BENDING THE BOYNE: A novel of ancient Ireland by J.S. Dunn

voice came to her and a vision swirled before Boann. The mounds decrepit, forgotten. Women scorned and children neglected. Great battles, the Boyne red with blood. She felt faint again.
    The Dagda brought Boann a sip of water from the river, a sacrament during this season of long sunlight. Her legs steadied after she drank from the Boyne.
    She answered clearly. “What did these intruders tell you that is more than what you have told me? This man could have come to me himself for a marriage.”
    The elders were equally direct with her. “He is too proud for that, Boann. We have told you everything we know. These strangers talk in circles. They say that your life is in danger. Their new champion says that he offers you his protection through a marriage. We infer that he and his warriors intend to remain at the Boyne.
    “We see many trees falling beside their camp and rising as smoke. The Invaders tell us they will be taking even more animals from the forest and the river, food for their great ard ri ceremony. There is one more thing that we know from our own scouts: the Invaders busy themselves with making more long knives.”
    The two intruder guests perked up their ears when the elders pointedly used the term, Invaders. Long knives gleamed in thongs tied at these warriors’ waists.
    So they won’t leave us. Do they mean to harm us at our council oak? Do these Invaders mean to slaughter us all? Boann wondered, seeing their weapons. She stood as unmoving as the stone foundation of the island. What was the way forward, she asked herself, the way to avoid the terrible future in her vision.
    The warm sun climbed in the east over the oak’s wide branches and struck all of them with pure light. The sun’s power flowed into her. Taking more time to decide, even to the following sunrise, would not help. She would decide it here and now.
    “What would my name be with this man, their new champion?”
    One of the elders looked away as if ashamed. Slainge said gently to her, “ Bru na Elcmar. Their champion is called Elcmar.”
    “But what of my name? What is Bru na Elcmar to me? Did they say what Bru means?”
    “Your question is very important, Boann. We considered this and we think it has something to do with their concept of a woman, or that it means a mystery or hidden place. We are not certain. These intruders speak at length, but they discourse in riddles.
    “He means to take a specific woman from us in a formal marriage. He has identified you. We ascertain that you would not be a captive. And these men promised that under their laws, as with ours, any property you bring to Elcmar—rather, all the property that you now hold, as we pointed out to his emissaries—shall remain yours.”
    The two Invaders scrutinized Boann for her reaction. Cian translated to them all that had been said, then he focused upon some point in the distance. All were silent.
    So the tall stranger whose eyes could read my thoughts has not come for me himself.
    The haughty Invader offered a difficult path yet his very arrogance intrigued her. She sensed in him a will as strong as her own. She looked over at Elcmar’s emissaries, at their long knives. Their new champion offered his protection, they said. These Invaders intended to remain among her people. Bitter smoke from Invader fires drifted to the council oak: the telling sign of making metal weapons.
    Like the rest of the Starwatchers, Cian appeared to be choking on the smoke. His face gave no clue for her choice. For one heartbeat—two heartbeats—she despised Cian for leaving her no matter what was his reason. He failed to attend their equinox rites and join openly with her. Perhaps her father was right about Cian. Then she remembered him leaping off the horse, the knife’s careless slice to his flesh. Cian would be willing to die for her. There he was, unarmed but proud, between the brutish warriors. If she refused this marriage, the man Elcmar might retaliate, he might well kill Cian