With his friends placed into the sleep of the ages, by Fintan Mac Gabhann, a minion of the mischievous Goban Saor, Gwri is forced to serve them in their plot to strike back at Brarn the Reaver. Set before him was six tasks to gather six items. This is the tale of the third of those tasks.

rapped in his thoughts, Gwri let the path lead him to wherever it wished. Not until he heard the sound of birds and smelled the nearby fields of flax did he notice his surroundings. Looking about, he found himself in land similar to that in which he had grown. Fighting a surge of home sickness, particularly when he spotted a village on the horizon, Gwri guessed this journey would be short.

A village and its inhabitants, made Gwri nervous about his strange appearance. From the neck up, he appeared a young maiden, yet his body did not match, even if recent starvation had left him a shadow of himself. So he wore a robe, complete with hood, similar to Con’s.

He could only hope the villagers would allow him his privacy.

However, as he walked closer, Gwri wondered if anybody was about to question his appearance. Despite carts in the fields and scythes laying beside rows of freshly cut flax, he saw nobody.

The reason for this became apparent as he approached the village, when the sound of shouting and the clash of metal against metal came to his ears. Dropping everything but his weapons and shield, Gwri rushed forward. He struggled through a hedge, which yanked at his fluttering robe, he found himself in a village, hauntingly similar to Mullinglas. The sounds provided a direction in which to run, until he saw a solid wall, unlike the hedge that had blocked his entrance, which had an open gate before which battle raged.

Ignoring the startled shout of a villager who spotted his appearance, Gwri lifted a spear and threw it into the chest of a man with the head of a pig. His second spear followed close behind to strike another with that of a fox.

Gwri’s doubted not that these were his foe, dressed for war unlike most of the villagers. Stories told of such creatures being in the employ of the Fomorians, possibly even a twisted branch of Fomorian. Nothing good was ever said of these man-beasts, only their cruelty was remembered.

Hurling himself behind his spears, Gwri felt thrilled by the simplicity in fighting against an obvious foe. Unlike the previous two adventures, this was something for which he had prepared, trained to fight by the Grandsons of Weylan. And though his actual fighting experience consisted only of fisticuffs, Gwri’s rage at his situation and the surprise of his attack allowed his skills to blossom. Unhesitatingly he cut down pig-face, who stared unbelieving at the spear stuck in his side. With a shout he fell upon another fox-headed foe.

Barely did the fox block the blow of Gwri’s sword. A feat owing much to the reflexes that allowed him to immediately counter with a thrust of his own. Almost this poem came to an end, but the depravations of his last journey had left Gwri with a quickness unknown to his previous self. Thus he interposed his shield in time. Again and again each blade darted towards an opponent, only to meet metal of sword or hide covered wood of shield. As quick as the other, Gwri found that in losing much of his mass, the loss had not sapped him of his strength. Instead it had been tempered into wiry sinew, which allowed him to beat his opponent backwards. Yet the fight ended due to a rock, thrown by a villager, which missed all who fought, but lay on the smooth ground waiting to trip the fox.

Unconcerned with chivalry, Gwri took the opportunity presented and thrust towards the stumbling enemy. As the red wave surged from the fox’s neck, a shout of victory came unbidden to Gwri’s throat. Empowered, he turned to assist a defender, fighting a desperate defense against two more pig-men, killing the first while the embattled villager took the opportunity to finish the other.

Hardly noticing the woman he saved, Gwri turned to see another defender collapse before a brute with the head of a bear. Unhesitatingly he leapt forward, the woman following behind. Almost like hounds baiting an true bear the two leapt forward and back, swords flicking out to sting and enrage the raging beast. Angered he attacked with a two-headed axe, forgetting all concept of defense. Dodging aside at the onrush, Gwri saw the bear slow before sinking to the ground, his hamstrings cut by the woman to whom he had presented his back. The man’s maw opened, but before his keen of pain could penetrate the raging battle, a sword’s point thrust out his chest.

Renewed by their victory over the beast, Gwri and the women fell upon another enemy. And each time they rescued another defender, she would attach herself to the pair. Their numbers began to tell, while the beast-men learned their individual skill and ferocity was not enough to ensure a victory that had seemed certain minutes before. Just as they fought, each as a single being, so too did they decide as individuals to retreat, instead of answering to any horn. Soon only the most stubborn or berserk was left to be cut down by the defenders.

About to chase after the fleeing foe, Gwri felt a hand grip his shoulder. Twirling his sword raised, he saw the dark-haired woman whom he had helped.

When sense returned to his eyes, she said, “Let them go, Sister.”

Gwri’s denial was drowned out by a loud squeal from the gate’s chains, as it closed. Watching it clang shut, he realized the cowl of his robe had fallen loose during the chaos of the battle, robbing him of the ability to mask his appearance. Once more he tried to speak the truth, only to stop when the women held a quieting finger to her lips.

“Could you watch for the return of Donella’s men, Sister, while we look to our fallen? Later, when I am finished, we can talk.”

