Son of The Mountain God

Aodhán hadn’t emerged from the damp coolness of his cave in far too long. Wrapping himself in the darkness of the cavernous Mournes, he refused to eat and sought sleep instead of wakefulness; yearning for an escape from his reality. Reality was not lost on him in this state, though. The brutal images of his loss followed him even into the dream realm and offered no opportunity for escape. He found no solace there, for the memories of his life past continued to haunt him.

Aodhán was a dragon, you see. Ancient and wiser than any mortal dare comprehend. His gargantuan form had guarded the old mountains of the east for centuries. Some travelers whispered of having seen him, moss-covered and slow moving through the forests on the coast of the Irish Sea, easily mistaken for a mountain himself. Though he was larger than life, Aodhán was never violent. In fact, many of the long gone druids had worshiped him as a spirit of nature; hoping he would provide protection from those who threatened the way of life they once led in those old, dark woods. They’d leave tributes on the outskirts of his domain, hoping to gain favor… and possibly a glimpse of the Mountain God. Yes, he was once regarded as a peaceful guardian. However, there was a hatred boiling within him that was more akin to a god of wrath than a god of divine safe keeping.

Adohán had a mate. Or had once had. She had been Angharad. While Adohán had been regarded as an old god of the mountains, she ruled the skies. Swift as night and twice as bright as the moon herself, Angharad’s silver presence used to grace the horizon and skim the mists of the neighboring seas. Her eyes mirrored the blues of the skies and waters and were filled with starlight. Warriors donned images of her likeness upon their armor and ships, trying to evoke the same awe and dumbfoundedness from their enemies as she used to strike in them… used to. She had entered Adohán’s life and sparked a warm, loving flame within him like he’d never known. He yearned for her time, as she did for his. Together, they were a good and fair coupling; guarding their lands as far as the distant Slievelamagans of the North. But like those mountains, Angharad was now a distant memory.

They had built a nest, eager to bring forward new forces of nature to be revered for eons to come. That dream was smashed the day the bronze claud soldiers came.

Fear and ruin befell the land as foreigners, from a marbled city far away, swept in with their metal weapons and strange languages. They left desolation in their wake. The nature-worshiping peoples of the east sought out the legendary Adohán again, imploring him for retribution. Though compelled to protect the lands once again as he had in times of old, Adohán was hesitant to leave Angharad in their dwelling alone. She had grown weak and feeble with the effort of egg-rearing. Dragons were few because it took so much magic to create them, you see. Magic had been dying out slowly for hundreds of years and the energy was hard to draw on to bless the eggs to life. Even so, Angharad urged him on.

“Guard them. For I cannot as I once had”, She told him.

And so he went.

The foreign forces had never reckoned with a creature such as he. His massive form covered the expanse of the skies above them; like summoning an eclipse. Even these soldiers, with their beliefs in their very own sky gods of thunder and lightning, trembled in the wake of the mighty Adohán. They scattered across the east and, though he could prevent some bloodshed, the expanse of him could only reach so far. Arrow ridden and tired, he returned to his caves to seek rest and comfort in his mate, lovely as a dream. His dreams would never more be considered lovely after this day, for what he found shook the foundations of this ancient beast to his core.

The bronzed soldiers had come. And they had taken Angharad from him.

You may feel compelled to say, “He still had his children! The result of his love for Angharad would live on through them!” But only the flames of a mother can bring more dragons into this world.

And so, even as the cries of the slaughtered rang through the east, Adohán’s heart hardened and grew calloused toward all of mankind.

“Let them die,” he bellowed low within his dark hole. “Then there will only be the mountains, the sea, and this old dragon left to mourn what once was.”

As he continued to struggle himself into a semblance of sleep, a small sound echoed over the dripping walls of his mountain home. Adohán would usually be unphased by rogue calls in the night. Many creatures make many noises in the wilderness, but this noise was not of the wilderness. He rose and squinted into the moonlight trickling through the entrance of his cave. The sound came again, high and shrill and unmistakable: wailing. Not just any wailing, Human wailing. What once might have compelled his massive feet forward out of mercy, now led him only by the need for revenge. Whatever mortal that had been foolish enough to enter his forest would soon feel the full brunt of his rage and grief.

