Hush: An Irish Princess' Tale Read Online Free PDF Page B

with stinging insects in summer? Always scrabbling, always suffering?
    “Ha! You pictured wrong. Gartnán’s island is no ordinary island; it’s huge, enormous, colossal. It’s a world in the middle of a lake. The fields stretch so far, it takes seven plow teams to prepare them for sowing. The meadows are filled with seven herds. Each herd has seven score cows. Big beasts. Big contented lowing beasts that give enough milk to fill the lake seven times over.
    “Gartnán has fifty nets for catching fish, and another fifty for deer. These are big fish, big deer. A family canfeast on just one fish for seven days; the entire
crannóg
can feast on just one deer for seven days.
    “The fishnets hang by ropes from the windows of the giant kitchen. Each rope ends in a bell on the rail, right in front of the steward. When the salmon run, the bells ring. They ring so loud that trees fall and the heavens shake. Four men stand in the river and throw the netted salmon up into the hands of the steward.
    “And you’re wondering how the steward can hold such fish? Use your brains. Your good Ulster brains. See him. See what a massive man he is?
    “Oh, our Gartnán leads a charmed life, he does. He’s no ordinary rich man. Wealth flows from his body like sweat from a slave’s.
    “He has the entire island gilded with red gold. And he lies on his couch, drinking mead.
    “Mead, my friends, my good fellows. Mead.” He laughs. “And that’s exactly what we should do now.” He lifts one of the mugs waiting on the table at the foot of Nuada’s bed and drinks deeply. “Now, that was a Gartnán sip.”
    I have heard this story in various forms all my life, but it never fails to stir my innards. Such wealth in a simple
crannóg.
The Lord takes care of royalty on Earth.
    We all drink mead and congratulate the storyteller.
    And now he sets aside the dulcimer and rubs hishands together as if warming them up for the next tale. He will stand by the hearth and paint pictures in our head till dawn, if Nuada can stay awake that long.
    “Prepare yourselves for a tale of fairies and elves.” His voice swirls around us like rushing waters, enchanting us instantly. “Can you hear them? Can you smell them? Can you sense them? Hiding in the corners. And behind the chests.”
    We look in the corners. We stare suspiciously at the chests.
    He laughs. “But that will come later. For now … draw your mind back fifty years.” With flat, open hands, he makes circles in the air over his right shoulder, going back, back, back in time. “A hundred years, three hundred years, to the year 600, to the dense forests, the primeval forests. Are you there? Listen. You hear birds, insects, the swish of animals through the leaves. Listen. Can you hear laughter? Can you hear the merriest laughter you’ve ever imagined?”
    I hear it.
    “That’s Finn. Finn and his warriors rule this forest.”
    A messenger comes through the door right then. Father jumps to his feet and his face shows he’s been expecting him. “At last!”
    Mother stands too.
    “King Myrkjartan.” The messenger bows repeatedly while he catches his breath. “The Norseman Bjarni has the information you seek about the recent misfortune.”
    “I’m waiting,” says Father.
    “It was the act of a foolish boy.”
    “Nonsense,” says Mother. She grabs Father by the arm, but her eyes are on the messenger. “How could a boy have the strength to do such damage?”
    “Not a little boy,” says the messenger. “A youth of fourteen.”
    “A Norse youth?” asks Father.
    “Yes. He got into a dice game, lost whatever he had, but kept on playing.” The messenger hesitates. “So the winner demanded he chop off the hand of a Christian slave as his payment.”
    “A slave?” yips Mother. “Nuada hardly looks like a lowly slave.”
    “Of course not. His clothing bespoke riches. But they watched him a moment from the doorway, and his meek demeanor—”
    “Nuada’s demeanor is kind, not