Free The Greener Shore by Morgan Llywelyn

Magic.
    Cohern cannily refused to let us leave for the valley until his recovery was complete. I thought of asking Briga to help speed the process, but discarded the idea. I was never certain of the exact dimensions of Briga’s gift. If there was a serious illness in our family she always sent for Sulis. Was that to show respect for the older woman? Or was she afraid to treat her own children because she might fail? In our time together I had seen Briga do a number of things that could not be explained, yet none of them, aside from healing Cormiac’s eyes, inspired awe. Until her rescue of Labraid.
    Whether she belonged to the Order of the Wise or not, my senior wife was druid.
    Fortunately Cohern’s recovery was rapid. He sent us on our way with four cows, a bull calf that bawled continually, and a small flock of sheep. He presented Sulis with some domestic fowl as a gift of gratitude.
    Labraid and Cormiac Ru he kept for himself.
    Guided by an old man whose vocabulary was limited to grunting and pointing, we reached the valley long before high sun. Cohern’s clanland was not very large; we would be living closer to him than I liked. I feared he would be peering over my shoulder and finding fault with our foreign ways. There was one compensation, however. Among his clanspeople were several young girls. Glas and my son Dara would soon be of an age to take wives.
    Cormiac Ru was old enough already, but I had long since accepted his fantasy. The Red Wolf was destined for Maia.
    His mission fulfilled, the old man left us without even a grunt of farewell. We stood together in a tight little knot of hopes and fears and looked around. What we saw was better than I could have hoped. The valley lay in the lap of low mountains that shielded it from the prevailing wind. A herd of red deer were napping in the tall grass. As we approached, they leaped to their feet and bounded away up the forested slopes. Their sheer grace made my heart sing.
    “Meat,” said Grannus.
    “And good water!” Briga drew my attention to a river that emerged from a gorge at the head of the valley. A dancing little river that tumbled over its rocky bed and sparkled in the sunshine.
    Here was all that was necessary for life.
    A nearby stand of mountain ash and whitethorn provided enough dead wood for a ceremonial fire. Briga had a deft hand with flintstones; she could coax a living spark from the dampest timber. Standing around the blaze in solemn assembly, we chanted our thanks to the Source.
    Then we got to work.
    There is no energy like that of a woman setting up a new household. While we men watched bemused, our womenfolk brisked about, choosing sites for lodges. In the Gaul of my youth a man and his senior wife had occupied one lodge, with separate accommodations built for other wives as they came along. While hiding in the forest we had enjoyed no such luxury. Of necessity, we had thrown up communal shelters as quickly as we could because we had to move so often. In Hibernia we continued out of habit.
    My three wives conferred at length, with many excited gestures, before deciding on a site for the lodge we would share. The doorway must face the rising sun. The ground should be high enough to avoid flooding. There had to be room inside for a central hearth with a cauldron and spit, a loom, a stone kneading trough and other necessary domestic furniture, and an adequate number of beds. When a man and woman lie together—or sit or stand or roll around in each other’s arms—those who share their lodge neither see nor hear them. That applies to everyone from the toothless grandmother to the toothless infant. We had no toothless infants among us but there were plenty of children. My lodge had to be big.
    I decreed that Grannus and Sulis share a lodge with her brother, the Goban Saor, and Keryth the seer. Dian Cet would live with Teyrnon and Damona, who were quiet in their ways. To avoid overcrowding in my own lodge—and give the boys the benefit of