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Adohán trudged through the trees. They bent around his tremendous shape, parting for their god of rage. The cries grew closer with every step, and the dragon mulled over what he might do to the human when they were within the grasp of his claws. As he neared a clearing, he was surprised to find himself hesitating at what he found there.

A woman lay on the ground. She was still, her hair spread around her head like fields of hay weighted down by heavy rain. It was not rain that drenched her, but blood. Her own blood. The scent of it almost drove Adohán back to his dwelling, memories of beloved blood spilled once before flooding his mind. Then the wailing. His gaze shot up. It seemed to be coming from the woman, but he knew better after seeing her unmoving, small frame lifelessly cradled in the roots of the aspens around them. He approached her and saw… a child. A tiny, red-faced, sobbing boy held firmly by arms long grown cold. The dragon surveyed the scene more closely; the clothing and the appearance of the child was unfamiliar, foreign.

Adohán’s nostrils flared and crinkled with disgust as the realization dawned on him. This child was no doubt the result of the pillaging and plundering brought about by those brutes of humans from the west. Anger swelled in his chest. The offspring of the very men who destroyed the one thing he held most dear was now before him. The temporarily doused fury sprung up again, a new raging fire. It erupted in the form of a growl. The child screamed, still clinging to its mother. Adohán saw red.

“I shall do to thee as what was done to my own children. I shall balance the scales and right the wrongs of those pigs who fathered you.” He advanced, the shadow of his giant body casting darkness over the once moonlit clearing. He raised up a spark in his chest, prepared to ignite and destroy the seed of the monsters from the marbled city-

And then the child looked up at him. Adohán froze. Blue eyes as big and deep as pools gazed up at him. Full of starlight. Eyes like Angharad’s.

Adohán whirled around, frustrated at his own hesitation. Stomping around the tragic scene before him, he tried to build up resolve.

Though the child was far too young and unseasoned by life to understand the dragon, Adohán bit out, “You are a son! You will grow to be just like the men of your parentage. Why should I pause when I know the cause of my own loved ones’ pain and too early ends met?”

He hovered over the boy, “You haven’t even led a life yet. You know nothing of the world. I would not be taking anything from you to end your time here. How can I take from you what you have not yet grown to love?”

The boy’s wailing ceased. He stared up at the beast. Even with this ancient creature before him, the child showed no sign of fear. In fact, the opposite. Tear-stained and hyperventilating with recovery from his sobbing, the boy reached up his hands, pleading for comfort. The sight of those tiny hands, reaching blissfully ignorant for a force far older and far beyond the comprehension of one so new, did something to Adohán. The calluses on his heart cracked. The anger melted away into pity.

And he laughed. Adohán, The Mighty and Powerful, actually laughed, “You are much too trusting, little one. You are before the very face of death and yet you still reach for me so?”

Still, the child persisted. Tears began to well up in the boy’s eyes once more and he whimpered.

Adohán sighed, “No, no. Don’t start that again. I shall accommodate your request”.

The massive neck of the dragon bent down. He nuzzled the child loose from his late mother’s grasp. Surprisingly, the child had enough strength to hang tight to Adohán’s scaly face. The boy was so small. He had clearly struggled during his short time on this earth, probably starving and knowing nothing but want. Yet, Adohán saw that his little face, as dirty and flushed as it was, had a determined look.

The moss-covered mass of Adohán rose up, boy-child perched upon his snout. The dragon couldn’t help but go cross-eyed assessing the fledgling of a human. Large amber eyes, bright as the sun, met with the boy’s.

“I had once chosen a name for a son before I-”, Adohán swallowed and took a moment, collecting his emotions and thoughts. How to express the weight of what he was offering to one without comprehension, he did not know. “I shall call you Ronan, after the oath I will make to protect you until you are able to protect yourself. The name is yours, if you will have it?”

Though Adohán was fully aware that his words were beyond the boy’s ability to understand, there seemed to be an acknowledgement from him as he snuggled into the leathery skin atop Adohán’s snout. There, the dragon saw the acceptance and approval he had found himself hoping for.

