It was just as Conn was finishing his long-winded speech praising Helga, her supposed bond with Cormac that people first began to notice the lad’s disappearance. At first most simply shrugged, and either muttered about how the druid had it wrong once again, due to their view that the lad already spent far too much time with Daegan for their bond to be an innocent one. Others took the view that the lad had simply taken to momentary shyness, not that a great many were too troubled by what he was up to at that moment. They were distracted as it was, by other complaints and issues; namely the disappearance of Wiglaf, accompanied by the over-long length of the druid’s pompous speech.

  “Finish for the love, of the harvest-god and his paragon!” Salmon growled from somewhere to the back of the crowd of people gathered, about the courtyard of the temple.

  “Aye, I want to eat more,” Another man added.

  “And I wish to dance more,” Supported none other than Ida with a fond glance to her husband Freygil, who flushed red with pleasure at her enthusiasm.

  “Hmph,” Harrumphed the old druid irritably, though not terribly fond of the union he had just attempted to propose if only for the festival, he was noteworthy for his pompous and despised interruptions. With a quick cough he sought out some more dignity, in some distant place within himself standing taller and more rigidly than before (if such a thing was possible), as he repeated in his most sonorous voice. “As the representative of Muireall, the sweet paragon’s husband will Cormac MacMurchadh please step hither, and consent to lay his hand over that of my daughter, Helga nic Conn?”

  A long silence followed.

  People glanced at one another in confusion slowly a great deal of murmuring went up and down throughout the crowd. Such was the bewilderments when not only did the proposed youth not materialise, but he was discovered to no longer be by Daegan’s side. Jealousy overcame her, along with anger at the blow to her pride which had its roots in her view that none were closest to Cormac than her. The glower she sent the other lass who appeared as lost as all those about her were.

  The only satisfaction that she drew from that moment lay in the tears that sprang to Helga’s eyes. A sentiment that she was irritated to discover was hardly shared by Kenna and Indulf, who gazed upon the young lass with considerable pity. Only Trygve appeared to possess an unreadable expression, one which none who glanced his way, properly grasped.

  “Where is he?” Some asked.

  “I do not know.”

  “Find him!”

  “Why must he always do this?”

  “Better question would be; how dare he do this on such a day?” This last query came from Kenna’s own lips, as she as always demonstrated so little comprehension towards her own child.

  This was the first time in living memory that the call for representatives to play at the wedding of Muireall and her husband Marcas, before the temple of Fufluns had had an absentee. This thus produced considerable fury amongst those present and considerable unease even amongst those who were present.

  None more so than the druidic family, who pondered and consulted with one another at length, and complained all the more as to what to do, whereupon Conn declared to the people, “If not Cormac the Imbecilic, who else shall come hither to embody the paragon’s noble husband?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Helga was hardly pleased by this, to which Daegan felt now a great swell of pity come over her, when she wondered what might have happened had it been she who stood by the door of the temple. The volunteer was to prove to be Trygve who all but shoved his way through the crowd, to the bemusement of a great many. His enthusiasm marked him out in the minds of many, in combination with his diligent disposition, as someone worthy of approval.

  Wherefore he was ‘wed’ in a ceremony which required the druid to bind the wrists of the two volunteers together with a garland of flowers which were green, red and yellow. Once bound to one another, they were to embrace, exchange a kiss and beg for the god Fufluns to bless the next harvest. The unhappiness of Helga soon proved infectious, when the very apparently smitten youngest son of Freygil and Ida noticed her misery.

  In all, the rite which ought to have been the merriest of all festivals (after Yule of course), proved itself a melancholic affair, one that drew forth a great many complaints from all peoples, none more vocal than Kenna, “Poor Helga.”

  “Poor Trygve,” Said her great friend Ida, rather archly.

  “Bah, they are children, what do they know of love?” Freygil retorted to them both, exasperated.

  The feasts and dancing along with the recitation and singing of poetry continued, though not with the same easy atmosphere. The sense of disharmony in the world worried all presents thereupon the hill by the temple.

  There they might have remained were it not for the fatigue that came over a great many of those present for the festival. It was Indulf who was first to desire to leave. Swept away by concern for Inga he informed his kinsmen, “I am worried about Inga, she wandered off to return the Salmon’s extra clogs home. This was some time ago, and I wonder if she has not had an accident or other.”

  “I shall accompany you,” Daegan volunteered at once, amongst those whom he confided in.

  As her desire to remain had waned, with the departure of Cormac she thus became weary. This fused with the knowledge that her father was likely to require her aid tomorrow in the smithy, with his newest project. The two departed forthwith, neither spake to one another both still filled with pity for Trygve who had wandered away after Helga had rebuffed his request to dance with her. Nor did they speak of the great hope that rested in Indulf’s breast, to marry Inga in the spring when the snows melted.

  It was naught until they reached the proximity of her home that they uttered their first word to one another, whereupon they took notice of the sounds that drifted from the smithy, those of Corin’s hammer upon the iron he was in the midst of beating into shape. Certain that Cormac had returned home, Daegan turned to her friend to bid him a good night. He returned the favour, and without further ado they went their separate ways.

  “Father,” Greeted the red-haired lass, once inside the smithy only to repeat herself, thrice more before he took notice of her presence behind him.

  Where Kenna might well have expressed dismay to hear of either child she all but considered her own, to spend time with Corin, the sentiment was far from returned. A kindly if tough man by nature, the Gallian hardly returned her rancour. To the contrary, he actively encouraged her to spend as much time with the seamstress, whensoever his daughter was not preoccupied with assisting him with household tasks and his work.

  Therefore it gave her no small amount of joy, to see the surprise and warmth that set his dark gaze so unlike her own ablaze the moment he set eyes upon her new dress. “Kenna gave you that dress?”

  “Aye, it was a gift, father,” Murmured his daughter, with a bright smile that reminded him of his long departed wife.

  “A gift,” Corin’s brows knitted together in an expression of consternation, as gifts was never things he had much love for. Quite why, was never something, she had succeeded in piecing together; she knew only that it never failed to displease him. “I shall have to see to repay Kenna for the dress.”

  Daegan opened her mouth to object to this, when at that moment a great cry arose that cut through the night as a scythe through the wheat in the fields. At once the blood of all throughout Glasvhail who heard the scream was chilled.

  For it was in the very words that rebounded throughout the land, from house to house- from the great oak of Ciaran to the high hill upon which the temple of the paragon Muireall and her lord Fufluns that all soon knew what had befallen some unfortunate soul.

  “Murder! Murder! To me people of Glasvhail, Inga- Inga has- murder!” It was a credit to Indulf that he had managed to cry out as he had, most especially because of the depth of his feelings for the lass in question.

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