This was certainly something else. It seemed to him quite a grand sort of place. Immense in fact. From Bodhmalls descriptions of such things, he knew that it must be a rath. A wall of rough-hewn posts each thicker than his waist was set upright on a circular bank of earth. This ringed the lios, the central mound. The high-peaked roofs of several thatched buildings atop the mound were just visible above the stockade.
He examined all this carefiilly, absorbing these new wonders like a thirsty man at a cool spring. But he had to see it closer. All his life he had been warned of the danger of the deadly sons of Morna discovering him should he venture from the glens. And he knew very well the great anger that would be on Bodhmall should she learn that he had disobeyed. Still, he couldn't help it. His desire for knowledge was an easy defeater of his
foster mother's rules. He would have just a bit of a closer look, he told himself. That was all.
With a fox's stealth he crept out of the woods and moved across the open countryside beyond. From ravine to bush to rock he cautiously made his way even closer to the ring fort, moving in a great curve that took him around its far side so he might take in every detail of it.
Finally he was just below it. He could see the wide notch that gave entrance through the outer ring. The large timber gates that secured it stood open. Beyond them a section of the enclosed lios was visible, a tantalizing thing, if only he could peep further into it. But his angle was not quite right.
He moved on, through a little grove of trees, and found that it edged a large field of beaten earth. Here he had his second surprise, for a score of young men were running about on it, shouting and cheering lustily, smacking a small object with large, curved sticks.
They looked to be of Demna's own age, and he stared raptly at them as if they were the fabulous creatures of some* legend. And so they were in a way. To him the existence of other boys was known only from BodhmalFs tales of the world. He had grown up without their company, without even seeing them until now. Not really knowing, he had not missed it. But now, watching them together, he felt the pang of something lost, of regret for the comradeship he had missed.
The sudden, intense need to be part of this tugged him forward. But he held himself back, again recalling Bodhmall's warnings to be always on guard, always suspicious.
His gaze assessed the youths. They were unarmed, save for the sticks. They seemed quite innocent, laughing in their play. There didn't seem to be anyone older about, certainly no warriors. As powerful and sinister as the grim woman's childhood tales had made the dark sons of Moma, he couldn't believe they could be everywhere. And he recalled the gentler words of Liath— usually given well out of Bodhmall's hearing—that all
men were not evil, that the great number of them could actually be trusted.
This was enough. Once more his need won out. A brief meeting with these boys was harmless enough.
He drew slowly out of the concealing foliage, moving forward onto the edge of the playing field to stand and watch. After a time one of the boys took note of his presence and began calling the attention of the rest to him. Gradually their play died, their shouts and laughing faded as they all turned to stare at this strange, wild figure who had suddenly appeared from the wood like some nature spirit.
A bit timidly, he smiled, hoping an open friendliness would be the proper start.
It seemed to work. They smiled back. Then one of them asked in a voice of amused wonder: "Well, by all the gods, what kind of a vagabond are you?"
The question was put rudely, but young Demna didn't note it, so anxious was he to establish a relationship. He started to reply, but decided that he must at least be a little cautious. He couldn't reveal anything of himself, even his name. Considering quickly, he recalled the pet name Liath had used for him as long as he could recall.
"I'm called Finn," he said, moving closer to them.
"The Fair One?" the other responded, laughing. "Well, that suits you well enough. And where is it you live? In the trees maybe?"
He laughed louder at his own jest and was joined by ^me of the others. Not understanding that this glee was at his expense, Demna laughed too.
"Please, " he said, "could I join in your playing? I'd like to learn."
"Learn?" the same lad, clearly the leader of the group, echoed in surprise. "You mean you've not played at hurling before?"
"No," Demna said good-naturedly. "It looks to be great fun. "
"You surely must live in a tree not to know of it, " the other said. "But we'll let you play, and gladly, won't we, lads?" He turned to the others, winked broadly,
and, in a voice Demna couldn*t hear, muttered: "The game's dull enough. Thrashing this fool will give us a bit of sport!"