“Ronan, it is.”

Adohán turned himself to the mountains, and with that, sealed his fate as the guardian of the boy.

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Now, Dragons live a terribly long time. Some said that Adohán was possibly as old as the sacred flame of Donn and Danu, the first gods. Regardless of his age, Adohán was not prepared for how quickly boy children grow. A head, once bare, now flowed with long golden curls. Arms and legs, once short and plump, now were long and agile. However, Ronan’s eyes were always the same; brightest blue and yearning to learn. Yes, the boy shot up into a young man’s body just as fast as daisies popping out of an early spring snow. And Adohán had found a spring within himself, as well. He now proudly regarded Ronan as a son; however flightless, fireless, and two-legged he may be. The ice on his heart had started to give way to the warmth of, once again, having someone to tend to.

And tend, Adohán did. He did his best to keep up with Ronan’s tenacity for discovery. Ronan was slow to learn how to speak; it was hard for a mortal tongue to mimic the slow moving cavern of a mouth that the dragon had. But he did learn. And soon, Adohán could barely get him to stop talking long enough to listen.

Constant, “What’s this?” and “How did you do that?” and “I want to learn!” filled Adohán’s day to day.

“You never cease to amaze me with how quick you are to learn, boy,” The Mountain God praised, “but patience is a lesson you continue to put off learning. Have you no need for rest? No need for peace?”

“You always remind me of how short my life will be,” Ronan retorted. “Surely you can understand why I’m in such a rush to know all there is to know!”

The dragon laughed and settled in to watch his son as he trained with a bow that had been fashioned in the way of the Druids. Adohán had gifted Ronan the weapon when he came of age, but he hadn’t shared with the boy that the bow had blessed with divine protection magic. Though he hadn’t yet allowed the young man to venture out of the great forest they dwelled in, Adohán did not want to risk the chance of those bronze-plated, western heathens finding Ronan and having an advantage of strength or weapon-wielding over him.

Ronan nocked another arrow, aimed... and dropped his arms. Confused, Adohán lifted his head.

“What troubles you?” Adohán beckoned for Ronan to sit next to him with his enormous tail, swiping a spot on the ground clear of debris.

Head lowered, Ronan did not approach Adohán, but instead sighed. Then whirled on his heels.

“I am now a man of ten and six and still you do not let me travel to the neighboring towns!” he huffed. “I know you fear for my safety but I have faith in the skills I have learned from you, Father.”

Adohán made his way onto his feet slowly, leaves and branches fell from his back and a bird or two that had perched upon him fluttered away. The dragon was revered as a god, but even dragons wither with age. It was harder for him to move his towering form than ever before, but even so, he could rise to the occasion.

“Ronan, my son,” he approached and leveled his eyes to the wild-man’s face. “You are still too young and not yet ready for how cruel the outside world can be.”

It may be hard to understand, but Adohán had never shared the story of the loss he had endured those years ago. He locked those memories deep within himself; partially to protect himself, but also to protect Ronan. Adohán feared that allowing that traumatic day to resurface would only cause strife between him and his ward. For, even though he loved and adored his son, he could see the face of a westerner staring back at him. Shaking away the memories poking and prodding their way back into his thoughts, Adohán stood tall and began to turn to retreat to his cave. This was a conversation that had been had many times before and he grew weary of exhausting the subject.

“Father, please! I yearn to look upon the lives of those like myself!” Ronan sprinted in front of the dragon’s path to cut him off with arms outstretched. A laughable effort to most, but the young man had a special way of halting the monumental beast in his tracks. “I only ask permission to go as far as the border of the forest. Allow me that much. I deserve to see the life I might have lead if-”

Adohán met his gaze.

Ronan swallowed, “If circumstances had been different.”

Adohán sighed in resignation. Hard as he may try, he knew he could not confine the heart, mind, and soul of one so eager to just one corner of their world.

“Very well,” Adohán huffed with a long, hot breath. “To the border of the forest with you. Be cautious and hide yourself from the sight of travelers on the road close to our wood.” He hesitated. “Return by sundown in a day’s time. Otherwise,” He lowered his amber gaze playfully, “this old dragon will go hunting.”

