Chapter 3
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Into the Unknown
Ma, Pa, Milka, Mitch, Michael, Martin, Kevin, and Cellesta were all present for Eoin’s surprise birthday party. And it was a surprise. Eoin had not expected it at all. His birthday was tomorrow. As far as Eoin could recall, everyone had their seventeenth parties, a celebration for coming of age, on the day itself rather than the night before.
With his near death experience, followed by all the weirdness with the green ball of wind, Eoin was tired. He found the sudden switch in social attitude, a party like this required, mentally taxing.
A chicken had spent most of its day, whilst he was out, roasting over the fire and had filled the house with an intoxicatingly rich aroma that did much to bolster Eoin’s spirit. He talked with the nearly-friends his parents had invited, appearing perfectly amiable and even laughing on occasion to help cover how shocked he still felt. It seemed to work, no one so much as looked at him funny.
Milka explained that, when she had seen him earlier, she was in a hurry because she had been getting his present. A blush filled Eoin’s cheeks as he stressed how she needn't have gone to the bother. She patted him on the head, as she had so often done when they were smaller and he was half her height.
The act, thankfully, helped Eoin to squash his unwanted feelings. It showed, despite tomorrow marking his first day as an adult, Milka still saw him as a child.
She reached into her sheepskin bag and retrieved a wheel of cheese, about the size of his splayed hand. Milka went on to explain that: on his coming travels, he would need something that could keep - and that tasted delicious.
This was the first wheel of a new batch that she had been experimenting with. First, the cheese was smoked over applewood. Then, it matured for several months. Apparently, the flavour was a mix of smokey and salty with an undercurrent of appley sweetness and the wax should keep the taste locked in for years if he chose to keep it for some special occasion.
Eoin couldn’t lie, this gift was amazing. He had always loved cow’s cheese far more than the sheep’s cheese that was so prevalent in these parts and how she described it had made it sound simply divine.
Mitch, though he hadn’t told Eoin earlier, was actually working on his present whilst the pair was in the workshop and if Eoin hadn’t run off so fast he would have given them to him then and there. He had created two steel horn caps for Reithe - since everyone knew they would be traveling together.
Mitch, after revealing the horn enhancements engraved with curving square patterns, set right to work attaching them to the ram using a small hammer he had brought with him, and the heat of the cooking fire.
First, the metal caps were warmed in the fire. Then, he used what he called pocket-tongs to place them on Reithe’s horns. Mitch tapped them into place. As the spiked weapons cooled they shrank and Reithe was left with some rather dazzling accessories that he seemed inordinately proud of.
After the mammal had pranced around the room with his head held high, and received the appropriate amount of praise from the party goers, Reithe turned to Martin and Kevin - a pair of twins who had been friends with Eoin’s father for as long as anyone could remember - and looked at them as if to say, what have you got for me.
Martin looked apologetic but Kevin spoke first.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised.
“We don’t have anything for you,” Martin chipped in. Kevin rubbed the sheep on its head in consolation.
Whilst this was happening, Martin turned to address Eoin, the birth-next-day boy, “But we do have something rather special for you,” he said, rubbing the young man’s head the same way his brother was rubbing Reithe’s.
The ram loved his scritches but Eoin did not. He politely moved the older man’s hand aside. If there was not a present on the line he may have acted more aggressively in response to the patronising gesture but as there was, he could put up with it.
Martin reached into a burlap sack and retrieved an amphora as large as a human torso. Kevin, fetched an empty glass bottle, two pints in size. Martin lifted the top of the amphora to reveal a dark red fluid with what looked like dried flowers and rolled up bark floating in it.
It took a moment for Eoin to recognise the rare liquid for what it was.
“Is that… mulled wine?” Eoin asked, amazed. The spices used for the drink came from hundreds of miles away so the winter beverage was rather deer.
“Sure is,” Martin affirmed with a wink. As he spoke, Kevin filled the bottle to the brim then corked it. The action made a satisfying popping sound.
“This is probably the most you’ll be able to take with you,” one of the twins said, wiping down the still warm glass vessel and passing it to the slack mouthed boy.
“What on earth are we gonna do with the rest,” the other twin said, with a mischievous smile.
