The Sorrow of McLaigheann
A Legend of Armengar

Note from Cosaint:
It is to the detriment of our people that much knowledge of the past has been lost. Before the coming of the Farseekers, the arts of reading and writing were lost to us, and old records were left to molder and decay. Though the Lawkeepers endeavoured to keep as much as they could intact, it was too much of a burden for one per generation. Stories, songs and lessons of the past have been lost to our people, and it is now our task to attempt to piece them back together in whatever way we can. Scraps remain - fragments of paper left forgotten on shelves and half remembered tales heard while still in an infant's crib.

I cannot avow that this tale is now as it originally was. Perhaps it's original form is lost to us forever and we will never know. Or maybe this is a faithful rendition. Whatever the case, I will endeavour to tell as well I can the tale of the Sorrow of McLaigheann.

Centuries ago, nearer to the start of the wars with the Caleb than the end, there lived a warrior named McLaigheann. Perhaps he was not the greatest warrior, though the old tales would have us believe that every hero they deign to mention wielded unparralleled might. Yet McLaigheann had achieved something which few Armengarians of the time could hope to achieve, for he was happy. Though his people were called upon to fight for their survival almost constantly, and though there was no time for the enjoyment of the finer things in life McLaigheann was content. He had a young wife named Aoife who loved him, and she was well on her way to bearing him a son. To the young McLaigheann, life was far from perfect but to be enjoyed none-the-less. Laoch Áthasach his friends used to call him; the joyful warrior.

As the days passed, and his wife's belly swelled McLaigheann began to grow anxious, for his wife like all women of Armengar used to regularly take to the field to defend her people, and while she was a canny warrior he considered her vulnerable in her pregnancy. Yet knowledge of her fierce pride kept him from requesting that she absent herself from the battle-field, for he could not bear to think of the hurt which would show in her eyes were he to think that she could not defend herself. And so it came as a great relief to him on the day when Aoife came to him and said "I shall take the field no longer until this child is born husband, for I will not risk the treasure that now rests in my womb".

And so it was that McLaigheann could once again go to battle the invaders with peace in his heart, for he knew that his efforts would not be for naught. While he fought on the walls of the citadel, his wife and unborn child rested in safety. Never did it occurr to him that there were dangers which owed nothing to swords and the treachery of enemies.

Late one night as the two lay abed, McLaigheann was awoken from his sleep by a quiet cry from his wife. Looking over expectantly, he received from her a single nod. His heart leapt for joy then, for he knew that his child was on the way. Arising from his bed, he quickly dressed and made his way to the dwellings surrounding the Wishing Tree and there found him a midwife to attend to his child. Returning to his dwelling he squeezed his wifes hand once and then retired outside to do what all men have done since the beginning of time. He waited.

An hour past, and McLaigheann began to grow impatient for he had no experience of the birthing of babies, and did not know how long it would take. When the midwife appeared at the doorway, he leapt to his feet expected news, but was to be disappointed.

"Patience child," the midwife said, though not much older than himself. "Your child will be with us soon, for it is eager to taste life. Like all things though, he will come in his own time. Try to get some rest young warrior."

But McLaigheann could not rest. Not 20 foot from where he now sat, his wife laboured to bring his son into the world, and the excitement would allow him no peace. As time past, the excitement grew sour in his belly and a nameless dread grew upon him. When a scream sounded from the chamber where his wife lay, he was halfway in the door with his sword drawn before even thinking.

The midwife moved to push him out the door

"You must leave warrior - your wife is strong and will overcome this difficulty, but this is a battle which she will fight better without you."

Though the midwife moved fast, she could not prevent him from seeing the sweat which drenched his wife's face nor the blood which spotted her sheets. Despair settled in his stomach as he forced himself to wait once more, and he offered prayers to the ancestors that his wife might live. Fatigue now rested heavily upon his eyes, but he would allow himself no sleep. Though he could not aid his wife in this struggle, he would not rest while she fought.

For all his determination to stay awake, he must have dozed, for he awoke to find the midwife standing over him with the blood drained from her face.

"Warrior, you must run to the Wishing Tree now and fetch the High Healer. Run, if you would have your wife live."

Fear lent McLaigheann strength then as he charged through the streets of Armengar in search of the High Healer. Through vision blurred with tears he sought out the High Healer's home, and brought him back to tend his wife.

Silence greeted them as they approached the house of McLaigheann.

No cry of a newborn split the night, nor did the laboured breathing of a woman delivering child. The midwife offered no greeting as they crossed the threshold, for there were no words that could be said. Lying amidst the bloody sheets lay the pale unbreathing form of Aoife and the small blue lifeless form of their dead child.

