Waves in the Wind by Wade McMahan Page B

faces, for I did not wish to.
    The line progressed before me and each figure, in turn, walked up the ship’s gangplank and disappeared aboard. At last the final figure mounted the top of the dune and there could be no mistaking it—Master Tóla.
    My eyes held him as he followed the others down the dune and I waited in breathless anticipation until he came abreast of me. I called out to him, “Master Tóla!”
    The throbbing of the drum stopped, as did the procession of the dead. He turned to me with unseeing eyes. His was the face I dearly remembered, though immobile like the others, as if graven in the rarest alabaster.
    His lips did not move though he answered in his familiar voice. “What’s that? Did someone call to me?”
    “Yes, Master. It is Ossian.”
    “You say so? Should I know you?”
    “Of course. I am or was your student.”
    “I’m so very sorry. I do not recall.”
    He did not recall? The strangeness of it held my tongue at bay.
    He continued, “Are you the Druid who called for the ship lying there? If so, we whole-heartedly thank you. We have been waiting for it within this darkness for ever so long.”
    It was with a sense of shame at my negligence that I replied, “My apologies. I should have prayed for your deliverance much sooner. Only now have I performed the sacred ceremony that might bring you final release. Since the very night of your…that is…um…since the night of the attack my thoughts were for your comfort and peace.”
    “Your kind thoughts are appreciated. However, seek neither comfort nor respite within these halls of the dead, for you will find none here. Such bliss may only be found among the Golden Ones on the shores of Tír na nÓg. There by the aegis of the Lordly Ones all become young for all time.”
    “Yes, Master, of course. Paradise awaits you on the shores of Tír na nÓg. Before you sail there, I would that you know that plans are already underway to bring vengeance against those who struck Dún Ailinne.”
    “That may very well be, though vengeance holds no value to me. The world of the living embraces no actuality for the dead. It is the world of what was and might have been; a dream world that died with us. For the moment we of Dún Ailinne exist between worlds, only within the here and now on this lonely strand beside this sea. Yon ship waits to transport us all to our final reality, to the islands of Tír na nÓg—all save two still held within the dream.”
    “Yes, Master. All save two. I am one of them, the other being the bard Laoidheach. Do you not remember our final night together upon Knockaulin?”
    “Again I am very sorry, but no. I have forgotten that dream if such there ever was.”
    “It is said that those at Tír na nÓg well remember the living and await their arrival.”
    “Yes? Perhaps you are right, but that is not the case here.” He bowed before me. “Your pardon. I must go; the ship waits. May the gods’ blessings be upon you, Druid.”
    I bowed in return. “And you, Master Tóla.”
    Cymbals again crashed and the drumming recommenced. The Master turned away as the procession resumed shuffling toward the beach. My eyes followed him until he disappeared aboard the ship. Then the gangplank was pulled aboard by unseen hands, and the ship backed away from the shore to be swallowed by the night.
    All became silent as the throbbing of the drums ceased and the echoes died away. The torches atop the dune wavered and went dark as became the case for all the others, as two by two in line toward the beach they flared and winked out.
    Blackness returned as did the moans and shrieks, but the earth once more shifted below my feet and I staggered to keep pace with the motion. My head swam as the fresh aroma of the sea was replaced by acrid smoke. Before me sparks swam in the night sky above my fire within the Sacred Grove.
    I swayed and fell to the ground, gratified by the clean smell of the earth as my fingers grasped the firmness of it. I smiled