The youth smiled. "Ah, but I have another!"
His mouth dropped open and fi*om it burst a stream of fire.
Like a geyser exploding from the ground, the flames shot toward the warrior. Finn had not wholly believed the tales of Aillen's fiery breath. His misjudgment almost killed him. The burning stream had a speed and a range greater than that of a hurled spear. He had barely time to throw himself from its path, rolling away as the flames crackled over the spot where he had stood.
He scrambled to his feet. Aillen was turning toward him, drav^ng breath for another blast of fire. Finn cocked and hurled his spear as the second blazing column exploded from the youth's mouth.
The distance was too great and Finns throw too fast. His spear went wide, while the flames nearly caught him. They licked at him as he leaped away, searing the exposed flesh of his throwing arm.
He started off at a run, moving in a wide curve about his opponent, hoping to come behind him. But Aillen's reflexes were nearly as swift: as his. The youth spun about, sweeping the stream of fire in a great arc meant to cut down the desperately racing Finn.
He couldn't keep ahead of it. Abruptly he stopped, turned, set himelf, and launched his second spear.
Aillen shifted the blazing column up into the path of the weapon. It plunged into the flames and was instantly consumed by the incredible heat of the magic energy. The spear pole burned away. The iron head dropped harmlessly onto the sod.
But this prolonged attempt to finish Finn ended there. With all of Aillen's breath momentarily expended, the stream of fire weakened and died away.
While the youth prepared to draw wind for another devastating blast, Finn had a brief respite to act. He had only the spear of Fiacha left to him. He had to be certain he did not miss again. He had to be close.
Lifting the old weapon, he charged directly toward his opponent, yanking the cloak from his shoulder as he ran. Aillen filled his lungs and expelled another searing jet. It stretched out from the young man's mouth toward Finn, licking out at him like a great, curling tongue to wrap him in coils that would char him to the bone.
Finn waited until it had nearly reached him, then flung the unfolded cloak up before it. The column of fire slammed into the center of the square of emerald cloth like a fist, rolling back upon itself. The cloak became a sack about it, drawing it in, enclosing it, then falling with it, pulling it to the ground.
There was a sharp explosion and a puff of blue-white smoke. Only a steaming pit remained.
Now Finn was close. He could see the dismay in Aillens face as he saw his fire blocked. He could see the young man's narrow chest expanding as he began to draw breath for another spurt of flame. There was no more time. Ignoring the agonizing pain in his burned arm, Finn drew back his final spear and launched it with all the power left to him.
This time his aim was true. The blunt, battered point struck the chest of Aillen, piercing through the swelling lungs.
As the lungs were rent, the tremendous energy magically building there was released. It erupted from the chest and head in a great, terrible blossom of flame. The body stood upright for a moment longer, flaring like a torch. Then it toppled to the ground.
Finn moved toward it. He looked down upon the blasted smoldering corpse that had once been a beautiful young man, a master of the harp, a living being.
Another bond had been fijlfilled, Finn thought. Another life had been taken in this long struggle. Maybe, this time, it was the final one.
His eyes lifted toward the hillside, toward the watching crowd.
"Now, my grandfather and my high king," he said with a grim satisfaction, "it is your turn to pay."
Chapter Thirty-five
A RECKONING
In the Sidhe within the mound of Aillen, there was much keening that night over a son of the Tuatha de Danaan who would not return.
On the hill of Tara, the great Fortress of the Kings was ablaze with light. Hundreds rejoiced within its main hall, freed of the curse that had been upon them for so many Samhain nights.
Below the hill, the sacred enclosure of the druids was dark, save for a single, tiny fire burning before its hut. There sat the brooding figure of the high druid Tadg. He stared intently into the fire, trying to shut his ears to the sounds of merriment a night breeze carried to him from the hall.
Suddenly the breeze sharpened to a gust. It howled through the trees about the enclosure. It swirled down within the stockade, teasing at the fire. Tadg looked up as the aroused flames lifted higher. Their wavering light threw long shadows from the skull-topped posts along the narrow yard. They seemed like bony fingers pointing frantically toward the black square of the enclosure's entrance. Then the wind was abruptly calmed. The fire died back to a soft glow. The shadows faded.
