by Alan Fisher
“I’ll always love you both. Don’t worry about me.”
He quickly took a bottle of whiskey from the shelf and placed the ring back on his finger. Aine was once again alone in the dining hall. She wasn’t sure if what had happened was real or just a dream brought on after a hard day’s work. However, a bottle of whiskey was missing and the emptiness inside was gone.
Tomas reappeared in front of Hiroshi. Everyone went quiet, waiting for him to speak.
“Please believe that I come here with only the best of intentions and I offer you this gift: the only bottle of Irish Whiskey in all of Japan.” Tomas placed it on the table.
Hiroshi bowed in acceptance and gestured to Miyamoto, who opened the bottle. Removing the cork, he took a quick sniff and turned to Hiroshi, blowing out with a smile. Eiji joked and they all laughed for a moment before Aoki rushed to bring some sake and several small clay cups.
Ai smiled once more seeing Tomas return. “He said, ‘wow that looks strong.’ That’s why they’re laughing, and now my grandfather would like to share this whiskey and some sake. I think they’re happy. But, is everything okay with you?”
“I’m not sure, I saw my mother and she was okay, but it was strange, she didn’t recognize me. It’s all very confusing. We can talk about it later. Right now, let’s just have some fun with your family.”
The cups were now filled with whiskey and Hiroshi inquired how best to drink it. Ai recommended that they just sip it slowly and take it from there. He agreed and proposed a toast which Ai once again translated: “To the newest member of the family, Tomas san, Kanpai!”
Everyone touched cups and drank. They all emptied in one go and poured some more.
The High King
B efore parting ways Ena brought Taiko to Ai's workshop. Nobody was home so they went inside. Ena had stayed a little longer than he’d intended, but something weighed heavy on his mind. Taiko conceded that now wasn't the right time to push, instead she hoped he'd come around eventually and fulfil his promise. For the moment, the best way to help was to stay with Tomas and Ai, ensuring they prospered in their new life together.
As they hugged goodbye Taiko moved her head next to Ena’s and kissed him before pulling back, teary eyed. “I'll be waiting here until you're ready,” she said finally breaking away.
“Thank you for your help, Taiko. I will see you soon.” Letting go of her hand he vanished, leaving Taiko alone in the workshop.
“I guess this will do for now,” she thought as she looked around the dusty old room.
Back in Ireland, Ena found himself standing on a hill outside the City of Tara. Here sat Cormac Mac Art, High King of Ireland, ruling from his large castle set atop the renowned Hill of Tara looking out over the country for hundreds of miles in each direction. For nearly forty years Cormac had ruled, keeping the peace through a combination of wise decision making, fair judgements in disputes, and fear of his mighty Fianna, led of course by Fionn Mac Cumhail.
Having Fionn and the Fianna nearby brought security and peace of mind to the high king and all the city's people. Cormac constructed a large barracks next to his keep where they lived while on duty. Each evening when Fionn stayed in the city he’d dine with Cormac in his large banquet hall. It was here that Fionn would usually share his great wisdom with the high king on a wide variety of matters. They would also recount great deeds, tell stories or even hash out some gossip sweeping the City. Both massive men, the kitchen staff worked tirelessly each day to fill their stomachs. Barrels of Ale would empty as they ripped their way through roasted boars grilled on a spit fire burning beside them. Bony carcasses stacked the floor, yet despite a full belly, both Cormac and Fionn continued to drink. As the ale flowed the serious conversations made way for more jovial banter. Hearty laughter would grow louder and louder, echoing around the hall and keep.
“Ah, Fionn, you were too young to remember the Battle of Crinna,” Cormac reminisced.
“I've heard it was glorious, when you subdued Fergus and his Ulstermen to become high king. I wish I could’ve been there,” Fionn replied.
“Yes, it was a feast of violence. Many heads were taken that day. I smile each time I remember. Did you ever hear of Mac Con?”
“Lugaid Mac Con?” Fionn asked.
“Aye, that’s the blackguard. You know of him?”
“I know he owed you an Eraic for the murder of your father, high king, Art mac Cuinn. This debt needed to be paid and you charged him to fight for you that day.”