It is said that the sound which was torn from McLaigheann's lips then was so filled with sorrow that children across the entire citadel awoke and shed tears, and the midwife could never bring herself to birth another child again. Collapsing in tears, McLaigheann fell upon his dead wife and begged her to return, but there was no life could be rubbed back into her limbs nor breath that could be drawn from her lips.

The funeral of Aoife was a solemn affair, attended by many despite the threat advancing on the city, for McLaigheann and his wife had been loved by many. And while many expected McLaigheann to grieve with the same passion he had shown in loving his wife, they were to be surprised for he stood resolute and not one tear marked his face when the torch was thrust into Aoife's funeral pyre. Nor did McLaigheann react to the expressions of sorrow from his friends as they expected, but instead seemed to accept what had happened as the will of the fates.

Only the midwife and the High Healer knew what pain McLaigheann had felt upon discovering his wife's death.

The next day the Caleb assault beat once more upon the defenses of Armengar. Many lives were lost as they Caleb through their weight against the defences of the plateau and slowly pushed the Armengarians back. Dark clouds filled the sky, and an ill mood fell upon the defenders as their enemies pushed through their breastworks faster than ever before. A dreadful fear was upon many who had families, for the kraals were not yet evacuated and it did not seem that the Caleb would be slowed enough to allow those in the outer communities to withdraw.

Many a running battle was fought with the invaders and heavy were the casualties on both sides, yet it was the Armengarians who were most sorely pressed. Homes were abandoned and children cried for lost parents as the Armengarians fled before the advancing horde. Across the plateau they fled and over the bridges spanning the trenches of the ancients. But just when it seemed that disaster was visited upon them, a lone figure stepped out onto one of the bridges, and blocked the progress of the Caleb army.

"Send forth your finest warrior" the figure cried "and let him face me for this bridge. Should you not, I will slay every man who steps foot here though it means my own death. For I fear not now for this life which holds no joy for me". And with that McLaigheann sat down to wait.

At first the Calebii laughed at this lone Armengarian, who was doubtless mad and they pushed forward en masse to swarm the bridge. But where they expected to dispatch him with ease, they were quickly set to retreat, for he fought more like an animal than a man. His eyes were wide with rage, and his sword swung in wide arcs visiting death upon any who dared to face him, and the Caleb knew that for them to beat him they must die themselves, and so they fell back.

"Come find release upon my blade" cried McLaigheann "or send in your finest warrior. Here I will stand!"

Again the Calebii came at him, holding their shields before them and hoping to hem him in. But again McLaigheann's mad fury proved their undoing, as he tore shields from their grasp and butchered them to a man.

"How many must I kill?" screamed McLaigheann. "How many hearts must I tear still beating from their chests, 'ere my own stops? Why will you not send forward your best warrior? Why will he not face me?"

And then the Calebii parted and one walked forth amongst them. Tall and strong he was, and his armour gleamed bright in the sun. Striding forth to the bridge, he saluted McLaigheann and then spoke. "What foolishness is this warrior? Why do you wish to face me? What will you gain for your people?"

"What care I what I gain?" replied for McLaigheann. "This world is as dust and the citadel is a cold husk in which no life beats. Yet here I will stand until my release comes. Let those who flee behind me know another day's life, for I wish not for mine."

The Caleb warrior looked long into the eyes of McLaigheann then, and saw only madness and grief staring back at him. In that moment he knew that while the man who faced him could not best him with a sword, both would die were a fight to be joined. Knowing fear then, the Caleb laughed to mask his terror.

"Live then Armengarian! Take yourself back to the citadel and I will grant your people one more day. No army of Caleb shall cross this bridge before the rise of dawn tomorrow. This I swear."

The Calebii laughed then, for they thought this a cruel jest, but the laughter of their greatest warrior was hollow; for he knew not whether he did McLaigheann a kindness or a great harm.

That night the people of Armengar celebrated, for many whom they had counted dead yet lived, and many a tankard was lifted to McLaigheann who had delivered so many from peril. Yet while his friends thought that perhaps he might join in their drinking and joy, not one drop past his lips, nor did one smile shape his mouth. He showed no recognition of their gratitude, nor the adulation of the younger warriors, but his eyes strayed ever towards the walls where tomorrow the enemy would swarm. Those that knew him found that they did not, for the Joyful Warrior was gone and in his place was Laoch Úafásach - the Terrible Warrior.

