There was a brief silence while the group considered the possibility. ‘A pity,’ said Fiacail, at last. ‘The prospect of respite from Muirne’s tongue had much to recommend such a plan.’
Liath Luachra pulled her knife from its sheath and started using the tip of the blade to clean her finger nails. ‘We have to eliminate the Tainted One,’ she said. Although she was looking directly at Bodhmhall, from the corner of her eye she was surprised to note Cairbre nodding in muted approval.
Fiacail’s response was less encouraging. ‘Brave words,’ he taunted and mockingly rolled his eyes.
‘We were discussing such possibilities before you joined us, Liath Luachra,’ Bodhmhall explained. ‘It seems an impossible feat. This Tainted One is exceptionally powerful. It can control the minds of others. If it feels threatened, it can simply turn the mind of its attacker against itself.’
The woman warrior was not to be dissuaded. ‘I see no other option if you insist on protecting the Withered Weed of Almhu. If we remain hidden within Glenn Ceoch, the fian are unlikely to find us. They’ll eventually lose heart and depart. The Tainted One is another matter. He is the black wolf in the undergrowth. It’s simply a matter of time before he locates Muirne and sends his pack to attack us.’
Once again, Cairbre quietly nodded his approval.
‘Besides,’ continued Liath Luachra. ‘There’s the question of redress. This creature attacked without provocation. That balance must be addressed. Such is the nature of things.’
Bodhmhall frowned. ‘This is not a time for vengeance, Liath Luachra. You were lucky to escape with your life.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘There is no ‘perhaps’. That creature almost made you run yourself to death. How would you prevent such a recurrence?’
Liath Luachra had no answer. Annoyed, she turned the question around instead.
‘Do your draoi teachings offer any potential means for dealing to the Tainted One?’
Bodhmhall shook her head. ‘No. You know my apprenticeship was terminated ... prematurely. In any case, even if I had completed my training, it’s unlikely I’d have learned anything that might help to eliminate such a creature. This is unique to anything I’ve encountered before.’
‘To challenge a Tainted One,’ said Fiacail. ‘You would need a plan. A good plan.’
Liath Luachra considered the warrior’s contribution with quiet disdain. ‘I have the basis of a plan. I need to work out some of the details but it consists of two distinct parts.’
‘Which are?’
She paused. ‘First, locate the creature. Second, beat it to a messy pulp.’
Fiacail roared with laughter, greatly amused by her bravado. Bodhmhall’s response was a tired sigh. ‘Dear one, you could barely walk when came back to us yesterday.’
‘That was yesterday. Today, thanks to your care, I am feeling much improved.’
‘The Tainted One could be anywhere out there in the Great Wild.’
‘True. But I have a sense it will remain with its bodyguards at Drom Osna. The site provided good shelter and had the air of being well settled. If I take one more day to recover, I should be able to travel and find it again.’
The bandraoi did not look happy. Instead of arguing the matter, however, she turned to her rechtaire. ‘Cairbre?’
The old man took a moment to think before responding. ‘I do not know how Liath Luachra proposes to confront the Tainted One but on one fact she cannot be disputed. If that draoi is associated with the fian, they will locate Glenn Ceoch and come for us.’
‘And you, Fiacail?’
The man from Seiscenn Uarbhaoil scratched his moustached upper lip as he considered the question. ‘I’m sorry, Bodhmhall. I know this is your home but I am not so optimistic that I would face the wrath of a Tainted One. Neither do I like the idea of traipsing the country with two fian at my heels, however. By your leave, we will remain and accept your hospitality until the circumstances change.
‘And if the circumstances change? If the fian find us?’
‘This ráth is well constructed but if the fian find Glenn Ceoch, we cannot hope to defend it against such numbers.’ He shook his head. ‘I cannot ask my men to throw their lives away needlessly so I will run away as though my arse is on fire and my sweet-heart’s mother seeks to kiss me.’
There was a disappointed silence following the big man’s decision. Only Liath Luachra seemed unperturbed by his lack of commitment. She nodded slowly. ‘You have no obligation to us.’