Excited by the prospect of joining in the game, Demna now tossed all caution aside. He grounded his spear in the sod beside the field and took the stick one of the young men handed to him. It was a carefully cut piece of hardwood, carved and smoothly finished. About the length of his arm, it curved at one end and flattened out into the shape of a disc. It was a well-balanced, heavy piece, and could be a quite deadly weapon as, unknown to Demna, it often was in this hard game.
"You hold the stick this way," another youth explained, demonstrating with his own. He gripped the haft firmly in both hands, holding the curved end close to the ground. Someone kicked a small, polished wooden ball toward him and he swung his stick, knocking it away. "You see? You use the stick to send the ball along." He pointed toward the far end of the field. "See that hole? Well, you hit the ball along until it goes into it."
Demna looked at the distant pit, then back at the stick he held. He gauged the smoothness of the hard-packed earth between and the distance to the goal.
"Is that all?" he asked.
The leader of the group grinned with a certain maliciousness. "Not quite." He looked around at the others, then back at Finn. "Were going to try to stop you."
Demna looked them over, then shrugged. "Still doesn't seem much of a sport."
At his self-assured tone, the smile of the other disappeared. "Oh, does it not?" he said sharply. "Well, that we will see!"
He signaled to his friends and they moved down the field, lining up before the goal. As they set themselves, sticks up, facing the stranger, he admonished tersely: "Give this oaf a fine thumping, lads. We'll beat some of that arrogance from him."
He dropped the ball before him and, with a well-aimed blow, sent it rolling down the field. As it ap-
preached, Demna charged forward, his first swing catching the wooden sphere squarely and sending it back toward them, much to their surprise.
So swiftly did he come against them that they were taken completely off their guard. No one was able to move fast enough to block him until he was nearly upon them. And even then their efforts were in vain. His speed and reactions were like those of no man they had ever met. He wiggled through their line, dodged about boys who seemed rooted to the ground and was past them, firing the ball on ahead with easy, accurate strokes. In what seemed an instant he was far down the field, leaving them to watch openmouthed as he gave the ball a final swipe that sent it rolling into the goal.
He retrieved the ball and strolled casually back to the group. "That was easy," he remarked. "Now what?"
"How could you move like that?" the leader asked him in awed tones.
He grinned. "I learned it fi-om the rabbits!"
After that, the boys were clamoring to be on the team with this marvel. They divided fairly, and Demna led his new comrades in game after game, trouncing the team of the leader each time, piling more humiliation upon his head.
When the evening began to come upon them, Demna was forced to leave, against the protestations of many disappointed youths. He promised that he would return and faded back into the trees of Slieve Bladhma, aglow with his new experience and vowing to keep it a secret fi-om Bodhmall.
"... and he did Colm's team properly every time!" a youth proclaimed. "Left them all gaping after him, he did!"
His fellows and the company of warriors at the low tables of the ring fort's central hall were laughing heartily at the tale. But Colm, the leader of the band, hstened in deepening desolation. He was son of the ring fort's chieftain, Cathal O'Ciaran, a beefy, red-faced man who drank heavily and glowered upon the speak-
ers from his table at the room's upper end. The other youths were in fosterage to Cathal, training to become warriors, and Colm tended to put on superior airs with them. As a result, they were using the evening meal to vividly recount the details of his defeat with great gusto. From their tables at the room's lower end they had taken command of the whole hall, drawing everyone's attention to their description of the games.
"He said he learned his speed from chasing hares," one lad said.
"He was like a hare himself, hopping through us," another put in.
"And the power in him!" announced a third. "He made Colm eat a nice bit of sod more than once."
The eyes of all the grinning company turned to the discomfited youth and he reddened frirther.
The chietain had listened to this with displeasure, his own face growing more ruddy with anger and too much strong ale. At this last jab at his son, his temper finally flared.