Eoin looked to his mother for permission. Growing up, he had only been allowed to drink a small cup of something at mid winter, or for a celebration. Now he was a man, his mother couldn’t stop him. In answer to his questioning look, Eoin’s Ma filled a mug with the warm spiced-wine before anyone else could. Turning around to see her son gaping she shrugged as if to say, you snooze, you lose.
After a refreshing sip of spicy delight, Cellesta - Ma’s friend, Martian’s wife, a leather worker, and the last of the guests - approached Eoin and pressed her gift into his hands without saying anything.
The item, which Eoin silently accepted from the timid woman who did not meet anyone’s eye, was perhaps his favorite present thus far - save his sword, of course. Thinking of the sword, Eoin had expected his mother to be opposed to his father’s gift but that wasn’t the case at all. When Eoin had asked what she thought of the weapon she had said it was an unfortunate necessity in a dangerous world.
Eoin shook his head to curb the wandering thoughts and returned his attention to the item in his hands. Cellesta had made a satchel for him. Naturally, it was made from sheep's leather, with the interior lined with sheepskin.
The exterior was what caught his eye however. It was covered with amazing designs that were engraved into the leather. Patterned knotwork was liberally used, the signature of the highland style. In the braided design, Eoin could make out a recurring theme - a ram. The dark stained engraving which covered the satchel and its strap was so clever and intricate that every time he looked at it, he could see something new.
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“How did you think of this?” Eoin asked, pointing to one pattern that, if looked at from left to right, looked like a ram’s head but if looked at from right to left looked like a curly haired boy walking with a stick.
“Or this?” Eoin asked, wondering at another part. “This bit is incredible, I don’t understand how you managed to get it to loop around so well. Wait, is the back just the front but reversed and upside down? It looks so different.”
Cellesta did try to answer a few times but her quiet voice wasn’t able to break through Eoin’s constant stream of questions. In the end, she settled on smiling and nodding, grateful her work was being so thoroughly appreciated.
When Eoin finished badgering the woman with questions that were less questions and more exclamations at yet another thing he had discovered in the bag’s beautiful design, his mother approached - already slightly tipsy - and handed her son the present she had made for him.
Somehow, over the past few weeks, she had managed to create a hat for Eoin without his knowing. It was a dark green flat cap made from felt and lined with silk - a scarce and expensive material imported into Caorah.
Although the present his Ma gave him looked like nothing too special, especially when compared to Cellesta’s gift, his opinion was instantly changed when he put it on. It felt as if his head had poked through the clouds and was resting on the Pillar of Heaven. He closed his eyes, briefly in bliss.
His mother, knowing her son would no doubt attack her with questions as soon as the immediately paralysing comfort wore off, used that moment to dish out the dinner. As soon as he opened his mouth to ask how she had made it fit so perfectly over his curly hair, she filled the opening with roasted chicken, roast potatoes, and mulled wine.
Despite how he had felt when returning home, it ended up being a brilliant night. After the meal, games were played. Made all the more fun by the buzz the twin’s wine had provided.
Michael shouted out his own prompt in charades when he was getting frustrated but no one was able to determine what he was saying with his thick accent. Reithe somehow ‘Baa’ed in such a way that everyone could tell he was impersonating the salt merchant that often weaselled his way into Shearford. Fun was had all round.
Before the night drew to a close, each guest took a moment to discreetly press strings of Iron Tannag into Eoin’s palm when they thought no one was looking. These were the lowest form of currency used in the highland kingdoms and by extension Caorah but Eoin had never seen as many of the iron rings as he did that night. Most of the trade in Shearford was nothing more than an exchange of goods or services so seeing money at all was rare.
At some point, everyone fell asleep. Because it was already late in the night and dark due to winter, all the guests expected to sleep over. It was cramped in the main room of Eoin’s family home with all those people strewn about haphazardly, covering the sheepskin rugs but it was nice.
With a warm feeling in his heart, Eoin drifted off, Reithe laid by his side. Given how content he had felt as he was falling asleep Eoin expected his dreams to be pleasant but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
That night, he had an incredibly vivid dream that was so lucid, he felt it must be real. First, there was darkness. The faint beating of a heart pulsed all around and Eoin could feel liquid moving. A woman was screaming in pain, the sound reverberated through him. He was forced out of this wet cocoon head first. There was a flash of light. Searing pain then, nothing. Only the endless void. A void that seemed familiar…
✯
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
“Errrr.”
Stomp, stomp, stomp.