“You are indeed wise, Fionn, that’s right, to redeem himself in the eyes of the Gods he needed to pay an Eraic. So, I made him lead the vanguard, charging right at Fergus and his men.” Cormac paused, smiling at the thought, breaking to gulp from his cup.
“He may have been a fiend but there’s no doubting he was a fantastic warrior. Arguably the best in Ireland.” Cup still in hand, he leaned over the table closer to Fionn. Slurring his words he whispered, “Of course, that was before the age of Fionn Mac Cumhail.” He laughed aloud and leaned back in his chair, patting Fionn on the shoulder. “You would’ve been a great ally to have on the field that day, Fionn. On second thoughts, perhaps with you there Fergus would not have even fought at all. That would have been no fun.”
Fionn smiled, the high king was feeling the effects of the ale. “Will you finish your story, Cormac, what about Mac Con?”
“Oh yeah, he was in the Vanguard, but there's more. I also charged him to take the head of Fergus and bring it to me.” Cormac wiped his mouth with his wrist, paused to collect his thoughts, then began to tell the story in full.
“In the eyes of Fergus Blacktooth, I was a mere child and didn't belong anywhere near the throne in Tara. So, he and his empty-headed brothers, Fergus Ramhar and Fergus Tanni, saw my youth as a weakness, an opportunity to take control of the kingdom for themselves. They led 10 000 men south towards Tara spoiling for a fight. Of course, I was very willing to oblige.
With only 2 500 men, I needed support and turned to Tadg Mac Cein. Tadg and his family had long been loyal to my father and he too had cause to fight with Fergus. Fergus of course had murdered Tadg’s father, so it didn’t take much convincing, he was very eager to have a chance at revenge. Our forces combined still only amounted to 5 000 men, but Tadg had the brilliant idea of recruiting Mac Con to our side.
He was an older man, but despite his age, he moved with great agility and his thirst for blood had certainly remained strong over the years. I confronted him near a tavern in Kells, demanding an Eraic for the murder of his high king and my father, Art Mac Cuinn. I guess as a man nears his end, the wrongs he’s done in life come to the forefront of his mind, before judgment in the next. To our surprise, with no coercing at all, he took a knee and swore fealty.”
Fionn sat listening intently; a battle against the odds where death was surely the more likely outcome.
“Five thousand against ten, with Mac Con leading the charge. The odds were still in Fergus’s favor.” Fionn’s eyes widened and he spoke through a large grin.
“They were, they were indeed. But before we charged into battle, I turned to Mac Con and gave him my word. Bring me the head of Fergus Blacktooth and your debt is paid, I’ll release you from the Eraic. Through his grey beard, he gave me this crazed smile, gripped his long axe, and ran towards the Ulstermen.
I watched as he raised his axe, then limbs flew and fell to the ground as he broke his way through their front lines, clearing all in his path. Firstly, he reached Fergus Romher, a stocky fat oaf, who fought with a long spear and shield on the day. Mac Con parried his spear and chopped straight through his shield wounding Fergus’s arm, forcing him to pull backwards leaving his shield stuck on the axe. One more swing and it was finished. Mac Con turned to me raising the head of Fergus Rohmer and shouted, ‘Will he do?’ I shook my head.” Cormac laughed aloud and poured more beer for himself and Fionn.
“Next up was Fergus Tanni, the largest of the three brothers who fought with an axe and short sword. I though
t to myself, if someone is going to cause us problems today then this fella might be the one. I was wrong, Fergus swung his sword at Mac Con who caught it and clenched his fist around the blade. Blood seeped from between his fingers. Fergus seemed to be in awe of what had just happened and didn’t even see the blow which severed his head. Once again Mac Con turned to me and said, ‘Will Fergus Tanni do?’” Cormac had his clinched fist raised in the air and spoke through gritted teeth before bursting into laughter.
He then stood to re-enact the next part of the story.
