Forging the Blade/The Wilderness Years, Chap. 5, pt. 2/2
kageorge@EROLS.COM
Thu, 24 May 2001 23:01:19 -0400
Forging the Blade
Part I - The Wilderness Years
by MacGeorge
See Part 0 for Acknowledgements and disclaimers.
~~~~~~~
Chapter Five, part 2
Duncan was trembling from shock and fear and exertion, and
vaguely surprised he had both survived, and that something
in him still cared. He yanked Kanwulf's axe free, staring
at the odd, deadly weapon as he stumbled away from the
body. His shaking legs finally gave out from under him and
he fell to his knees, and had he not had the axe in his hand
he would have landed face down in the dirt. As it was, he
leaned on the cold metal of the strange blade, gasping for
air. "For you, father," he whispered.
He sat on the ground until his body finally stopped shaking,
but at last pushed himself to his feet, stumbled over to the
body and yanked out the claymore. He walked away and didn't
look back, leaving Kanwulf there for the carrion eaters to
consume. He did manage to stop and pull down Gavin
MacAndie's poor abused body, wrapping it in his cloak and
putting it over Maise's withers before heading back in a
haze of emotional and physical exhaustion, the shock of his
grief finally settling like a weight too heavy to bear. He
barely remembered the ride, frequently nodding off as the
overburdened mare plodded on, only waking when she would
stop to find something interesting to graze on by the trail,
and then urging her on.
It was dusk when he finally topped the rise above
Glenfinnan. The fires had been doused, although the acrid
smell of burned thatch still lingered in the air. He could
see the villagers gathered in the graveyard, and urged Maise
forward. The somber crowd turned and watched him approach,
huddling a little closer together. They were silent as he
dismounted. He could see his mother standing apart from the
crowd, her chin held high. Their eyes met. She looked much
older in the dimming light of day. Old and frail.
He took a deep breath and pulled the axe from his saddle
bags, finding no small satisfaction in the audible intake of
breath and murmurs from the crowd. As he stepped into the
graveyard, he stiffened. It was as though he could feel
some tangible difference in the space. Given his nature, he
would have expected that walking on consecrated ground might
cause lightening bolts to fall on him from the sky. Instead
he felt a profound sense of peace. Perhaps it was the
presence of death itself that caused the strange sensation.
He stepped to his mother's side and looked into Iain
MacLeod's grave. With no time or materials for a coffin,
they had dressed his father in his tartan, then wrapped him
in his best cloak and fastened it with a beautiful circle
brooch that had been in their family for as long as he could
remember.
Duncan sank down to his knees in the soft dirt. "Forgive
me, Father," he whispered. "And be at peace." He
reverently laid the axe in his father's hand. The flesh was
as cold as the plain circle of silver that ringed one
finger, matching the band on his mother's hand. He climbed
out and reached for his mother, holding her for a long,
precious moment. Her frequently unruly auburn hair was
bound with the elaborate celtic knot ornament that had been
a gift from his father. He touched it, picturing the gruff,
embarrassed, but loving look the clan chief could never
contain when he felt strong emotion, and for a brief moment
mother and son shared a smile of remembrance. They needed
time to grieve, but it was not to be.
"So," Neil MacGreggor stepped forward, his lanky, thinning
blond hair and pale complexion still streaked from dirt,
soot and ashes of the battle and the fire. "Did ye think
killing a demon would prove something? It changes nothing.
Evil can turn against itself as well as against the
innocent. Perhaps it took a demon to kill one." Like the
rest of them, he looked much older and more worn than Duncan
had ever seen him. He was vaguely surprised they had the
energy to care about an outcast such as he.
Duncan looked around at the familiar faces, seeing nothing
but fear, nothing but rejection. Old Mog had been right.
No matter what he did, no matter how he felt or what he
said, these hearts were poisoned against him. The only one
who might have been able to change that was dead.
"You've always been a hard man, MacGreggor," Duncan said.
He crossed in angry strides over to his horse and pulled the
cloak-shrouded body of Gavin MacAndie into his arms. The
blood-soaked material fell away and Gavin's naked, tortured
body was exposed. The women screamed and Donald cried out,
rushing up and taking the body from him. He sank to the
ground, weeping, holding his nephew's head in his lap.