"Enough of this!" he cried, slamming his heavy cup upon the table. "There'll be no more talk of this stranger. He made fools of the lot of you, not just my son. So have an end to praising him!"
But another man beside him spoke up quickly. "Wait, my chieftain. I think we should hear more of this."
It was the chieftain's druid. He had a sharp-featured, cunning face made forlorn by age, giving him the look of a rain-drenched fox. His once-brilliant druidic robe was dulled by wear. The tore of office about his neck was bent and hung askew. But he had listened to the boys' talk with increasing interest, and a spark of life had flared in the burned-out cinders of his eyes.
The chieftain gave him an irritated look. Respect for the old man's powers had largely vanished long before. Still, the druid's honored position required that he be heard.
"What is it you want to know?" the chieftain demanded.
The druid fixed a searching gaze upon Colm. "You say this lad called himself Finn. How fair was he?"
"His hair was bright as the straw bleached by the fall sun. iVe never seen fairer," he repHed.
"And he vanished into the woods of Slieve Bladhma?"
"From the look of him, he must live there," Colm said.
"But that land is said to be claimed by the Children of Danu, by the family of Nuada himselfl" the old man said. "Few men would risk Their wrath by entering there. Could it be this boy was of the Other?"
"He had greater swiftness and strength than most, that's true," Colm admitted grudgingly. "Still, he was no magical being, as Til prove if I get another chance."
"Will you?" the druid said with a certain skepticism in his tone. "Well, I would like to see you make that attempt. Do you think he will return?"
"He promised to come again tomorrow," said one of the other boys.
The old druid nodded, then turned to his chiefl:ain. "I think that we should observe this meeting if it takes place," he suggested. "It would be entertaining, and it might be very important as well."
The chieftain was by now too far gone in drink to feel like arguing. "All right," he growled. "All right. But Vd best not be seeing my own son made a clown of again!"
His warning was unnecessary. Colm had already made a vow to himself that he would have his revenge on the one called Finn. If the youth came again to challenge them, he would not Hve to return to his Sheve Bladhma.
Chapter Six
THE CONTEST
It was the beginning of the afternoon when Finn came out of the trees onto the plain below the fortress.
He had said nothing to Bodhmall of the previous day's visit. After finishing his morning's work about the hut, he had announced his intention to go hunting again and marched boldly away. He felt a certain guilt at having to mislead her—she had taught him that honesty was a leader's greatest virtue—but in this he had no choice. And it would be just one more time, he promised himself.
The lads weren't on the playing field when he arrived. Puzzled, he made his way about the rath seeking them. Beyond the field he found a small lake whose dark waters indicated a fair depth. Here the band of young men were swimming.
It was another fair day for the normally rainy spring of Ireland. Sun was pouring like golden honey upon the fields and sparkling from the waters of the lake. The water was chill, but that meant nothing to young bodies hardened to the rigors of their life. And in an island country dotted with lakes and streams and pools, swimming was quite a natural thing for them.
They stopped their play when Finn appeared at the lake's edge. Some of the lads shouted for him to join them. This he did quickly enough, dropping his spear and stripping off^ his leather tunic. His hard, smooth body flashed whitely as he dove in and stroked
out powerfully to where the others waited in the deeper water.
Up at the ring fort, the trainer of the young men was keeping a close eye upon his brood from the walkway inside the stockade wall. He saw the strange fair-haired lad appear at the lake and set oflF at once to tell his chieftain.
With the old druid joining them, they wasted no time in leaving the enclosure and moving down the hillside to the cover of a copse of trees near the water. They crept forward cautiously to a place where they could watch without being seen. The chieftain was irritated with this need for stealth, but the druid insisted. Sighing heavily, the chieftain agreed, peering out through the branches of a fir tree at the activity.
There was quite a bit of it in the lake. The company was engaged in a fracas whose verve and violence only boys could think of as play. One group had quickly seized upon Finn as their captain, and he was leading them in a spirited assault upon the others, led by Colm.