“There must have been another fifty men in his way before he finally reached Fergus Blacktooth. They both fought fiercely striking hard at one another. Fergus’s broad sword would spark as it hit Mac Con’s Axe. They seemed to have reached a stale mate, backing away from one another, patiently circling, waiting for the other to strike. Men on both sides stopped fighting and watched these two go at it. Mac Con was noticeably starting to weaken. Blood was steadily falling from his hand, dripping to the ground. Sensing an opportunity, Fergus lunged in one final time with a careless, wild swing of his sword. Despite his exhaustion, Mac Con managed to somehow deflect the shot, parrying the sword to the left, the weight of the blade then carried Fergus to the side also. Mac Con was routed to the spot unable to move, but he flung his axe and pierced Fergus’s chest knocking him to the ground. I was one of the men who stopped to watch and he turned to me and spoke. His grey beard was stained red and his body covered in dirt and blood. ‘There is your Fergus Blacktooth, although I may not be able to take his head.’ In his final moments, I released him from his Eraic, he took his last breath and passed into the Otherworld.”
Fionn smirked, “I did not know Mac Con was so fierce. I propose a toast, to the Battle of Crinna!”
They both clanged their cups together and drank.
“That's the moment that remains forefront in my mind as I made my way to become high king. What about you, Fionn? I’d be very eager to hear what the great Fionn Mac Cumhail considers his finest hour?” He nudged Fionn, encouraging him to share a tale.
“Ah, you’re already aware of my finest hour, Cormac. It was here in Tara, the moment you made me leader of the Fianna. In fact, I often dream about that triumph, defeating Aillen Mac Midhna.”
Cormac slapped the table. “Of course, of course, I should’ve thought of that sooner. There’s not too many people in this world who can claim they defeated such a creature.”
Ena wasted no time making his way into the banquet hall. He kept his distance, listening from a roof top perch. Stone-faced, he grinded his teeth as the high king showered praise on Fionn for his heroic deed.
Oiche Samhain and Mag Mell
O iche Samhain is a sacred time for the Celts. More commonly known as Halloween or the November Night, as darkness falls on the final day of October the gateway between Mag Mell or the Otherworld opens, making it easier for Spirits, Fairies, and Demons to crossover and return to the real world for one night.
The Celts would make sacrifices on Oíche Samhain, praying for prosperity in the coming year. The gods could hear these prayers more easily and celebrations often lasted for several days. In the hope of appeasing these otherworldly spirits animals would be slaughtered and food would be left out at night as tokens of appreciation. However, some spirits cared little for the desires of men, and they would return from Mag Mell for the sole purpose of wreaking havoc.
The most infamous of these was Aillen Mac Midhna. Each year on Oiche Samhain, Aillen would cross over and emerge into the real world from a cave deep in the Cooley Mountains, north of Tara. He was a small and skinny creature, no larger than a thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy. His skin was black, charred like coal. For twenty-three years, he would make his way under the cover of darkness to Slaibh Rua or the Red Hill next to the main living quarters of the city. He carried with him a Timpan, an ancient musical instrument. A Timpan has a small drum at its base with a short neck extending out. It looks like a banjo but plays more like a fiddle or harp. Eight strings ran along the body which were tightened using pins at the tip of the neck. Aillen also carried a bow, which he moved along the strings to play music; using his other hand he could manipulate the sound by pressing down on the strings along the bridge.
He began by softly drawing his bow back and forth. Slow and steady from frog to tip and back again. As he did so the drum would vibrate and a high-pitched sound burst out in the direction of Tara. It would ripple across the city like a wave of terror; people would run for cover as soon as they heard his music. The Fianna guards understood their duty, with weapons in hand they rushed through the gate, charging in their hundreds up the Red Hill. If they could take the head of a demon, it would ensure they lived on forever, as a legend told throughout the land.
However, Aillen's melody would steadily become faster and faster, growing more mesmerizing with each note. The men would fight the music, shaking their heads and putting their fingers in their ears as they climbed up the hill; others used shields to try to block the sound waves. Alas, all their efforts were in vein; guards would drop to the ground as the enchanting tones reached their mark. One or two at first, dropping cold, falling into a deep sleep. Then a few more, and so forth until even the bravest and fiercest warriors succumbed to Aillen's Magic. All the men would lay scattered along the hillside as Aillen struck his final note. Tara was once again defenseless. Placing his Timpan and bow on the ground he would stand facing the capital. Now he could take his revenge.