Seeing her point towards one of the platforms at the side of the gate, piled high with stacked stones, Gwri accepted the order and climbed on top, with the aid of pegs stuck into the wall. He did so, because he sensed something in her manner that warned of unknown danger. Possibly something to do with all the defenders and villagers he had seen being women and his knowledge that she was not fooled into thinking he belonged amongst their number.

Atop the platform, he looked over the wall and gasped in surprise. Unlike the side from which he had arrived, protected by a hedge that would only keep out roving animals, this side of the village looked over a precipice, with only a single road leading upwards. This explained why the beast-men, who currently milled about outside of spear throwing range, had not attempted to flank the village. Yet he wondered how had they had reached the open gate, the battle maidens amongst the villagers had not seemed incompetent enough to have let that happen? Hopefully that would be one of many things his new friend could answer? If she were indeed his friend.

Glancing back at the women, hurrying about behind him, Gwri ignored his questions for the moment. Instead he watched the attackers, who beyond their angry glances, did not look to again assault the wall. Like the villagers they first dealt with their wounds, then in unspoken accord, they retreated to where others held horses. Mounting, they rode down the hill and out of sight. They did not return.

As the sun sank, Gwri regretted leaving behind his pack with water skin and food, but it soon appeared, carried by the woman. After she offered him his pack, she looked look over the wall and rubbed a strong arm across an exhausted, yet comely face. Not looking away from the road, she spoke.

“I am Aife, leader of the Shield Maidens of Leitergort.”

“I am Gwri.”

“And not a sister?”

“No.”

“How?”

Again Gwri told his story, delving deeper into his frustrations and worries with Aife than he had with Ann. For the bond that joins those who had fought together to achieve victory, a bond that would grow thinner with time, still held him in tightly in its grasp.

Silence stretched after his explanation. Finally Aife said, “I am glad you are not similar to those we fought, with the head of a woman instead of a beast.”

“Why would I fight them if I were?” Gwri asked.

“They are full of hate, hating each other as much as those who are whole. We of Leitergort forgot that, to our grief. Never should we have traded with them except behind walls, the temptations we offer is too much for them.”

“Because you’re all women?”

“Yes. Which doubtless confuses you, as it does most outsiders. Suffice to say, we provide refuge for those who have no where else to go or need to escape from those whose beast is hidden within, unlike those of today. Thus many will judge you harshly. To them, you are a threat.”

“Are you one of the many, Aife?”

“No, Gwri, but I have not experienced their lives. Instead I was born here and my life has mostly been fair. Even when traveling beyond the walls there has been no need for me to cover myself with the same shell.”

“Then I will continue onwards. I would not bring more grief to Leitergort than has already been dealt to it.” Gwri said, wondering if the trail continued and what dangers existed in the lands of the beast-men.

“I can’t let you do that, Gwri.”

At these word, his hand darted to the hilt of his sword. Just as quickly, Aife’s hand reached out to rest upon his, not the grip of strength with which she was capable, instead it seemed a gentle caress.

“It is because we need you. The attack today left five of my shield maidens dead and seven more wounded. We do not have enough left to guard the village and the others while we finish the harvest.”

“Will I be accepted?”

“You won’t be, truth be known. But, currently the others see your appearance was foretold.”

“What?”

“My mother, Brigitte, recently spoke of a dream, in which a golden haired shield maiden of surpassing beauty came to us in our time of need.”

“Is your mother an oracle?”

“A smith.”

“The Goban Saor.” Gwri said through clenched teeth.

“It makes sense that he would smooth the path for you.”

“He has not to this point. Besides it would not work, Aife. I am not a traveling player to disguise myself as someone else, the truth will become known and everybody will be made more angry by the lie.”

“But we need you, Gwri.”

“It will end in disaster.”

“Maybe, but it also may end in the gift needed to fulfill your third requirement. For nobody beyond our walls makes linen with the skill of those in this village.”

“Probably a burial shroud.”

“Please, Gwri.”

Eyes closed, Gwri bowed his head in thought. He asked, “How long?”

“Only until the flax is harvested, while we are the most scattered. Probably eight or ten days. After the harvest, we begin making of linen, which we do within the village and will allow others to take over guard duty.”

“That is too long.”

“Likely.”

“Do you wish it, Aife?”

“Yes.”

“You will need to help me.”

“Of course.”

“Very well.”

Aife smile chased away much of her tiredness, as she said, “Thank you. Can you continue to watch until nightfall?”

“Aye.”

As Aife climbed to the ground, Gwri reached into his pack hoping that while chasing away hunger, he could also chase away the sense of impending doom. By the time she returned, trailed by two girls to take his place, that hope proved unfulfilled. Yet he said nothing, both knew the lie would be exposed.

Maybe that is why she led him to her own hut and why they found themselves in each other’s arms. Undemanded by either, yet it seemed the inevitable result of the day in both their minds. And while neither felt a magical connection of true love, they found that despite being beginners at this dance, their earlier, deadlier dance had robbed them of the ability to be awkward with one another. Again, they moved together in unspoken accord.

Satisfied, they lay side by side, until Aife said, “Cinnia.”

“What?”