Ronan laughed with delight and gratitude, embracing the leg of his colossal patriarch.

“Thank you, Father! I will bring you a gift from my travels!”

“No gifts are necessary.” Adohán called descending into his hole in the mountainside, “A peaceful night’s rest away from your constant questioning is gift enough!”

With a chuckle, Ronan set off to discover what he had been missing all those years.

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The light that glimmered through the golden leaves above had a new sheen to it. The songs that the robins sang out held a different tune. The earth smelled different, exciting. Ronan was a man seeking out the new and unknown… And it thrilled him! Consider your own first venture into the wide world alone; your chest too swam with excitement, did it not?

He had been steadily working his way through the woods the entirety of the day. The distant sun was setting, as if symbolizing the end to his sheltered life. An end to his days as a boy, kept away from the world. An end to yearning.

One of the skills Adohán had endowed Ronan with was the ability to understand many languages, including the voices of the trees around him. Abilities that were lost to the mystics of long ago were now at the young man’s fingertips. Though he fell prey to the fault of many human beings, moving too fast to listen, the trees spoke to him.

“Ronan.” A looming alder groaned.

“Not now!” He hummed as he passed the ancient, twisted entity. “My time is limited and I have not yet reached where I am headed.”

The tree persisted. Lowering its branches to halt him. “Ronan. There are dangers on the path ahead. Tread carefully.”

Ronan halted and turned to stare up at the tree, “Which dangers do you speak of?”

Before the black-barked alder could respond, Ronan heard a commotion in the distance.

Adohán had done well to teach the young man the languages of mortals and the shouts over the horizon were not lost on him.

“Come back here, you wench!” A throaty, low voice demanded. “We’re not done with you!”

Ronan’s feet were moving before he could register what was occuring. He sprinted toward the walls of shrubbery and vines that cut the rest of the world off from the dark woods of the eastern mountains. Beyond this wall, he knew the traveler’s road lay. As he was upon the green barrier, preparing to draw an arrow, a woman burst through and collided with him. Toppling over, Ronan stared up through auburn hair, red as Adohán’s flames, and into the eyes of fear. Pure fear. And then anger.

“Out of my way!” Scrambling to her feet, she started to gather herself up to continue her escape from whatever villains were pursuing her. Ronan grabbed her by the arm and she whipped around to face him. “Leave me be!”

Ronan had to take a moment to take the whole of her in. Her hair was wild, tangled like the underbrush of his forest. Her eyes were as green as summer and her skin was speckled like the sky full of stars. She was…

“Beautiful.” Ronan uttered.

She gaped at him, too dumbfounded for words. Then she shook herself from whatever thoughts were behind those evergreen eyes and said, “Help me or set me loose! They’re coming for me!”

Ronan broke from his trance, “Who is coming for you?”

“There’s no time! They-” she was cut-off by the howls of men, growing ever nearer.

“Come out and play with us, little mouse.” They chortled from beyond the brush, “We won’t bite.”

Ronan had never known a true fight outside of hunting for himself and Adohán, but he was no fool. It sounded as though there were at least five men pursuing this strange girl and he would not be brazen enough to find out if there were more.

“Come with me!” He whispered as he guided her further into the tree-cover.

Ronan approached the old black alder and placed a hand on its trunk in reverence.

“Please, allow us to enter your refuge, ancient one.” he whispered into the bark.

The girl looked as though she was considering who was the bigger threat; the men pursuing her or the wild man who spoke to trees. She was just about to sneak away and run from Ronan when the alder groaned. Its roots moved under them, pulling back. The husks of growth on the tree started to pull away and revealed a hollow hiding place within.

“Hurry!” Ronan instructed.

The girl hesitated, but saw she did not have much of a choice; following Ronan into the innards of the alder. It closed around them and left just enough of an opening to peer through. It did so right as the pursuers broke through the shrubs.