The guards who were lucky enough to wake, found a burning city in chaos at their backs and the charred remains of their comrades on either side. Aillen was gone, for another year at least.
The Dream – Part I
F ionn and Cormac drank a little more, so Ena sat quietly on his perch.
“I thought you were crazy volunteering to protect the city on Oíche Samhain,” Cormac commented, shaking his head. “Here was a boy, brazen as hell, demanding that the high king of Ireland allow you to stand on guard duty, swearing you'd be the one to save Tara. We laughed at the thought, but, I'll tell you what, we weren't laughing when you returned with the head of Aillen Mac Midhna, and the city was still standing.”
Fionn nodded as if it were nothing at all, merely a true Fianna warrior doing his duty. However, this was indeed his proudest moment. Upon laying Aillen's head at Cormac's feet, the king offered Fionn anything he desired as a reward. Perhaps it was an even bolder request to now be made leader of the Fianna, but who could argue with a man, albeit so young, holding the head of a demon. Especially Aillen Mac Midhna, the one who had killed so many, for so long.
Ena didn't flinch, after all, how many times had he relived this moment in Fionn's dreams already. After downing a few more cups each, Cormac and Fionn called it a night and retired for the evening.
“My High King, it was a pleasure as always,” Fionn said, griping the inside arm and shoulder of Cormac.
“Bid my regards to Mac Midhna,” Cormac replied roaring with laughter one final time.
With that, Fionn left the keep and returned to his chambers in the barracks.
Bran and Sceolan lay by a crackling fire waiting for their master's return. Fionn burst through the door and staggered towards the bed. He'd clearly drank his fill and it wasn't long before he lay outstretched on his back snoring to the heavens. Sceolan climbed onto the bed to sleep beside his master, while Bran took a more defensive position, resting closer to the door.
Their ears suddenly lifted. Sitting up, they both stared towards the open-stone window. Normally at any sign of trouble or someone attempting to enter, they would react in an instant, aggressively attacking the intruder or waking the entire barracks. Yet, as the wind whistled through the window, Bran and Sceolan seemed more relaxed, anticipating someone’s arrival. The breeze began to lift, blowing the hanging drapes into the air. Suddenly a strong gust carried Ena onto the ledge. Straight away he raised his finger to his lips and shushed the two hounds. Their tails wagged as he took several meaty
snacks out from his pocket. They rushed over to his outstretched hands. Standing on the ledge he was at the perfect height for Bran and Sceolan to eat them all. As they ate, Ena whispered into their ears.
“Here you go, eat it all my friends,
After these juicy treats it’s me you’ll defend,
Chicken and ham with some gooseberry jam,
From your good friend, Ena, remember who I am,
So that in the future, when Fionn looks for my scent,
If you want more treats, you won’t share where I went.”
He would repeat this spell every time he came to Tara to ensure Fionn couldn’t use his hounds to track Ena’s scent. They licked his face as he jumped from the ledge to the floor. “Stop it, stop it…” he whispered as all three made their way over to Fionn’s bed. As they jumped up, Bran and Sceolan cuddled with their master, ready to sleep for the night. Ena stayed at the bottom of the bed; he stood for a moment, staring down at the snoring Giant. He gathered his thoughts and took a deep breath, before finally placing one hand on Fionn’s ankle.
Ena now found himself standing on top of the Gateway into Tara as a young lad holding a satchel and spear approached. It was the morning of Oiche Samhain, a strict curfew was enforced on the city and only those with direct permission from the high king were permitted to move around freely. It was a dangerous time. The curfew was in place to limit the number of causalities come nightfall and Aillen Mac Midhna’s inevitable attack.
“What is your name boy?” a guard barked.
“You should be more careful with your tone. I’m the son of Cumhail and you owe me your allegiance.”
“Cumhail had no son and you’ve no reason to be here, be off with you before I take offense to your lies and you feel the back of my hand.”
