Challenge of the clans (24 page)

The animal reared back, puUing free. Caoilte ducked away to avoid its hooves. Finn, moving in beside him, thrust upward with his spear, driving it through the soft belly of the stag, spearing its heart. It shuddered, and then sagged, crashing over sideways to the ground.

"Well done. Well done!" Crimall congratulated as he moved up beside the two and looked down in admiration at the enormous stag. "He was a good one. Gave us quite a hunt, he did." He shooed a few curious hounds back from the body and beamed at Finn. "YouVe doing very well on the chase now. Nephew."

That didn't surprise Finn. He had done very little else since coming here. It appeared that, next to war, hunting was the most important activity to a man of the Fianna. The summer was frilly upon them now, and through days of warm sun or steaming heat or fine mist or driving rain the hunts had always gone on.

Partly this obsession with the hunt was practical, as a quantity of fresh meat was required every day. But the greater reason was the sheer enjoyment of the sport. If a warrior of the Fianna couldn't be fighting, Crimall had said, then it was only in the chase and the kill that he could really test his strength and skill.

Finn and Caoilte now moved back to watch as Crimall and another warrior swiftly slit the stag, cleaned out its viscera, and hung it on the carrying poles. Another pair of men lifted it, and the party started back toward their encampment.

The pack of hounds moved along beside them, seemingly untired from their long pursuit, bodies strained taut with suppressed energy, ready to run again. As Finn looked at them, he realized that learning to hunt with them was one of the most exciting things he had

experienced these past days. For the slender, sinewy, small-headed hounds were one of the greatest treasures of the Fian men. They were most carefully bred and most lovingly trained to rouse and pursue and bring to bay any kind of game, from cunning fox or badger to savage boar or bear or even wolf. Around the fires at night there were almost as many tales of their courageous feats as of the deeds of heroes. And each man bragged proudly of his ovm hounds, giving them great praise and arguing hotly over whose were best.

When the men went out to hunt, it was always afoot, spears in their hands as they chased through the forests after the hounds. The pack would dash far ahead, in full cr\', the wild, piercing shouts of the men adding to the din, stirring up every bird and beast for far around. Then some worthy game would be spied, and the hunt was on. And the harder the pursuit, the more rugged the ground, the more cunning and fast and dangerous the quarry, the more the Fian warriors re-hshed it.

It was late in the afternoon when their hunting party came back into the encampment. It had been set up on an open, pleasant hillside surrounded by the thick woods. Each day now they camped in a different spot. Concerned that the Momas might have begun searching for them again because of Finn, they had abandoned the wattle huts. They had taken up the nomadic life that was the custom for men of the Fianna during the warm half of the year, moving constantly and sleeping beneath the stars.

When Finn's group arrived, it was to find preparations for the evening meal well under way. As on every hunt day, some of the band had dug the cooking holes— wide, shallow pits—and lined them with the plentiful stones of rocky Ireland, heated in a nearby fire. As the hunting parties brought in their game throughout the day, it was dressed out, wrapp>ed in green rushes, placed within the holes, and covered with more heated stones. There it was left to broil.

As the warriors finished their hunting and returned to camp for the night, they made ready for the meal.

First the dogs were seen to. Any wounds were tended, the coats were brushed free of burrs and twigs and mud, water and some of the choicest bits of the game they had helped to take were given them. Then the men went to a nearby stream to thoroughly wash themselves in the chill flow—an almost ritual observance for them—and comb and plait their hair before gathering about the dinner fire.

While the cooking pits were uncovered and the meat was passed out to the company, Cnu Deireoil, who had remained at the camp, brought his own skills into use. He entertained the men with tunes on his harp, the lilting strains drifting away into the clear night sky.

The men of the Clan na Baiscne had changed in these past days, Finn noted as they ate. The men around him now were far different from the defeated lot he had first met. Since they had chosen to support him, their vigor had grown rapidly. It was as if his own vitality had infused them. The ragged beards had been shorn away. Flamboyant mustaches and elaborately plaited hair had appeared. The warriors had begun to look and act like much younger men, which, indeed, many were. Finn had been both surprised and pleased to discover that most were still very much of active years. His own uncle was not far past thirty years of age.