Ronan and the girl, both huddled and barely breathing to avoid being heard, watched the men stumble about. They were flushed, laughing, and hardly able to stand. Ronan took in their clothing. They were covered in armor of bronze. Whoever they were, Ronan felt uneasy about the way that they called for the girl. After some time, the men gave up and moved from the forest.

When all was well enough to be safe, the girl let out a long sigh and demanded, “Let me out!”

Shoving her way past him, both Ronan and the alder obeyed, letting her free out into the glade.

“How is it you can command nature to your whim? What are you? A Faerie?” She hounded Ronan with questioning.

Ronan held up his hands in defense, “Wait! I am no more than a man. I simply know the ways of these woods.”

She huffed, “Man? You look no older than six and ten.”

Ronan quickly changed the subject, blushing at her accuracy. “What is your name?”

She assessed him skeptically until he sighed, “I am no threat to you, my lady.”

Looking unsure, she surrendered an “Enid.”

And suddenly, Enid was a sonnet. Enid was the dawn. She was the moon and the stars. Enid was-

Walking away.

Ronan hurried after her “I’m called Ronan! It’s not safe here! You cannot simply trample off into these forests and expect to find friendliness, Enid. Tell me what you seek and I shall guide you. Safely.”

“Unless you are personally acquainted with The Mountain God, Guardian of the East, I have no use for your help.” Enid scoffed as she continued to push her way through the overgrowth.

Ronan paused, considering this. “God of The Mountain? I’ve spent the entirety of my boyhood in these woods and have never heard of such a man.”

“He’s not a man at all,” Enid countered. “He’s a dragon.”

She was still trekking along before realizing that the steady sound of Ronan’s footsteps had halted behind her. She turned to him only to find his face drained of color with a far off, hazy look. Enid slowly made her way back to him.

“What is it?” She mused.

Ronan swallowed hard and, after a moment, he met her gaze.

“I think I can be of use to you after all, my lady.”

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The sun rose and Adohán was growing restless. Truthfully, he had been restless for some time. The once revered, ancient dragon circled the clearing outside of his caves like a distraught, first-time mother. His eyes were fixed upon where the path faded into nothing but tree cover.

“How can one so tiny create so much frustration within myself?” The beast growled low, causing any small fauna to sprint for safety from his sight.

Steps sounded over the crossing. Adohán stopped. Had he imagined hearing more than two legs making their way towards him? He had not. For through the trees came Ronan with an awestruck Enid in tow.

Adohán was still as death, staring down at his treacherous son and the woman. His anger rumbled the earth around them.

“You not only break oaths to return by daybreak but bring a stranger to me? What of the many times I warned you that no human must ever know of our hiding place? Have you lost your senses?”

“The Mountain God..” Enid breathed. She was transfixed and at a loss for words as she took in the subject of so many tales she had heard as a child.

“I might ask you why you stand there accusing me of being anything but a victim, Adohán!” Ronan shouted, letting his own anger slip out into the open.

Adohán leveled him with his amber gaze, “What is it you wish to say, boy?”

Not many could stand in the scrutinizing presence of a dragon and still manage to hold eye contact. But Ronan did. Flinching for only a second at his father’s tone and that word. Boy. He bucked, “When were you to tell me of your titles and histories, Great God of the Mountain? When did you plan to enlighten me to your true identity?”

The dragon’s rage faltered for an instant. The two continued to stare at each other, untrusting for the very first time.

“Adohán, God of the Mountain and Guardian of The East,” Enid began with vineration.

Keeping his eyes firmly locked with Ronan’s icy stare, Adohán murmured “I haven’t been called that for sometime, girl.”

Enid persisted, “Please, the people of this land seek your protection once more. The foreign forces continue to take our food and resources. They have no regard for life and no mercy. They take what they want-”

She looked to Ronan. “Who they want. We live in constant fear! I have only known this life. A life of uncertainty if the next day will be my last one of freedom. My father told me tales of a God of Wings and Flame, big as the sky, that used to defend these lands. I didn’t believe but I had to at least hope and… here you are.”

The dragon, God of the Mountain turned his sight to the red-haired maiden. “And here I shall stay.” Ready to disappear, he started for the darkness of his cavern.