"If I were a demon, I would hardly bring back your dead for
Christian burial, now would I?"
MacGreggor folded his arms across his chest and raised his
chin. "Perhaps you did it just to torture his kin, to see
him like that. How do we know you didna' do this, after
all?" he demanded, waving at the young man's pitiful flesh.
"Because he is my son, Neil MacGreggor!" Mairi MacLeod spoke
behind him, her voice rough with emotion but still strong.
"He is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Your kinsman,
and a man of honor. He killed Kanwulf, for mercy's sake.
He risked his life to avenge his father and this village.
Can ye not see that there is no evil in him?"
"You weren't there to see him rise from his deathbed,
Mairi!" Neil snapped. "And ye know not of what ye speak!
He is no' your son, nor any MacLeod, for all that. We were
all deceived. Who knows how much evil he caused all these
years, all unknown to us? For God's sake woman, he killed
your own nephew! But I don't blame you and Iain, for you
were beguiled, as were we all."
Mairi stepped up to MacGreggor, her arms folded tight across
her chest, her face hard with anger. "You all know he
killed Robert only because his father insisted that his
honor had been besmirched. I nursed this boy at my breast.
I bathed him and sang to him and held him." Her voice
broke, but she pressed on. "I watched him grow from a sweet
babe to a loving and caring man. And I tell you he is no
demon!"
"Stop it, Mother," Duncan stepped up and took her by the
shoulders, pulling her back. "They will believe what they
want to believe and there's naught you can say or I can do
to change it."
Mairi shook him off, "Nay! They must see, Duncan, else they
are blind, stubborn fools!"
"It is you who are blind and stubborn, woman," MacGreggor
insisted. "But a mother will always protect her babe, even
when it is a devil's spawn. Perhaps especially when tis so,
for he has had more time and opportunity to work his magic
on you."
"The only magic here is that you lived so long!" Mairi
shouted, at last, lunging towards the new clan chief, her
hands closed into fists, but Duncan held her back.
"Enough!" He held her tight as she fought against him. "Let
it go, Mother," he whispered in her ear. "You canno' change
this."
"Nooo!" she wailed, finally turning and hitting out at him
as the only available target. "I canno' lose you both!" The
tears she had been holding back flooded her eyes, and her
blows against his chest eased as she clutched at his vest
instead. Her cries turned into sobs, and Duncan picked her
up, cradled her close and carried her back towards the
village, feeling the eyes of everyone on his retreating
back.
He lay his mother on her pallet and moved around the
familiar room, stirring the embers of the hearthfire to life
and putting on some water for tea. He felt his mother's
eyes on him as he worked, and when he turned to
straightening up the disarray caused by the last several
days of chaos and death, she called to him.
He sat beside her, taking her worn hand in his own. They
sat like that in silence for a few minutes before Mairi
started to speak, but Duncan interrupted her words before
she could voice them. "No, Mother. I canno' stay."
"But..."
"He banished me. And now he's dead and nothing can change
it."
"Then take me with you," she whispered, clutching his hand
to her body.
"No. You canno' go where I must go. You canno' live the
way I live. This is your home, where all your kith and kin
are."
"You are all the kith and kin I care about," she insisted,
reaching out to touch his face, then stroked his hair.
"You say that because you are worn out and grieving and
angry. But I live in the wild, Mother. In a cave, for
God's sake. I willno' have my mother living so."
"Duncan, please..."
"No, Mother. Tis not to be, and that's an end of it."
She pulled her hand back and hugged herself, closing her
eyes. "You sound just like your father," she whispered.
Slow tears trickled into her hair. "I loved him you know.
He was a hard man, but a good man. He rarely said he loved
me, but I knew he did." She opened her eyes again, her
focus settling on her son. "And he loved you, too, Duncan."
Duncan stood, moving away to the hearth to pour the tea.
"He did, ye must know that," she insisted. "Just because he
never said it didna' mean he didn't feel it."