All through the month that followed, McLaigheann led the defence on the walls and men flocked to fight by his side. Always the Caleb fell before his sword in waves, and ever he shouted his challenges to the host. Each day he called for an enemy to end his life, and each evening he returned untouched from the battlefield. Throughout Armengar, men and women alike drank to Laoch Úafásach, who had saved their lives that day and cheered his name when he joined and quit the battlefield. But if McLaigheann heard them, he gave no sign and he sought no company but his own.

One night he stalked the walls of the city alone, looking down at the Calebii below, when suddenly he was overcome with a sorrowful rage and tears poured down his cheeks.

"Aoife," he whispered "I would give all the adulation of my peers to see you again, for their congratulations are as nothing. The stars shine not in your absence, and even the seas know that you are gone and cry for your passing. There is nothing left in this heavy heart of mine, for I left it all in trust to you and now you are gone. Let the bards sing their praises and I will hear them not, for there is no joyful ending to be found here. I cannot continue without you."

Thinking himself to be alone, McLaigheann was startled to hear a reply.

"Bother not the dead with your weakness, child. They have their own sorrows, and can find no release if you insist on calling them back."

Spinning in anger, McLaigheann saw a man older than any he knew sitting with his back to the ramparts and a blanket covering his legs.

"What do you know of my pain old man? And who are you to call me weak? Do I not continue when all is lost to me? Do I not keep my people alive through my efforts? Those below would think me a hero!"

"Aye, they would," replied the old man "and they would be wrong. For there has never been one on this island as cowardly as you!"

Enraged McLaigheann swooped down on the old man and lifted him by his tunic, meaning to crush the life from him for such grievious insult. Yet when the blanket fell away, he saw that the mans legs were withered and dead, and he paused in shame.

"What now hero?" questioned the old man. "Will you bravely cast me from the walls? Will you run me through with your sword for daring to attack you with my tongue? Or perhaps the Terrible Warrior will crush me with with his bare hands?"

Dropping the old man, McLaigheann turned his back and grasped his head in his hands.

"Why do you do this old man?" he yelled. "Why can you not leave me in peace?"

Tenderness coloured the old man's reply as he next spoke. "Because I want you to live, McLaigheann."

So shocked was McLaigheann that it was several minutes before he could speak again. "There is no life for me anymore, old man. All that lived in me died with my wife. Is it not enough that I allow others to live?"

The old man snorted in laughter. "Don't lie to me child. Your spark did not die with your wife. It lives still. And yet you attempt to kill it every day. Worse! For you would kill all those within these walls. No!" he cut off McLaigheann's attempt to reply "do not speak now, for you now not what we discuss. Yet when you do, come and talk to me. Many in the city will be able to tell you where to find Suain!"

With that, the old man gathered up the crutches that lay by his side and slowly hobbled away, leaving McLaigheann dumbstruck.

If McLaigheann was distressed at first by the old man's words, the next few days of bloodshed drove them from his mind. At first he wondered what Suain could have meant, but soon his mind was fully occupied with the rigours of battle. Again he paced the walls hurling challenges at the enemy, and led sallies out to crush his foes.

One day as McLaigheann fought however, he found himself in a lull in the the battle. Around him the carnage raged, and men's voices were raised in sounds of bestial fury. Before him on the ground lay a young Caleb soldier bleeding profusely from a gut wound, crimson life spilling out on the soil around him. It was as though time slowed for McLaigheann then, and though he knew that it was a vanquished enemy in front of him, he could only see his beloved Aoife lying in a similar pool of red as her life fled from her.

At that moment, the Calebii broke and ran, and McLaigheann turned to look into the faces of his country men. Faces twisted in predatory snarls and spattered in blood glared after the retreating enemy, and in that time McLaigheann was given to wonder if this was how he appeared to his foes. Then the moment passed, and McLaigheann found himself once more amidst a crowd of countrymen chanting his name.

That night, McLaigheann sought out Suain, and found him sitting outside an old abandoned building.

"Are you a wizard?" McLaigheann asked. "Have you put some enchantment on me that saps me of my strength? Are you sent by the enemy to rob us of our defence?"

Suain smiled. "I am no worker of wonders, Laoch. And I have done nothing to you, but I believe you are only now finding your strength."

"Riddles!" spat McLaigheann. "I have no patience for your games old man. Tell me what it is you want."

"I?" questioned Suain. "Did I seek you out today? No warrior, you know what I want. Now what is it you wish for?"

None may know what it is that McLaigheann wished to say at that point, but it is told that his tongue was struck dumb and he could form no words. Tears streamed unbidden from his eyes and his knees grew weak. Falling to the ground sobbing, he finally managed to gasp out a response.