But now a dark figure loomed in the opening, nearly filling the space with its enormous bulk.
It started forward. Tadg watched with hard and glittering eyes as it moved slowly, relentlessly along the avenue of skulls. Before the fire it halted, towering over the seated figure of the druid. He looked up into the
features now revealed by the fire*s ruddy light: the broad and weathered features of Dagda, most powerful and most feared champion of the de Danaan clans.
"I warned you, Tadg," the Dagda said, his voice an ominous rumble. "I promised that if you went on using the power of our race for your own ends, you would pay. Tonight you ve brought death on another of our people. Tonight, it is finished. From this time, your own powers are gone fi-om you. You will leave the mortaJs' world and find yourself a hidden place where you will stay alone. Do you understand?"
Tadg nodded, saying nothing in reply.
"It is only your own pride and your own hatred that have brought you to this, man!" the giant told him, angered by his impassive acceptance of this sentence. "Have you no remorse at all? No regret?"
The eyes of the other flared with a defiant light.
"From what he has done to me, my hatred of Cumhal's son has only grown the stronger," he said with icy deliberation. His gaze lifi:ed to the glowing fortress above. "Someday yet, Finn MacCumhal will be brought down, if all of Ireland must be destroyed with him!"
But a burst of laughter drifting down fi-om the great hall only seemed to mock his dreadful vow.
There, in the brightness and warmth, the merriment had reached its height. But now, with the Samhain rituals and the feasting done, a hush fell upon the gathering. All eyes turned expectantly toward Finn as he rose from the table of the high king.
"Samhain night is nearing its end, my king,** he said so that all could hear. "My portion of the bond that we two made has been fulfilled. Now it is time for you to fulfill yours."
Conn had dreaded this moment through all the evening. He knew what would come, but there was no escape left to him. Slowly he climbed to his feet, facing this youth who beamed triumphantly at him. He could see the fierce independence in Finn's eyes, hear the defiant tone in his voice. And never before had the young warrior looked so much the picture of his father.
"I will fulfill what I have pledged," he said, forcing a taut smile. "And what request is it that you're making of me?"
"I think that it is already known to you, my king," Finn told him. "I wish the captaincy of all the Fian clans."
A murmur of surprise went through the listening crowd. But it was followed quickly by a loud cheer of acclamation. And though the supporters of Goll voiced their denial, it was clearly the opinion of a minority. Finn was the hero of the day. Like his father, he had won the hearts of the people.
The high king quickly raised a hand to silence the uproar. He tried to put enthusiasm in his voice when he spoke again.
"Your feehngs have been made known," he told them. "Finn MacCumhal has saved Tara, and the reward we pledged to him has been rightly earned. His request will be granted."
He turned to Goll MacMorna, who now rose. The face of the Fian captain was without expression, and Conn felt new fears churning within his vitals. Would Goll—the always loyal Goll—defy him now? Would he challenge this royal command, or would he still obey and save his high king from humiliation?
"Son of Morna," he began in a tentative way, "it is my will that the leadership of the Fianna be given to the son of Cumhal. Is it your choice to quit Ireland, or to put your hand into the hand of Finn?"
There was a long silence. The eyes of the two chieftains locked together. Finn wondered, like Conn, whether Goll would accept this without an argument. He did not know that to the Morna leader there was no other choice.
Here, thought Goll, was his chance to restore his honor, to correct the injustice, to restore what treachery had taken. He walked forward, down the length of the table, followed by the gaze of everyone. He stopped before Finn. Conn looked from one to the other apprehensively. Then the son of Morna spoke.
"By my word," he said, "I will give my hand to Finn."
He lifted his hand and Finn took it in a firm clasp. The high king watched them, knowing his nightmare had been realized. From now until his death, he knew, it would be this fair-haired, smiling youth who truly ruled Ireland, not him.
It was the final night of the Samhain festival. Most of the fair's stalls had already been dismantled. The visitors were preparing to depart the following day. The hillside below the fortress was quiet and nearly deserted.