With the meal finished, the talking began. It was in these evening discussions with the men that Finn had learned the Fian lore: its rules, its beliefs, its history. This night Crimall was telling him of the code of honor which a Fian warrior had to accept.

"So you see, Finn, you'll have to put away this thinking of yours that you must have some sort of revenge for your father's death," he was explaining. "When you join the Fianna, you give over any right to seek revenge or satisfaction for the deaths of your own kindred, as they must not seek satisfaction for any harm to you."

"But the Morna clan killed my father!" Finn pro-

tested. 'They tried to destroy our clan!" He was having diflBculty in understanding this philosophy.

"Aye, Nephew/' Crimall agreed, "and it would be for his sworn comrades to get the proper revenge for a wrong. But only if it violated Fian codes or the laws of Ireland. The Moma clans fight with us was a fair one."

"Fair!" exclaimed Finn. "And was it fair for the Moma clan to be hunting me across the land?"

Crimall shook his head. "No," he admitted. 'TTiat makes Httle sense to me. But then, neither did their coming against us, nor their ruthlessness in trying to wipe our clan away. We'd been rivals before, but not enemies. Still, their clan made a rightful challenge and won the leadership. Aed MacMoma—^the one you say they call Goll now—^was properly proclaimed the new captain by the high king."

*TTien how is it Tm to regain my father's place?*' Finn wanted to know.

"Ah, well, you have a right to claim the clan chieftainship your father held," Crimall explained. "After that, you can challenge the Moma clan for the leadership." He shook his head doubtfully. 'Though whether we'll ever have the force to take it from them, I don't know. We're surely not strong enough to battle for it now."

"We'll find a way," Finn said determinedly. "First, Uncle, you have to see me ready."

"That I will do, Finn," the other promised. "That we will all do. "

The talk and the storytelling and the playing of the Little Nut went on then until the warriors grew tired. The fire was banked for the night and the men moved into the woods. There, under the shelter of the sweet-smelling branches of the pine trees, Finn made his bed as the others did, in the way his uncle had taught him. Over a layer of freshly cut fir boughs that provided a soft: and springy mattress, he laid a thick layer of moss and then a layer of rushes.

He lay down upon this comfortable, fragrant bed, putting his sword close beside him, and settled his head back upon his arms. He looked up toward the clear

night sky, blazing with its now famihar embroidery of stars, and thought of the long and dangerous path still ahead of him.

Then something drew his attention. A shape flashed across the field of stars, blocking them out for an instant as it swept low above Finn. Then it was gone.

An owl, thought Finn, beginning its own nightly hunt.

But it was no owl that had flown over the sleeping men. It was an enormous raven with a glittering black eye.

Finn noted the black form of a raven drifting high above them, circhng with apparent idleness in the air currents. It must be curious about them, he decided. It had been staying overhead for quite some time.

He had noticed it because there was little else to draw his attention. The hunt had been nearly fruitless through the day. They had wandered far to the north in search of game. The dogs had wearied of barking and the men had grown hoarse in shouting with no result. Now, with the afternoon well upon them, they were all growing irritable wth their finstration.

"This is getting to be just a bit too much," Cnu Deireoil said in a complaining voice as they trudged along. "I've certainly picked a fine hunt to come on."

"Just recall that you did choose to come," Caoilte answered testily. "We certainly would never have asked you."

"I was becoming bored sitting about a camp all day," the harper said. "But now iVe discovered what true boredom is." He appealed to Finn. "Couldn*t we give it over?"

Before the young warrior could answer, Crimall spoke up in a stubborn tone: "No! Well give up no hunt empty-handed. We go on!"

Finn shrugged and gave the weary little man a regretful smile. "Sorry, my fiiend. It's Crimall's hunt you're on."

"Forever, it appears," Gnu Deireoil said, sighing heavily.

Doggedly they pushed on, into territory new to them, hoping to find game more plentiful there. Then, as they were crossing a meadow toward another area of forest, a strange beast appeared suddenly from behind them.

