They reached the hill within an hour or so of riding, when the night was a lush, velvety indigo only slightly touched by the distant light of the celestial bodies. Tara itself was glittery green, even at such an hour, and low mist hovered about like steam over a warm bath on a winter's day. There was an absolute silence, so powerfully serene as to assure both of them that this place was as sacred as they'd been told it was. Setanta dismounted first, offering his hand to Emer, and then he tied his glossy black steed to a lone tree. Neither of them spoke a word as they approached the eerily still low-lying mounds of earth, for the hill rose in more than one place.
Where first they should go, they didn't know. There seemed to be a presentiment of gravity, as if something were to happen that night that would bring far-reaching consequences, something beyond the joy of becoming man and wife, but neither spoke of this feeling with the other.
"There," Setanta said laconically, pointing into the distance, where a stone appeared to protrude from the top of one of the mounds.
Emer, meaning to shed the sense of solemnity that had sewn itself around them, looked to Setanta playfully. "Do you think I can get there before you can?" she asked.
Setanta stopped walking, and Emer followed suit, gazed up at him questioningly. "I'm weighed down by three times as much metal as you are, Lady."
"Then perhaps you should remove some of your attire."
A corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "I thought we'd save that for after the handfasting."
Emer widened her eyes. "Shame!" she cried, smiling, and turned to run toward the hill, disturbing the low-lying mists as she ran.
Anxious in spite of his banter, Setanta hurried to follow her, not liking the way her body hid itself as she drew away from him.
The mound was not so far as it had looked, and shortly, they stood atop it, curious about the squat stone pillar poised right in its center. The short column was carved with ogham markings, sacred writings, and was surrounded by a spiral of smaller flat stones that had been set into the earth to mark its placement.
"Lia Fáil," Setanta breathily told her. "The Stone of Destiny."
"Ah, yes," Emer flattened her grin in an expression of disinterest. "My old serving woman told of it. Purportedly, it's the crowner of kings!"
"It's one of the treasures of the Gods."
Emer huffed a little. "Well, they can keep it. I care not for their treasures. Do you hear me, Gods?" she called, shattering the silence of the night world around them. "What do you want with me? I am not yours to do with as you wish! I will wed this man!" She turned to Setanta, a nervous laugh escaping her. "Is it too much?" she whispered, clapping a hand to her lips.
He stepped forward, gently took her hand away from her mouth, and kissed her fingertips. "It could never be too much."
His breath against her skin was warm, touched her somewhere within, and she shivered, though not from the cold.
"Do you come here to join yourselves, this night?"
Both of them swiveled toward a figure that had apparently arrived out of nowhere, startling them half to death. He was huge, cloaked in a bull hide, a feathered mask covering his face. They couldn't even see his eyes, for the eyeholes in the mask were darkened.
"There is no need to be frightened," the man boomed in his rich voice. "I am Mug Ruith, druid and High Priest of the Ancient Ones. You come to defy the Gods, do you not?"
Setanta was far from comfortable with this stranger. Hand on his sword, he eyed the druid distrustfully. "How do you know this?"
"I know all, my friend, and I wish to help you."
Emer and Setanta exchanged looks, neither sure what to think. "Why would you help us?" the girl asked, her own hand on her dagger.
Mug Ruith withdrew a staff from within his cloak. It looked on one end like a mallet, but when he tapped it with his finger, it burst into a colorful flame that put off swirling iridescent smoke, the tendrils of which moved up into the sky and shimmered like a dark rainbow. "A fate without love is a cruel fate indeed."
Unimpressed, Setanta frowned. "If you wed us, you defy the Gods."
"So let it be; they've nothing they can do to me."
Emer pulled Setanta aside. "Let him do the ceremony!" she pleaded. "Whatever his reasons, he can serve our purpose."
Setanta furrowed his smooth brow. "I like it not--where did he come from? How did he know our intentions?"
"It doesn't matter. He is of use to us, now." She took a breath before adding, "Or would you have us wait?"
He peered deeply into her eyes, sought his answer there. "No, Gods know I cannot wait."