"I thought he did, once," Duncan responded. "I worked all
my life to be exactly what he wanted me to be, to be the
perfect clan chieftain's son. But I'm not, am I? I am not
the son he thought he had, not the son he loved. Oh, its
not just looking a little different. I've always had a
voice inside that insisted on seeing things a little
differently than others. Maybe that voice is evil. I truly
don't know."
"I know," Mairi said softly.
"Do you?" Duncan had to ask, looking up to meet her eyes as
he handed her the tea.
She just nodded, and sipped, warming her hands on the cup.
She stared into its depths for a moment before she spoke
again. "Don't let them make you doubt yourself, Duncan. No
matter what happened."
"Mother, in that, Neil is right. You didna' see..."
"It matters not what I saw or didna' see," she insisted. "I
know your heart, and always have, since the moment you first
looked up at me, and your tiny fingers wrapped themselves so
strongly around mine. Magic can be good as well as evil,
and you are a good man. Perhaps you've been given a special
gift; a power that's meant to help others, or perhaps you
had to live to fulfill some great task. But whatever has
happened, you are still Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
She met his eyes with a fierce look of pride that twisted
his heart. "And it is he who I trust, and who I will love
as a son to the end of my days."
He was drawn to sit beside her and take her in his arms.
She lay against his shoulder for a moment before drawing
back and holding his face in her hands. "Know that,
Duncan. Believe that. Wherever you travel, whatever
happens, you are loved."
Duncan had to swallow to get this throat to work. "And you,
Mother," he whispered. Then he took her hands in his and
kissed each, and lay them in her lap. "I must go." He
stood, ignoring his mother's subvocal cry.
"When will I see you again?" she asked, reaching to touch
him, but he pulled away.
"I dinna know. But Ill make certain MacGreggor treats you
with respect and care," he answered, steeling his heart. It
was the only way.
"Duncan!"
He turned away, striding quickly out of the place that had
always been the center of his life. The villagers were
still gathered, waiting - for what, he wasn't sure. Perhaps
they were expecting him to perform some magical feat. If
so, they would be disappointed.
MacGreggor had brought Maise to the front of his croft and
held her reins in his hand. "Duncan MacLeod," he intoned as
Duncan stepped up to him. "You have been banished by the
chief of this village. His sword does not belong to you."
MacGreggor pointed to the claymore in the scabbard slung on
Duncan's back.
"Neil MacGreggor," Duncan answered softly as he drew the
claymore out of the scabbard and held it before him in both
hands. "Pledge to me that my mother will be treated with
respect and kindness, that she will be cared for and
provided for to the end of her days."
MacGreggor's eyes traveled up the shining blade, still
stained with Kanwulf's blood. Duncan didn't know whether he
would take the gesture as a threat or an offer, and didn't
really care anymore. Either would suffice.
"She is the widow of Iain MacLeod," MacGreggor answered
harshly after a moment of silence. "She is my kin and an
honored member of the Clan."
"I have no need of any pledge, Duncan!" he heard his
mother's voice behind him, but he didn't turn to look. If
he did, he might not have the strength to do what must be
done.
Duncan swirled the blade in a circle with a rush of wind and
a low musical hum, then struck the claymore's point deep
into the earth. "Then let it always be so!" he demanded,
looking Neil MacGreggor in the eye until the new chief
placed his hand on the sword's hilt at last, and solemnly
nodded.
"It will always be so," he echoed.
"Duncan, no! That is your sword!" Mairi insisted, tugging
at his arm.
"Nay, Mother," Duncan said over his shoulder. "Tis the
sword of the protector of these people, and no matter how
much I might wish it, 'tis something I canno' be." He
didn't look back as he took Maise's reins and mounted. But
he could not help but look down at the touch of a hand on
his leg.
"Never forget who you are." His mother looked up at him, her
eyes dry, but still red-rimmed with tears. "Never let them
take that away from you!" Neil MacGreggor took his mother
by the shoulders and pulled her away, but their eyes were
locked together as Duncan nodded.
"I willna' forget," he just barely managed to say past the
tightness in his throat. He wheeled Maise around and
galloped out of Glenfinnan, urging the poor, tired mare on
until they were out of sight of a place he could no longer
call home.
To Be Continued