“No, please!” Enid emplored. “Listen to me! If you-”

Adohán pivoted with unnatural speed for a titan of his size. “No, girl! You listen to me!”

Enid cried out, falling before the colossus.

“I help no human. Not anymore!” He roared, deafeningly close to her.

Pain shot through Adohán. A burning unlike any dragon fire he had felt before. Looking up, he saw Ronan… stanced with an empty bow in hand. Adohán had been pierced by an arrow of divine protection.

Ronan gawked, “Father, I’m sorry, I-” He dropped his bow shaking his head at the realization of what he’d done. “She screamed and I had- I had to protect her.”

Adohán’s mind swam with sorrow. No, fear. No… hate. He did not see Ronan before him now. He only saw those bronze-plated soldiers from long ago.

“You are just like them after all.” The Mountain God spat.

Ronan, searching for understanding, stumbled toward his keeper. “Who, Father? Like who?”

Adohán stood to his full height, “Do not call me ‘Father’, son of man.” He hissed out, sparks of flame escaping his now flaring nostrils. “You are no son of mine.”

Ronan, as wounded as his arrow-stricken father, reared up. “You lied to me! You taught me of justice and goodness, and here you are hiding from those who need you most!” He shouted up as he helped Enid to her feet. “You are no father of mine! I shall not have a coward as a father!”

Adohán growled and rocks tumbled from the cliffs above.

“Go ahead, and stay here!” Ronan yelled as he guided Enid away. “I will not be like you! I will help those who are in need.”

And with that, they faded into the trees, leaving a seething, broken Adohán behind.

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Many seasons had passed since that arrow had pierced Adohán’s scaly exterior. Though he had since plucked the weapon from his side, the scars remained. The scars that cut deepest, the pain that remained, were those upon his heart. The weight of loss was heavy upon him once more, but now mixed with the painful twinge of betrayal.

Low in his cave he stayed, eating only what was most unfortunate to wander into his dark hole.

No news came on the winds of the soldiers of the west nor the peoples of the east… nor Ronan.

Then, one day, the trees rustled and their whispers echoed over the corridors of the caverns below the mountains.

"Mountain God! Wake and meet your fate! Now, even the great forests and mountains are threatened by these foreign invaders. They burn us, they cut us, they hold no respect for Danu and her nature. You alone can stop them."

Adohán only curled up deeper into himself, “I am old, tired, and weary of this world. Let the humans destroy it. Then, I may finally know peace.”

The sudden skirting of pebbles across the floor of the cave, prompted the dragon to slowly open one of his eyes to peer at the world he held so much resentment toward.

Red hair. Red as flame. The girl. But she was no longer a girl. She had grown into a woman’s body and her face, once as fresh as day, had been marred by lines of worry and hardship.

His mighty head raised, “You are foolish to have come here,” his ancient voice bellowed through the underbellies of the Mournes.

Something caught his eye, a bundle in her arms. Blond curls riddled the head of a small child. The tiny thing peered up at him through thick lashes. Blue. Blue eyes.

No. Could this possibly be?

“Adohán,” Enid coughed, “We need you.”

Still unable to believe what he was seeing, Adohán sighed, “I wouldn’t be able to help you even if I tried, woman. I am far too old to care about the wars of men, let alone fight them.”

Clenching the child to her chest, Enid wrenched up the courage to respond, “For Ronan, then!”

The sound of that name made Adohán’s huge heart sting with regret.

“What do you mean, woman?”

Enid came right up to this legend, this beast of old and said, “He’s been fighting your battles for you. Leading our people in defense of our lands, our homes,” She held up the boy in her arms, “Our families.”

A face from long ago stared up at Adohán. Those eyes of blue did not evoke Ronan but… “Angharad.” He breathed.

The trees once again whispered from outside, "Meet your fate! Guard them. For I cannot as I once had. "

He had been right. Ronan had been right all along. Adohán had lied, he had been a coward. Something deep within him finally awakened. Seeing the faults of his past and knowing what must be done, Adohán held the gaze of the boy child before him as he asked,

“Where is Ronan? Take me to him. Take me to my son.”