Their hearts in unison, they turned to Mug Ruith, who withdrew a golden cord from somewhere within his cloak and, asking Setanta and Emer to face one another and grasp hands, entwined it around their wrists and fingers as he performed the wedding rites. Beneath the prismatic iridescence of color, they made their vows as two free people to remain by one another's side, to be faithful and true, and to cherish the love between them. More eyes than the hidden ones of the strange druid seemed to watch them, that night; Emer was sure the Gods knew every moment of the ceremony, and a rebellious pride glowed within her. Their plans for her, to use her, were over, and she would have the only man she'd ever loved. Even then, standing with her hands in his, hardly hearing the words spoken by Mug Ruith, Emer couldn't quite believe what was happening. Hadn't it been less than a season ago that Setanta had found her in the river? How could this man, so perfect, so mighty, who could surely have had the heart of any woman--how could he have chosen her, who was of no notable lineage and whose life had largely been spent in solitude?
And what was to come? The immediate implications of their handfasting caused her heart to beat wildly; the thought of being nearer to him than she already had been, allowing him to fully love her, was pleasurable, though it was also agonizing. How should she behave with him? What did he expect of her? Would she know what to do? She'd had only that old serving woman to teach her such things, and she'd surely left much out. And then there was life beyond that night--presumably, she'd never return to Lugloctha Loga; she'd be Lady to Setanta's Lord, and he'd take her to wherever it was he was from. There would be much to which she'd have to adjust. What would people think of her? Would she be loved or hated? Just how little she really knew of him and his life struck her in those moments during which Mug Ruith spoke and formed a stone circle and gave a blessing.
Before Emer could figure out how exactly to feel, the ceremony was complete, and they were wed.
Mug Ruith removed the cord from their hands and wrists, and Setanta looked at her with such an intense satisfaction that Emer couldn't help but blush. "I will complete the contract," Mug Ruith said, then, "and I will go. But I ask that you give me a word in private, young Lord, so that I may offer advice about married life."
Emer raised an eyebrow. That sounded . . . awkward, coming from a druid. In any case, she looked about, caught sight of another mound of earth, and pointed, saying to Setanta, "I'll wait for you there."
Setanta didn't seem to want her to leave his sight, but Mug Ruith called his attention with some sort of herbal sprinkling, and Emer dashed off across the dewy, grassy expanse, needing to run, to feel the cool air against her face. How nervous she was! What was to come? Oh, she knew what was to come, and she both wanted and feared it. Could she really . . . ? But she was his wife, now! It was the way of things, and didn't she want to, anyhow? More than just a bit?
The knoll she came to was much like the other, though rounding it, Emer caught sight of an opening in its side, stone built up around it to form a tunnel right into the center of the mound, but what was most astounding was that deep within that little hill's belly, a supernal golden light glowed, glistened, seemed to beckon her.
All thought of Setanta shifted aside, and suddenly Emer found herself wanting nothing more than to meet that light, to find its source. But the tunnel was low and narrow. The girl removed her sword and crouched to enter the passageway, moving until she was almost on her hands and knees, drawing closer to the light, which began to brighten until she was forced to close her eyes against the near-sunlight--
And then, suddenly, having reached the end of the tunnel, right beneath the very center of the mound of earth, Emer felt that she was standing up, and that a breeze played about her face, and that soft daylight shone upon her. In awe, she opened her eyes to find herself standing in a beautiful, glimmering meadow. Pale greens and golds and cornflower blues and lacey white bursts grew all around her, up to the palms of her hands, and a late-afternoon, melty golden amber painted the sky. Soft birdsong and flittering insects, gossamer winged things and hints of tiny celestial lights too delicate for her eyes to catch, absolute peace and perfection . . . that's what this place was, wherever it was, and she wasn't alone in it. Turning slowly, Emer found that many people--or, at least, they mostly looked like people--stood watching her, some smiling benevolently, some draped in jeweled garments and veils, some clad in flora, some upon glorious steeds and some with crystal staffs or glittering swords or silver harps, some regally crowned and even one wrapped in dark feathers, some youthful and beautiful, others old and wise, and Emer was not afraid of them, though she wondered who they were and where she was.
One woman in particular stepped forward, her hair chestnut brown and wild behind her, a young stag's antlers at the sides of her head. She wore a dress of golden rushes and green moss, dazzling with dew beneath the summery sunlight, and her hand she held out toward Emer, saying gently, "Come to me."
But Emer could only look at the woman and shake her head in confusion. "My--my husband waits for me--"
The woman grew sad, yet she nodded. "If you choose this path, the way will be difficult. You will suffer much before you return to us."
Emer didn't know what to think, except the one notion with which she responded: "I love him."
Inclining her head, the lovely, strangely savage woman withdrew into the ranks of the others, and another, one tall, brown-skinned, shimmery-white-cloaked youth stepped forth and approached Emer. He took her hand and turned her about, led her away from the curious, ethereal crowd and suddenly toward a very bright light that took Emer by surprise.
