Clan of the Goddess (An Alternate History of Eire)
Clan of the Goddess
Then Finn again spoke. “You know, my friends, that I never tarry in a house only having one door. Let one of you then, arise, and open that narrow door, so that we may go forth from this foul, smoky den!” – Finn McCool; The Palace of the Quickening Trees
Padraig walked down the path he had walked many times before. He knew every rock, every tree, every stream the wound through the forests of Desmumu and this particular trail was a secret one only known to him. The morning mists still hovered low in the trees and the birds and insects were strangely silent. It was the first day of spring and he was off to a place he had gone every year on this day since he was a child.
He climbed up a hill. Here the brush was thicker, the trail not even visible to the naked eye. He struggled through the undergrowth and pushed his way through a last stand of trees. At last! Padraig emerged into a clearing and paused for a moment as he always had done. The grove was perhaps twenty yards wide and it was a perfect circle. Rising directly in the center of the grove was a stone pillar. It stood twenty feet tall, rising to a point. Still, the trees towered above the ancient relic.
He often wondered how they had got it there, the Tuatha De'Dannan. It had stood there for over two thousand years. It was still hard to believe, even after all his years. Padraig, gently placed his walking stick on the ground and approached the pillar. At the base of the monument there was a small stone altar. He got down on his knees and placed his hands on its surface, tracing the runes he had read countless times before. ‘Here stands a Pillar of Danu, now and forever’. Then he placed his hands firmly on its face and raised his head to the sky.
And there he stayed for hours with his eyes closed as the sun slowly climbed across the sky. Finally he felt it directly on his face, the sun. His heart began to beat faster. ‘Please be there, I am so alone and my burden is too great to bear’. Then he felt it, as he always had on this day, distant and faint but still there. It was a call from across the void like a mournful horn. He let out a sigh of relief, they were still there, that was all he needed to know to carry on for one more year. ‘I am here Danu, you are not forgotten. There is still hope, a forlorn one but hope none the less’.
Then it was gone, suddenly. Every year it was fainter, farther away. He couldn’t help but shed a few tears. He cleared his voice and pulled himself together. Padraig rose to his feet, renewed with purpose. He picked up his walking stick and headed back the way he came. Padraig Fitzpatrick was a Priest of Danu, the last of the druids of Eire. The eerie quiet in the forest broke. The birds resumed their chirping and the crickets, their insistent music.
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Originally Posted by Fiach Dearg
for some wierd reason. However, your not alone