“Grrrr, stop that,” Eoin moaned, still half asleep.
Thud, Thud. The sound of hoof-on-wood grew louder and closer.
“Quiet,” Eoin groaned, clutching his head and rolling around on the floor, his eyes still closed.
Thwack!
“Owww,” Eoin howled, stumbling to his feet with the rear assist that had been so generously given by Reithe. Eoin immediately regretted his outburst, he clutched his head and bemoaned the pain that overcame it.
Reithe, spry and full of energy, expected his regular chiding for his normal method of morning alarm, but seeing that the young boy, no, man, was not in the mood, he nuzzled him in apology.
Eoin wasn’t grateful for his friend's attempt to improve his mood. The combination of his dizziness, tiredness, and the feeling of rough wool on his hand made him feel sick.
Before anything could come of the feeling, a warm mug was placed in his hands. With his eyes half lidded, Eoin didn’t see who had put it there, but he recognised his father’s voice when he said “drink”.
Eoin drank. A bolt of lightning coarse through him. Starting with an impossibly sour and bitter taste on his tongue, the sensation shot up to his head, bouncing around his brain until it was clear. Then it coursed down his body and awakened every single cell one by one.
“That was fucking discusting!” Eoin exclaimed, his eyes now wide open and staring accusingly at his father, who wore a slight smile.
“Language,” a muffled voice said.
Eoin replied, “sorry Ma,” reflexively, before looking across the main room, barely illuminated by the rising sun, to see his mother was still asleep in the pile of bodies and had chided him in her sleep. The only ones awake were Eoin, Reithe, and Sean.
“It is pretty horrible isn’t it,” his father said in a quiet voice, conscious of the still sleeping guests.
“If you know that, then why did you give it to me?” Eoin asked in a hissing whisper as he spat out everything he hadn’t swallowed then scraped away at his tongue with his fingernails, desperately trying to get rid of the after taste.
“Ain’t no better way to get rid of a hangover,” Sean replied without remorse. Eoin thought about it a moment, then realised he was right. Although he had never felt the after effects of an overindulgence in alcohol before, he knew that was what he had been experiencing. “Had,” being the operative word.
Just seconds ago Eoin had felt on the edge of death but now he was fine, better than fine, he felt great. Ready to go out and explore the world.
“What was in that?” Eoin asked, eager to learn the cure for an affliction he suspected he might contract a few more times before his year away was over.
“Yellow Cowanus,” Eoin’s Pa replied, and the look of anticipation dropped from Eoin’s face. That plant had gained its name for a reason. Getting within ten paces filled once nostrils with the worst possible smell and the scent only got worse as one got closer.
His Pa then proceeded to press a clay jar into his hand that had been stoppered and sealed several times with tar, stopping the vile smell from leaking out. He explained that this was his gift and what he had spent yesterday searching up the mountain for.
Eoin thanked him then questioned, “Why are you up Pa?”
“I wanted to get you up before the others,” he explained, “Ye Ma don’t like goodbyes. She says if you stick around to say farewell she may hold on ta ya and never let go… so go on, get,” his father concluded with a shooing motion.
Eoin was taken aback for a moment. He looked over at his mother, touched by her love until he saw her fart in the face of the burly blacksmith whilst still asleep. Turning toward the door, Eoin spotted his new satchel, filled to the brim.
Taking a peek inside, Eoin saw that, while he was asleep, his Pa had packed everything he could possibly need.
Walking over to his father, he surprised him with a hug. The older man was taken off guard, but, after a moment, he reciprocated. After the quiet embrace, Eoin picked up his bag, attached his scabbard sword to his belt, did up his coat, and pulled his new hat down onto his head.
Reithe “Baa”ed goodbye. Eoin picked up his spare scarf, a threadbear red affair that had seen its best days long ago, and wrapped it around his neck. He opened the door, ready to step out into the unknown.
Whilst he looked back at all he had ever known, the house he had grown up in, and the few people he could call family - his flat cap pulled down to cover watering eyes - the newly made man started off. He didn’t look in front of him. He didn’t see the dozy sheep who was yet again munching in the doorway. Its white wool blended perfectly with the snow.
“Oof!” Eoin exhaled as he tripped over the ewe and landed once more on his face, ear-deep in the snow.
A Tri-Tunnag
image [https://i.postimg.cc/13GmVSrd/Tri-Tunnag.jpg]