The evening was bright and clear. The stars were sharp points in the chill fall sky. Finn gazed at them appreciatively as he wandered alone, feeling rather glad to have this brief time to himself. It had been a long time since he had been alone, as he had been so often in Slieve Bladhma, with just nature as a companion. Things had changed a great deal since then, and he knew that fi-om now on he'd have little time to himself ever again.
But then a hand lightly touched his arm. He turned to find that he was not alone. His mother had joined him. She fell in beside him and they continued on together across the hillside.
"So, my son, youVe won what it was you sought," she said. "Is it happy you are now?"
"I feel that Tm where I was meant to be," he answered.
"There may be great troubles and great pain ahead for you," she told him, "and your father's fate may still await you."
"If I'm to lead the Fianna, such things are as they should be. I'm content to accept them. "
She stopped abruptly, facing him. "But it needn't be so. You have done all you need to do. You have restored your father's clan. You have redeemed his honor. You could be free of all the rest. You could be fi^ee of all the mortal cares and pains that you'll be
facing. You are of the de Danann world as well as the mortal one. My blood has made you so.**
She lifted a hand to his arm. Her voice took on a tone of earnestness.
"You could go away. You could go to the lands where there is no suffering, no death, only beauties beyond your knowing, and love, and a life that never ends. Please, my son, go! Give up the warriors destiny."
"Its a glowing vision that you offer me. Mother," he said, smiling. "But I've traveled much of Ireland in my journey here, and I've learned many things. It's taught me one great truth: I'd not give up this country if I were to get the whole world in its place, and the Country of the Young along with it. "
For a long moment she held his gaze. Then, recognizing the truth of his words there, she nodded in resignation.
"Yes, I expected that answer," she said. She smiled too, but there was a sadness in it. "It's truly your father's son that you are, Finn MacCumhal."
Glossary
Here is the approximate pronunciation of some of the more difficult names:
Baiscne Bask-na
Bodhmall Bah-mall
Caoilte Kweel-ta Gnu Deireoil Nu Der-ee-oil
Gumhal Koo-al
Domhnall Don-al
Muime Mur-na
Tadg Teig
The following are terms about which the reader might appreciate having some further information:
Almhuin
Bantry
Boinne
Brehon Law
bruighaid
bruidhean
Carraighe
(All-oon) The name of the home fortress of Finn MacCumhal. Located near present-day Kil-dare.
A territory of Celtic Ireland located in what is now County Kerry.
Now the Boyne River, located in County Meath. Along its banks are many sites linked to the Celtic and pre-Celtic eras, including Knowth and New-grange.
A vast and complex body of ancient Irish laws much admired by modem judicial scholars for their thoroughness in covering many types of social relationships with great justice.
(Brew-y) The official entrusted with the running of public houses of hospitality in Ireland. A very honored profession.
(Breen) A public house of hospitality, usually set up on the junction of several roads. It was intended to serve the needs of any traveler without charge and is an excellent example of the characteristic hospitality for which the Irish are known.
(Kerry) This territory of ancient Ireland is today knowai as Kerry. It is in extreme southwestern Ireland.
Cnoc-na-Righ
Connacht
Corca Dhuibhne
crannog
curragh
Dovarchu
Now called Knocknarea, this hill is found not far from present-day Sligo. The legendary Queen Maeve is said to be buried in a large passage-grave on its top, and its base is surrounded by many mounds marking the site of neolithic burial tombs.
(Kon-akt) One of the five provinces into which ancient Ireland was divided. It was comprised of the land that makes up the present-day countries of Galway, Mayo, Sligo, Roscommon, and Leitrim.
(Corn-a-Gween-eh) Meaning "Seed of the Goddess." It is now called Dingle Peninsula, a most popular scenic attraction near Tralee, in southwest Ireland.
A small artificial island situated at the edge of a lake, defended by a wooden stockade.
A small boat of bent lath strips covered with hide. St. Brendan is said to have used one to visit the New World, and a larger version of such a craft: crossed the Atlantic in our own time.