“That shall be your name.”

“Oh.”

“Would you prefer another?”

“I guess not.” Gwri said.

“Then Cinnia it shall be. Now sleep, while I check the watchers still watch.”

Gwri almost offered to go along, but realized he preferred to be alone. So did Aife. Thus when she returned, she felt happy to see her guest slept. Yet that did not stop her from laying beside him, back to back.

Morning brought their masquerade into being, aided by Brigitte, Aife’s mother, who had not spoken her entire dream. Brigitte knew that he would be a he and had prepared for his arrival. While her daughter braided his hair into twin ropes, she took armour from a sack. Firstly she gave him a bronze helm that left his face exposed. Then she helped into a bronze cuirass, shaped like Aife’s to fit female curves he did not have. Adding a kilt consisting strips of studded leather over his trousers, he looked little different than the muscular Aife, in fact his hair and features probably left him more feminine than she.

Satisfied by his appearance, Aife said, “Very good, Cinnia. But I think it would be best to have you patrol alone, westerly along the embankment. Donella’s men have attempted to climb it before.”

“Donella?”

“She considers herself the queen of the beast-men. And since they follow her commands, I guess she deserves the title.”

They hustled him from the hut, into a morning not yet broken, then to a break in the brush through which he had originally entered. Pointing Westward, Aife told him he would know when to turn back and so Gwri trekked along the edge of embankment. For a couple hours he walked, looking over the cliff’s edge for anybody brave enough to attempt the climb. When he reached a mountain face, probably the one through which the path had guided him, he turned back towards the village.

Again and again he walked those miles, first to the West and then to the East, during the next five days. Always alone, instinctively singing to himself.

Each night he returned in the dark and each morning he left before the sun defeated the horizon. He did not even speak to Aife, for the only time he was not alone, was while he slept. Nor did the two consider again the joining of the first night, instead they slept back to back as shield mates, not as life mates.

Gwri accepted this, even welcomed it, for in his worry about the women of Leitergort and the men of Donella’s, he had forgotten his true enemy, Brarn the Reaver. However, the Goban Saor had not forgotten, for that matter the smith may be a truer enemy than Brarn. For he sought to change Gwri into someone else, which Gwri should have remembered before he put on armour provided by the voice of the mythical smith. Slowly, so that at first he did not notice, his body molded itself to fit the armour, shrinking or growing as necessary.

Caught unaware by this development, but unsurprised, Gwri accepted being further unmanned without anger. Nor did he look over the embankment for any reason other than to spot intruders. That battle had already been fought and won.

By the end of the fourth day, no more changes were forthcoming and on the fifth day he found that armour meant once to disguise, now fit as if made for him. Thus he found himself making the journey too and from the mountain faster than in the past. The fifth trip would always end after dusk, but on this day, the gloom had not descended. Wondering if it he should wait to return to the hut, he spotted someone in a dress walking towards him. Before he could turn away, she waved. Caught between a desire to run and habitual politeness, he sighed relief when he recognized Aife.

She was radiant.

“Oh, Cinnia, it is a good news day, we have made peace with Queen Donella. You no longer need to walk your lonely route, instead we celebrate.”

“But...”

“Worry not, I have told everyone about how shy you are, you can lurk in the background with nobody bothering you. Besides you’ll have appropriate dress.”

Unrelieved by this offer, Gwri none-the-less followed in Aife’s wake, eyes downcast. Inside her hut, Aife presented him with a linen shift and grey woolen dress, then chivied him out of the armour and clothes Reluctant, with her watching, Gwri slowly undressed, which resulted in Aife gasping at what he revealed. Now hurried, he pulled the shift over his head and let it fall past his knees.

A quirky smile came to his face, as he recognized that the shift hid the change to his body, but what it implied to hide was now there in truth. Noticing that Aife still watched, wide-eyed in surprise, Gwri said, “The Goban Saor’s plan continues apace.

“It will help your disguise.” She said, as he pulled on the grey dress. “Sit down, I want to do something different with your hair.”

Realizing argument would be meaningless, he sat before her, trying to think about nothing. As Aife worked upon him, Brigitte arrived.

Seeking distraction, Gwri asked, “How did you achieve peace with Queen Donella?”

Brigitte answered, “We offered to pay tribute?”

“How much, Mother?” Aife asked.

“Nothing that we cannot afford, Dear. Now shall we go? You are both too pretty to hide away.”

Nervous, almost sick to the stomach, Gwri stood. Sensing this, Aife took one of his hands gently in hers and led him outside. Disaster waited, in the form of six shield maidens, each with a shield and club in hand.

Tightly clenching his hand, Aife once more asked, “What is the tribute, Mother.”

“Cinnia.”

“But, Mother.”

“Now honestly, Aife. He is not one of us, besides he killed the bulk of her men. Let him bear the brunt of her vengeance, if it will keep us safe. And is that not your duty.”

He never knew if what more the two said in their discussion, as one of the shield maidens stepped forward and swung her club. Gwri saw it coming, believed he could dodge that blow, maybe even another. But how many?

So he did not try.