Awaken The Lord Of The Dance
Chapter Three
Gypsy's Return
The caravan that rolled through the forests of Cran contained four wagons, two of them loaded to the brim with pots, pans and tools, dried foods and nuts as well as bolts of fabric and brass jewelry. The other two contained the children of the gypsies, a noisy boisterous lot unable to contain giggles and laughter within its confines. One of the wagons bore a red strip on its top, its ends dangling and dancing in the wind. Behind them men and women on horseback trailed close, their riders dark and ebony skinned, tanned by the sun. They had wide doe eyes and wide red lips. Their noses were well defined and prominent, their eyebrows thick and dark, and their lashes were like curtains, covering dark hooded eyes.
One of the wagons bearing the children was chaperoned by an old gypsy woman, and as she caught a few catnaps, the children arose from their obedient stances and hopped around, shrieking as they did so. How they wished they were inside the wagon that trailed behind them. They could hear Morrighan's voice lulling the children to sleep with a story about dragons and wizards, fairies and funny looking elves. They crowded at the end of the wagon, sending it precariously tilting towards the back and the driver yelled a word behind him as he struggled to keep the wagon balanced. The horses pulling the wagon now had to struggle to pull their unbalanced weight forward.
"Bah!" yelled the driver as he turned his head to look behind him, seeing a row of children's backs crowding at the little opening. "Matilda!" he yelled and the old woman sputtered awake. "Get those children back into the wagon lest they fall off and break their necks!"
At this the woman begun pulling the children towards the front of the wagon, evenly distributing them inside the cart. "Now be good children and stay still." She said sternly.
"I wish you told stories like Morrighan," whined a young girl, her cheeks stained with the juice of berries. "I want to be in her wagon."
"Aw, shut up, child," the woman retorted. "Morrighan tells nothing but stories that corrupt yer lil minds."
Suddenly the driver informed them that the town was straight ahead, and the children scrambled towards the front of the wagon this time, frightening the poor man. "Ach! Children!" he yelled and spat against the side of the road as eager faces peered from all around him, their faces showing smiles of missing or stained teeth.
The village of Ailleel lay ahead of them and from where they were, they could see a vague outline of all the streamers and ribbons decorating the homes and establishments. The rest of the travelers begun talking excitedly among themselves as they steadied their horses beneath them.
Inside the last wagon, Morrighan allowed the children to crowd both openings of the wagon so they could see the village. Before her, a young girl sat with her back to Morrighan as the gypsy braided the child's hair, her fingers working delicately with the braids. Right behind the wagon, she could see Midnight, her black stallion, following closely, the horse calmly walking alongside the other horses that were now drenched with froth and exhausted from the travelling. They had traveled three straight days without rest to make it just in time for the Beltane festival in Ailleel.
"Do you think the villagers will be nicer to us this time, Morrighan?" asked the girl before her. Morrighan smiled faintly, recalling the reactions of the people when they passed through the last village, prompting them to head directly for Ailleel, where they knew they would be welcomed.
"Yes, Charina," Morrighan replied as she fastened the child's braids with some brightly colored ribbons. "The people of Ailleel are a nice lot, you'll see."
"Will you dance for us again, Morrighan?" Asked a young boy, who was now almost hanging out of the wagon if not for Morrighan's hand grasping the waistband of his trousers.
Morrighan laughed and pulled him back into the wagon. "Maybe, Lauran," she replied. "Maybe I will dance. Maybe I will not dance." She peered outside and noticed that they were indeed entering the village of Ailleel and already the caravan had attracted a sizeable crowd.
Michael saw the caravan as it entered the main road of Ailleel and behind it, other gypsies on their horses followed closely. After them were the children of Ailleel, bounding after the caravan with their excited peals of laughter ringing out. Even the gypsy children with their heads sticking out of the wagons waved at the villagers, and Michael could sense that they were happy to be still and in one place for a change. He wondered how long they had been travelling this time, noting the exhausted condition of the horses and the mules.
He watched the caravan finally halt to a stop at a clearing right next to the town square where most of the celebration would be held, the maypole having been erected during the day, its tip adorned with red and white ribbons that trailed to the ground. To the right of the maypole, men were building a makeshift stage just a foot or two off the ground, and it faced the bonfire, which the druid Mil would set alight with tein-eigin. Michael could see the gypsies disembarking from their horses and wagons, walking about to stretch their legs while the women begun preparing the evening meal, setting up the fire pit and hauling out the pots and pans from the first wagon.
Suddenly from the corner of his eyes, he saw a group of men on horseback heading towards the town and Michael immediately recognized the men as his own. Leading the group were his younger brother, Damien, and his uncle, Seamus, their faces drawn and wreaked with worry at their master's sudden disappearance. They had stopped by the local inn to ask a passerby when Damien spotted Michael standing by the ailim tree, his face lighting up instantly.
"I see him!" He yelled excitedly and spurring his horse, hurried towards Michael, followed by the rest of the men. When he reached the tree where Michael stood, Damien jumped off his horse and embraced his brother, relieved to find him safe. "You gave us all quite a scare, Michael."
Seamus was next to arrive and as he dismounted and walked towards Michael, his massive arm patted Michael's shoulder lightly before pulling him forward and enclosing him in a bear hug. "Ach! I am so glad you are safe, my lord. Magic does not bide well with me, as you know." He said, referring to the evening Michael had disappeared, causing great alarm in the house of Cahiri.
"I gather you must have just arrived here yourself, Michael," observed Damien. "The Little Spirit told us so, before we all would have been swept up in a panic never seen in the Stone Keep."
Together with Damien and Seamus, twenty other men traveled to Ailleel in search of their master and some of the men had now led the weary horses to their stables which was attached to the inn where they had first stopped to ask for directions. Michael saw his own steed, King, trailing behind Damien's own horse, being led to the stables as well.
"It has been an adventure, I can tell you all that," said Michael as they finally settled comfortably. "I still don't know why the Little Spirit whisked me to this little town, but it seems that the villagers are readying themselves for the Beltane festival."
"Do you think you are here to be the King of May?" Asked Damien and everyone burst out laughing.
Seamus guffawed. "King of May, indeed! Lord Michael has never been crowned such, although I must admit, he is a great horseman, as the King is supposed to ride into the festival, and a great dancer, if he is indeed supposed to dance in it."
One of the young men, Tomas, cocked an eyebrow towards the gypsy camp. "It could be because the Little Spirit anticipates something happening. Something very important, as the gypsy camp is here as well. If it is the same camp as the infamous Morrighan's, then something must be happening soon."
"Ah, young Tomas," smiled Michael. He did not know who Morrighan was, although he had heard of her. "you are so steeped into gossip and idle chatter. But you could be right. The Little Spirit has been asleep all this time, and for her to awaken after all these years, and drag someone like me…something must indeed be happening." Michael said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
Seamus elected to remain by Michael's side as he inspected the man's face carefully. "I hope that little sprite did not infect you with any of her magic, lord Michael. It cannot be for a good reason why she has brought you here. Magic cannot meddle with reality, not the way she has done so."
Michael led the older man towards the inn, bringing a reassuring hand to the man's shoulder. "I assure you, Seamus," he begun. "The Little Spirit seems to have only good intentions. Although at this moment, I know them not."
As the older gypsy women got the fire going to warm the kettle of water sitting atop the pit, Michael and Seamus entered the inn, a cacophony of voices and laughter and revelry welcoming them at their first step.
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