The lady smiled at her daughter.

Sionnach rejoiced inside. This was a first step to adulthood, and her mother was finally acknowledging her maturity. Thanks, Mum. I promise. She happily scampered off to find her childhood friend and give her the good news.

The Mayday festival would have a fair, with merchants selling all manners of goods. Fine cloth, jewelry, exotic fruits from far lands, trinkets, and fresh baked sweets. There would be itinerant musicians, traveling performers, feasting, and everyone gathered in their finest festival clothing. Sionnach loved seeing the dresses. Dancers in the green always reminded her of the colorful riot of flowers blooming on the hillsides above.

The Maypole was her favorite game, children holding attached ribbons dancing in opposing circles around a giant phallic pole, wrapping the fifteen-foot-tall wooden tree trunk in colorful weavings. She still couldn’t quite understand how a giant decorated penis could make the fields produce more grain or orchards give more fruit. Her mother and father swore it worked, and they dutifully led the dancing every year.

Traditionally, there was dancing around the fire after sunset for the grown-ups, after the children had been put to bed. Sionnach had slipped out last year to watch the dancing and got an eyeful. Everyone was naked, painted with blue designs, and coupling on the ground around the fire like animals in season.

Out in the fields, she could see and hear the stallions mounting every mare they could find. Even the herds of cattle were getting in on the Great Dance. The feelings reflecting back off the people and animals were overwhelming and terrifying. Longing, hunger, excitement, soaring, and satisfaction. Then a return to more hunger. The emotions pulsed in great waves. Racing back to her room, she had to outrun a few of the older boys who wanted to give chase. Her brother Brady had found her and raced along with her to protect her from the other boys’ attentions, haranguing her about being out of bed the entire time.

This year, she was determined to sneak back and watch the Great Dance again. It didn’t seem quite so frightening or strange to her now. Sionnach shook with icy fear and warm delight to think about the Great Dance ahead. She was about to leave the restrictions of childhood behind and face the wide world as a real woman.

Just last month, after her first blood had faded, one of the boys who had given chase the previous year had caught up with her in the orchards. Sion, little one, I can show you what that dance was all about. I saw you watching, I know you want to learn. His fingers caressed her cheeks warmly. Let me teach you, train you. Let me make you a woman, you are old enough now.

Sionnach longed to be seen by the Gleann as a woman at long last. It seemed to her life was spent impatiently waiting to be grown and treated as an adult, only to grow old and die too quickly. Her