"I want nothing from you old man. I want nothing from you or anyone. I only wish for the grave that I might know peace at last."

"Had you wished for that, you could have had it a long time ago" was his answer, yet by the time he looked up, Suain was gone.

The next day, McLaigheann took himself to the battlefield once more yet he hurled no curses at the enemy. Still the men chanted his name, for few noticed the difference in him, but when he left the battlefiled he felt not numb as usual but deeply ill. Seeking out Suain again, he found him sitting at the well in the centre of town.

"Have you worked out what it is you want yet?" asked the cripple.

"Why do you do this?" countered McLaigheann. "Why do you plague me with these doubts? Why can you not leave me be?"

"I plague you with nothing," came his reply. "Now tell me of these doubts."

McLaigheann looked at the old man, and could find no mockery in his eyes nor cruelty in his words. Yet it burdened him greatly to speak of such things.

"Today, I saw a young girl barely from the training camp cut down a Caleb and smear his blood on her face. Then she turned to me and raised a victory cry, yet I could feel only revulsion. A terrible sadness welled within me then and I wondered how I would have felt if that were my child." Casting aside his sword in a sudden burst of rage, McLaigheann spun to face Suain. "BUT MY CHILD IS GONE! What does it matter how he might have turned out? I am no father to Armengar to look over all the children. Let them choose their own course as I have chosen mine."

Silence decended on the small square, to be broken at length by Suain.

"Yes, as you have chosen. But be aware that a choice need not be final."

"More riddles old man? What use are these constant questions? Will they bring back my Aoife?"

But again Suain rose and hobbled slowly away, saying only this:

"Aoife has been denied to you, that much is true. Tell me McLaigheann, would she thank you for murdering her husband?"

And McLaigheann could think of nothing to say.

The next day, McLaigheann was greeted once more with cheers as he took to the battlefield, but they burnt his ears as surely as smouldering embers. As the battle wore on that day, McLaigheann greeted his enemies not with oaths and challenges, but with tears that flowed unchecked down his face mingling with the sweat from his brow. Throughout the day he fought and would not take rest from the carnage, though his arm felt as lead and his stomach threatened to betray him. He could summon no rage to fill his eyes with a red haze nor his ears with a dull roar, but could see and hear all that happened around him. He saw hate on the faces of enemies and allies alike. He heard the screams of the wounded and the yells of the triumphant. And through it all he could feel the cold beat of his heart as he watched his people decend into barbarism and heard them cry his name.

Finally, able to stand no more he turned and marched from the battlefield and entered the citadel to find Suain. On the steps of the Temple of Heramacles he found him, sitting waiting with a sad look on his face.

McLaigheann could find no words to say to the old man, but fell to his knees and put his head in Suain's lap and wept. No man knows how long they stayed there, but Suain held him throughout as a parent might hold a child, and when McLaigheann had finally spent all his tears Suain spoke.

"Have you learnt what it is that you wish for yet McLaigheann?"

"I have." spoke the warrior. "I wish that I'd shown the courage to live without my wife. I wish I had not killed the man she loved every day since she died. I wish I had grieved for her when the time was right to do so, and not allowed her memory to burn in the fires of my rage."

Long moments past, until finally McLaigheann spoke again.

"I wish to change the choice I made. And though I cannot be the man I once was, I wish to be a man again and not a beast."

Though he was not looking at Suain, he could tell the old men was smiling when he spoke.

"You will be a man again McLaigheann. I only wish that I could be there to watch you."

And with that Suain fell backwards dead upon the steps.

Hours later, McLaigheann was found weeping over the body of an old cripple on the steps of the temple, though no-one could say why it was that he should grieve so for one old man whose time had come. In the days that followed though, a great change was noticed in McLaigheann. No longer would he march out onto the battlefield amidst the roars of his comrades, but instead would quietly take his place with a small unit. Never more was his voice heard carrying over the battlefield, for Laoch Úafásach was gone. Nor was he seen to smile as he had before his wife had died. His friends claimed not to know him, for he was a changed man. The warriors who had flocked to his side lost interest, for no longer did he fill them with the fire of battle. To all it seemed as though he wished not for human company, for he spent his nights on the walls when all others were in the taverns.

Yet many years later when he died, all were surprised at how many turned up at his funeral. And as they gathered, they heard many similar tales - of how McLaigheann had balmed their wounds when all seemed lost; of how he had given courage to those who had lost their own. And all were given then to wonder just who it was McLaigheann had become, for none could truly claim to know Laoch Uaigneach: the Lonely Warrior.

 

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(OC Author - Fergal O'Brien)