There was an extended pause until Fiacail, looking increasingly uncomfortable, broke the silence. ‘Is there no-one from whom you can solicit protection?’
Liath Luachra and Bodhmhall looked at one another. ‘There is only Dún Baoiscne,’ the bandraoi said at last. ‘But they are unlikely to offer refuge to Muinntir Bládhma.’
‘No,’ Fiacail agreed. ‘In any case, Clann Baoiscne is broken. They will need time to muster what remains of their forces and after Cnucha they are too stretched to offer protection so far from their home lands.’ He turned to Cairbre. ‘You mentioned some neighbouring settlements you were on good terms with. Ráth Dearg and An Coill Mór.’
The rechtaire shook his head. ‘They’re little more than farms. Combined, they’d provide less than seven or eight fighting men.’
‘All the same.’ He glanced at the surrounding embankment. ‘On a defensive position like this, such a number could make all the difference. And, with a hostile fian in the area, it’d be in their best interests to join forces behind the safety of a fortification such as this.’
‘It would not hurt to ask,’ Liath Luachra admitted. ‘Ráth Dearg owes no allegiance but An Coill Mór is beholden to us after Bodhmhall’s help with their outbreak.’
Cairbre delicately cleared his throat. ‘If we are to approach them, I would suggest that we express any offer in terms of a proposal for improved protection as opposed to a request for united forces.’
Bodhmhall looked at him in annoyance. ‘We are offering to provide them protection.’
‘Of course we are.’
‘So you should send a runner,’ said Fiacail.
Bodhmhall glanced at her conradh. Liath Luachra nodded. ‘We send a runner.’
‘Who will be the lucky athlete?’
Liath Luachra thought for a moment. ‘Cónán,’ she said at last. ‘Aodhán and Bearach would be more useful on the walls if we come under attack.’
Cairbre was plainly displeased with this suggestion. ‘Cónán is too young,’ he protested.
‘He is young but he is competent. I have taught him to survive in the Great Wild and if he moves quietly and carefully, he will be safe. He is best placed to fulfil the role of messenger. Just as Aodhán is best placed to accompany me when I leave to seek the Tainted One.’
The rechtaire stiffened. ‘You are casual with the lives of my sons,’ he said, unable to disguise the sharpness in his voice.
‘I assign tasks as I think best for our survival,’ Liath Luachra snapped back. Seeing the obvious distress on the old man’s face, her expression softened. ‘I do not value your sons’ lives cheaply, Cairbre. But to survive, we must all contribute as best our skills allow us.’
‘I understand. To protect us from danger you must first place us in danger.’
Liath Luachra stared at the old man, unable to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. She sighed and decided to accept the words at face value. ‘Very well. Let us ask Cónán’s opinion. His views may provide some insight to the situation.’
***
Cairbre and Liath Luachra located Cónán at the far side of the lis where he was busy feeding the pigs in a rough, wooden enclosure. Unlike his brothers, Cónán had tended more to Conchenn’s features than those of his father. Hence the thick strands of curly, black hair, the slimmer frame and deep blue eyes.
Those blue eyes watched anxiously as they approached, somehow sensing the tension between them. He put the bucket of slops on the ground as they drew up befo
re him. ‘Cónán,’ said his father. ‘We have words to speak with you. Words of importance.’
The boy nodded stiffly, wondering if he was in trouble for doing something wrong. As the proposed undertaking was explained to him, however, his features relaxed. To Liath Luachra and Cairbre’s mutual surprise he proved overwhelmingly enthusiastic at the prospect of delivering their message to the other settlements.
Cairbre regarded him with a grave expression. Fearful that the child might not have fully comprehended the task and the risks involved, he insisted on repeating it again. Cónán, however, remained firm in his commitment. Disappointed, the old man shook his head in dismay and walked stiff-necked back to his roundhouse in silence.
Liath Luachra considered the boy and frowned.
‘You are certain you wish to undertake this task?’
The boy looked around at the pigs and grinned. ‘Of course!’