It had narrow legs like a deer, but its head was that of a boar, and it had long horns. On its wide flanks were round spots that shone like moons. It swept by them with a speed like that of a passing wind, vanishing into the woods ahead.

"By all the gods," cried Caoilte. "What was that?"

All of Finn's curiosity and instinct for the hunt were aroused by the bizarre creature. He turned to the others.

"Have you ever seen a beast Hke that one before now?" he asked them.

"We never have," Crimall said, looking after it with a covetous eye. "And it would be right to set the hounds after it."

The hounds were already barking madly to be in pursuit. The men released them, then started after the flying pack at a full run.

Only Gnu Deireoil hesitated, feeUng an intense forboding.

"Wait!" he called after them. "There's something wrong in this!"

But they were already well away, caught up in the fever of the hunt. So, not wishing to be left alone in this unknown area of the forest, he sprinted after them.

As fast as the hounds and the men of the Fianna were, they were just able to keep the animal in sight. It drew them deep into the wood, which grew ever denser about them. They ran on and on, ignoring their weariness in their single-minded desire to win this chase. They ran on as the sun descended toward the horizon, as its light dwindled, and as a damp and clinging mist rose up around them.

The mist grew thicker, filling up the space between the trees as if it were a white liquid poured into

the wood. Soon it had swallowed up the fleeing creature. The pursuers were forced to slow down, the dogs now sniffing their way ahead on its trail, the men moving along behind, peering about with increasing uneasiness.

"I recall a night like this," Crimall said in a gloomy tone. "It was when your father died, Finn. The mist was meant as a trap for us, I think."

"I told you there's something wrong," Cnu Deireoil said. "Let's be out of this."

"I'm not giving that creature up," Finn said stubbornly. "Not when we've come so far."

"Look!" said one of the men, pointing ahead.

Something was visible in the fog ahead. A dark shape, barely discernible, stood atop a low, treeless hill. The creature had stopped and was awaiting them.

The party crept toward it, the dogs very subdued now, almost reluctant to approach. Finn and the others were all aware of a disturbing aura here, but they had to go on, impelled by their need to know what they faced. They reached the low hill and mounted the slope, spears up and poised to throw.

The dim shape grew clearer, its outlines darker, sharper, until it finally reached a recognizable form. The men pulled sharply up, staring in confusion. It was no beast that they faced, but a woman.

She was tall and slender and stood proudly erect, her figure wrapped closely in a long robe of softly glowing red. Her eyes were large and silver-blue and lustrous, her hair a flood of golden radiance about her shoulders.

Lowering his spear, Finn moved closer to her.

"Red Woman, we greet you," he said politely. "We're seeking a beast with moons upon its sides. Have you seen it?"

She regarded him for a long moment with her brilliant eyes. Then she spoke, her voice soft and clear at once.

"How far have you pursued this beast?"

"We have been on its track since we left the forests

of Lough Dearg," he told her, "and we are bound to follow it until it falls."

She smiled. "Many men have chased that beast across all of Ireland," she said. "None has ever caught it. None is swift enough."

"We are," Finn said with pride. "And I will not let it go until I know what sort of beast it is."

Her soft voice took on a threatening edge: "If you yourself or your men go after it, I will stop you."

"Stop us?" Finn said, smihng himself now. "It is a score of fighting men of the Fianna of Ireland I have with me here."

"It is httle heed I give to yourself or your men,** she said coldly. "And if you try to pass me, it will be your end."

"It will be a bad day when a threat from the likes of you will put fear in myself," Finn told her, angry now. He turned to the others. "Let's all follow, men and hounds, after that beast."

He took a step forward, and the woman before him began to change. In amazement he watched as her body grew fluid, swelling and shifting in an instant to the shape of a monstrous worm. Its shape was thick, shghtly flattened, headless, its only feature a drooling, sucking mouth. The surface of it was smooth, soft, and covered with a shining mucous.

Before Finn could recover from his surprise and defend himself, it was upon him, throwing itself forward and wrapping him with its wet, sticky coils. He fell backward, the thing upon him, winding itself tighter about him. He felt it constricting, closing about him hke a giant fist as it began to crush the life from him.