Tír na nÓg Trilogy, Book III: Tír na nÓg

Charlie Receives a Gift

The way the sunlight fell on the river made it glitter as if it'd been sprinkled with crushed diamonds. Grasses grew up tall and pale along the banks, beginning to fade in the early autumn weather. But this morning was uncharacteristically warm, and Emer had been overdressed, so it had felt amazing to shed her layers down to her tunic and slip into the cool, murmuring waters. The river wasn't particularly wide; in fact, it was more of a stream if one considered width, but it did fall rather deep in the middle, and perhaps that was why it was called a river. That's what Forgall had always called it, in any case, ordering her to "keep out of the river! Its waters are unclean." But Emer didn't find them unclean at all; they were clear as crystal, dappled with alternating shade and light as the sun moved between the leaves of the trees overhead, which thickened the farther she swam into the forest.

She wasn't allowed in the river any more than she was allowed out of the tower, but Forgall had no ability to stop her. Though he played at authority, he always overlooked her infractions, more out of something like apprehension, she sensed, than any sort of affection or laziness. Why Forgall would fear her, she didn't know, but for as long as she had been with him--almost six years--he'd treated her more like a fragile artifact not to be upset than like another human (let alone a daughter). Emery couldn't recall much before she'd arrived at Luglochta Loga. There was a time when she'd been with other children, in a temple of some sort, in the woods. There had been much play in nature, and she'd made some friends, but then something had happened one night, when she'd been given strange things to eat and drink, and there'd been fire and screams and strange men and women . . . but her recollection of that night was fuzzy, and the next thing she'd known, she'd been with Forgall.

It hadn't been a bad life. She'd had all the luxuries possible for a noble lady, which Forgall had told her she was, never disclosing anything of her parentage or deigning to discuss her life before he'd taken her in. Emer had a servant woman and fine dresses and jewelry, and she'd had riding lessons and good food; she'd never had to work or do anything strenuous. But oh, how boring it had all been! There were no others her age in Luglochta Loga, only old servants and the few villagers who worked around the tower. Beyond the walls were farmsteads, often encircled by their own little rings or trench moats, and once Emer learned to ride well enough, she'd taken to exploring the countryside around her home.

But the river had always been her favorite. It was peaceful and exciting at the same time, the calm clear of its waters and the intrigue of wading through it into the forest, as far as she dared, knowing not what capricious creatures lived there. And it was how she met him, that afternoon, after she'd tied her horse to a tree and climbed down the bank into the water.

How long the man stood watching her, Emer didn't know. She just suddenly became aware that someone was there, and when she twisted around in the water, she saw him, on the other side, his intense, emerald green eyes the first thing she noticed about him. "Is it proper, to sneak up on a lady when she's hardly decent?" she scolded, though she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to scold.

The man somewhat smiled, placing his hand against the nearest trunk. "Is it a lady, then, I see?"

Emer, in the deeper part of the water, floated on her back so she could scrutinize him. "And what else would I be?"

"I haven't known many ladies to swim naked in rivers."

"Well," she replied, "then you must not know any interesting ladies. And truth be told, I'm not naked." Saying the words caused her to blush, and she realized that he was rather handsome, compared to all the older, boring men she knew. Her modesty kicked in. "Would you turn around? I'd like to step out."

For a brief second, she was afraid he wouldn't listen to her, but thankfully, he did as she asked, and Emer, keeping an eye on him, was able to swim to the bank and pull herself out. Moving behind her horse, she stripped out of her dripping tunic and threw her simple dress over her body, then clinched a bright red shawl around her shoulders with a brooch. She watched the man the whole while, not only to assure herself that he wasn't looking but also to try to figure out who he was. He was youthful, possibly not too much older than she was, but he looked strong, and he carried a sword--he was no farmboy. His attire wasn't particularly decorated, though, like that of the few chieftains she'd seen visit Forgall. He wore breeches and a tunic and a cloak, all in shades of brown, which weren't indicative of any high rank. But, she thought upon reflection, his powerful black horse that drank from the river even as she looked at it was stunning--it was no normal animal. That along with his stature and weapon told her this man was no stranger to fighting, nor was he likely one to lose.