It was only then that Liath Luachra fully comprehended the rationale behind the boy’s enthusiasm. The mission offered Cónán the lure of adventure, the opportunity to travel by himself but, most importantly, it offered a reprieve from the drudgery of his daily chores at Ráth Bládhma. What boy, she belatedly realised, would not jump at the chance.
‘Very well,’ she said at last. ‘Let us see if you are worthy of being our messenger. Tell me, what is the code of the Warrior’s Path?’
‘Run. Run, hide and run again.’
And if you can’t run and you can’t hide?’
‘Make your opponent pay dear for the challenge.’
The warrior woman nodded in satisfaction. ‘That’s good. Some of the things I’ve taught you have managed to penetrate that thick head of hair.’
Reaching into the deerskin bag that hung from her shoulder, Liath Luachra withdrew a long, iron dagger wrapped in a sheet of leather. Unfolding it, she hefted the weapon in one hand and held it out before him. ‘This is for you.’
The boy stared in shock, his big brown eyes widened and his jaw dropped. ‘Bás gan Trua,’ he whispered.
‘Bás gan Trua,’ the Grey One confirmed. ‘Death without Mercy.’ She handed the weapon to him with solemn formality. From her experience, when it came to weapons, boys always responded best to solemn formality.
It was an impressive-looking weapon. The blade was sharp and clean, its pommel overlaid with strips of red leather, wrapped tightly about the hilt. The guard was engraved with a design composed of interlinking straight lines.
‘This weapon has saved my life on several occasions. You know it is a named weapon. It has taken lives but I pass it to you because your mission is important. You may need it to defend yourself.’
‘Thank you Liath Luachra. I will care for it.’
‘See that you do or I will tan your hide like a six year old brat.’
They shared a smile at that. The young boy brushed the mop of black hair away from a freckled forehead. Despite his size, Liath Luachra did not doubt that he would make a skilled fighter one day. He wasn’t particularly adept at the sling or javelin but his natural adroitness meant that he would be good with a blade.
A blade such as Bás gan Trua.
‘Now,’ said Liath Luachra. ‘Repeat your instructions for me one more time. Just like you did when your father was present.’
The boy groaned but did as he was directed. ‘I will travel in stealth to Ráth Dearg. There I will find Cathal ua Cuan and inform him of the hostile fian and the Tainted One. When I have finished, I will give them our offer of protection.’
Very good. And then?’
‘Then I will travel in stealth to An Coill Mór. There I will find Ber Rua and inform him of the hostile fian and the Tainted One. When I have finished, I will give them our offer of protection.’
‘And that offer of protection is?’
‘Ráth Bládhma offers food and shelter to you and yours at Glenn Ceoch. Come at once. Bring weapons. Travel in secret. Leave no trail.’
‘Good,’ said Liath Luachra. ‘Now, get back to your work and practice the recital of the instructions. I will test you again before you leave at dawn tomorrow.’ And make sure to spend some time with your family this evening. They are worried and will want to spoil you before you go.’
Cónán nodded, striving to look serious and mature but unable to conceal a grin of excitement.
Shaking her head, Liath Luachra walked away.
Boys!
Heading back towards her roundhouse, she glanced over to the central fire pit where Fiacail’s kinsmen were chatting quietly. Despite the coldness of the hearth and the absence of flames, the two men were huddled about it as though seeking warmth from the ghosts of fires past. On a sudden whim, she abruptly changed direction.
Noting her approach, the two warriors stood up and she noticed how their eyes flickered to examine her facial tattoo before coming back to rest on her directly.
The taller one was the younger of the two, although this wasn’t saying much as he looked to be in his late thirties at least. He had long, brown hair tied up in a knot at the back of his head, a trimmed beard and several battle scars on his right cheek. Over the previous days, Liath Luachra had also observed how he favoured his left leg when walking, most likely the result of a wound that had never properly healed.
The older man was scrawny with a tangled beard and hair streaked with grey. He was chewing absently on a boiled tuber, watching her without expression as she drew closer. Despite the thin face and sunken cheeks, she was struck by the intensity of his stare. His eyes had an unusual dullness about them that, somehow, gave the pupils an unusual severity. Something, she suspected, was not entirely right in that wizened skull.