Before she could understand what was happening, the stranger had drawn her out of the tunnel and back into the dark night that fell upon the hill of Tara. Setanta's voice cried out to Emer, and she turned to find him, somewhat panicked, behind her.
"Who is this?" he immediately asked of the young man before them, whose aura glittered with what looked like a sheen of sparkling waves.
"I am Mananan mac Lir, the God of the Sea, and my time is short. Cuchulain, Emer--the Dagda himself has tasked you with locating the four treasures of the The Tuatha Dé--our four lost treasures. One, you have already, Lord Cuchulain, for you've carried it at your side since you were young. Claíomh Solais, the Sword of Light. But the other three--the Dagda's Cauldron, Lugh's Spear, and Lia Fáil—take and hide them, until the time comes when they must be used. In aid, I shall give you the Stone of Destiny now." He opened his palm to them, and in it lay a tiny copy of Lia Fáil, complete with ogham markings. "This is the very stone itself," Lir said in answer to their questions. He placed it in Setanta's hand. "It will return to its size when you remove it, yet should you need to move it again, only call upon me. Lia Fáil is rather difficult to shift without magic."
Setanta gaped. "What--why do you give us this task?"
"One does not question what the Gods demand. Farewell, my friends." And with that, Lir, God of the Sea, retreated into his tunnel and vanished, taking the interior light with him.
Though Emer sought to re-enter the dream-like meadow, nothing remained in that tunnel but stone and earth. When she came back out of it again, she was bewildered. Setanta, who had put the stone in a pouch at his side, was at a loss. "Emer, what is it you seek? What happened?"
Emer only shook her head, unable to quite recall it herself, except the idea that she'd chosen a difficult path. What had she done? Had she made the right decision? What had the choices even been? The vision was fading from her too quickly. She couldn't recall what she'd even seen in that light. Her frustration heightened until she at last turned to Setanta, who watched her with growing concern. "All is well," she said with certainty. "I love you--it's all that matters."
Somewhat unsure, Setanta took hold of his wife and drew her closer. "The druid is gone," he said quietly.
Emer warmed. She felt suddenly lightheaded, as if she'd had too much wine. "Not here," she insisted. "Up there." She pointed to the top of the mound under which lay the tunnel.
"Above the Gods' passage?"
Emer offered only a devilish grin in return, and Setanta could not refuse. Taking her hand, he drew her up to the top of the low hill, where the earth flattened out into enough space for what they intended. Removing his weapons, his armor, his jewelry, so that he was dressed as simply as a farmer, Setanta stood before Emer and unfastened her belts and few adornments. He moved slowly, methodically, seeming to enjoy her rising discomfort, and when she wore only her tunic, having stepped shyly out of her breeches, he moved behind her and undid her hair so that it hung thick and loose.
At her back, Setanta pressed his face into her flowing waves, wrapped his arms around her waist, moved his hands places he hadn't dared before. Emer let slip a soft moan, leaned her head to one side so he could brush his mouth along her neck and shoulder, and then she couldn't bear it anymore and twisted to face him, as breathless as if she'd run to reach him, and maybe she had—maybe she'd always been running to reach him. Her lustrous eyes reflected his own, burning with some new, deeper knowledge of what they were to share. The mere inches of space between their moonlit profiles hovered laden with promise, and then that space was closed, their lips met, opened for one another, the girl's body flushing with heat at his touch and the nearness of their bare skin. But in her heightening desire, Setanta suddenly pulled away, leaving Emer aroused to the point of distraction.
Pulling her up into his arms, wrapping her legs around him, he laid her down on their discarded cloaks, then leaned back to remove his tunic. Never having seen his undressed body, Emer couldn't help but be in awe of his form, his broad shoulders, his narrow hips, his strength; blue swirls and waves flowed across his arms and chest, and she had to feel him to be sure he was real.
Setanta bent over her, panted as she ran her delicate fingers across his body, down his stomach, trembling at her touch, and she knew he desired her as much as she did him.
Unable to hold back any longer, the man kissed her with a fierceness at last set free. His hands and mouth sought and found, submitting Emer to sensation she never knew existed, and when he at last drew them together, the torment of waiting was made worth all the pleasure that followed.
The night closed in on them, as they lost themselves to the pure ecstasy of one another, and when morning dawned and coruscated off the mist, casting a million tiny glass beads across the hills, Setanta woke to find himself alone, his bride vanished.