‘I see you, men of Seiscenn Uarbhaoil.’
‘We see you, conradh of Ráth Bládhma,’ the taller one replied. He was using a knife to cut his own tuber, popping the resulting segments into his mouth. The other man said nothing, just continued to stare.
‘I wished to offer my gratitude to you for carrying me across the countryside. I have been preoccupied and have not approached you until now. I did not wish to appear ... unfriendly.’
The two men looked at each other then back at her. After a moment or two, the taller one sniffed and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his tunic.
‘You called us a mindless pair of pig-fuckers. After that, you didn’t talk to us again for the entire time we carried you. Until we came here of course. Then you told Tóla that he had a face like a stamped turd.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Some might construe that as unfriendly.’
‘Some ... might,’ she admitted.
The taller man and Liath Luachra eyed each other for a moment then he surprised her by holding out his hand. ‘I am Ultán ua Feata of Seiscenn Uarbhaoil.’
She took his hand. His grip was firm but unlike many warriors he didn’t bother trying to impress her with his strength by attempting to crush her fingers.
‘And this stamped turd is my cousin, Tóla.’
She jerked her chin in acknowledgment at the older man. After staring at her for a moment, he leaned over and whispered in Ultán’s ear. The taller warrior grunted.
‘Tóla says he knows you.’
Liath Luachra turned her attention to the scruffy older man. He was still staring at her with that disturbing gaze of his.
‘Is that so? Can’t he speak for himself, then?’
‘He’s very shy. He says you led Na Cineáltaí for a time, back along the eastern coastline.’
‘Then he’d be correct,’ was her guarded response. Two mentions of Na Cineáltaí in a single day. That was two times more than she’d heard it over the entire three years she’d lived at Ráth Bládhma. Although not one to put too much faith in portents, she felt an odd sense of unease at the coincidence.
‘So, you’d be the one who killed my brother, Dalgún.’
The woman warrior stiffened, her fingers sliding down the side of her knife sheath as though of their own accord.
‘So many years, so many men. Is that going t
o be a problem, Ultán ua Feata?’
The warrior shifted his weight and calmly scratched his beard, by all accounts very much at ease with the world. ‘Truth be told, Dalgún was a bit of a prick. Never happier than when he was out causing a bit of havoc. Rustling here, raping there. A bit of murder if he could fit it in. That was old Dalgún. He was my kin but I consider the world a better place without his taint in it.’
Liath Luachra nodded but she did not relax her guard. Ultán may not have liked his brother but kin ties were strong, loyalty to family and clan notoriously stronger than to the individual members that made them up. She repressed a sigh.
Might as well get this over with.
‘Are we going to come to blows over your brother, Ultán?’
The warrior regarded her as he chewed on his tuber. Slowly, he shook his head. ‘No. I saw you fight once at Ros Déige, during the Samhain festival. With Flannán Mór as I recall. That was several years ago, of course.’
He laughed and tossed the remains of his tuber aside.
‘You were without reputation back in those days. Just some unknown bitch scrapper. As for old Flannán Mór, he was a brute of a man. He bragged that he was going to beat you and then that he was going to fuck you to celebrate his victory.’ The warrior reached up and picked at one of his scars.
‘But I’d seen you practising in the woods. I could tell you were a fighter, that you were fast and strong. And that you had the ruthless instinct of a water rat.’ A grin cracked that scarred face wide. ‘I bet a skin of wine and an iron sword that you’d beat him and you did.’
She remembered now. The Ros Déige man had been big all right. Big and broad and loud and heavy. But he’d also been slow. And drunk, not the particularly smartest state to be in before a fight. He’d had strong fists but it hadn’t done him any good for he hadn’t been able to hit her when he swung, those big hands connecting with nothing but empty air. She’d hit back with meticulous precision and barely-contained fury but without any mercy. In the end, he’d passed out in the dirt, bewildered and bleeding, minus two of his front teeth.
Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma Page 15
