Challenge of the clans (36 page)

It was the change in atmosphere he became aware of first. A gust of air swirled suddenly about him, clinging and chill and heavy with a scent like that of a coming rain. Curious, he glanced around. The tendrils

of fog, now grown to thick streams, were coiling down through the trees, twining about them, weaving through their branches in a serpentine way.

His eyes followed the tendrils up until they reached their source. Then he stopped, staring in astonishment. An enormous cloud was dropping rapidly down upon the woods. So dense was it that its gray swollen belly seemed to swallow the trees as it moved toward the ground. To Finn it was like some grotesque creature that had seized the woods with its tentacles and was now pulling itself down to feed upon its prey.

His long familiarity with natures forces told him that this was nothing usual. This was something to be feared. He started ahead at his full run, but he had only gone a few steps when it dropped around him.

The gray-white blanket wrapped him in its clammy folds. It shrouded the trees around him and in an instant he was nearly blind. Objects in his way became vague shadows, visible only when they were very close. He slowed to a walk, knowing a quicker pace would bring certain collision.

He was sure now that this was some magic of the vengeful Tadg, meant to slow him, disorient him, make him easy prey for the hunters. Well, nothing was going to defeat him now, he told himself fiercely. He had only to keep on moving straight ahead, toward where he knew the edge of the woods must be.

And then he realized, with a stomach-wrenching dismay, that the cloaking aspect of this fog was not its only or its most dangerous power. Somehow it was sapping his energy as well!

The farther he went through the billowing stuff, the heavier grew the weight that dragged upon him, as if he were accumulating layer upon layer of the moisture-laden air, carrying it along. It wore upon him quickly. His legs grew leaden. Each step became a greater effort, a greater agony.

He struggled forward, but with a growing sense of hopelessness. He could barely move now, and the accursed fog showed no sign of thinning before him. The Fian band must be moving up behind him now. Soon

they would reach him, and he had a strong feeUng that this enchantment would have no effect on them.

Still, he would not quit. He put all his energy into another step, forcing one leg to lift up from the ground, concentrating on shifting it forward, grunting with the strain as he willed it down again. Nearly exhausted from the work, he took a deep breath and then doggedly began the whole routine with his other leg. The notion flitted through his mind that he would look quite absurd to any observer.

An odd flutter in the shadows ahead of him caused him to look up from his half-lifted knee. He saw that, in fact, he was being observed. A figure—indistinct but definitely human—was visible not far away. It moved forward, seeming to glide in the fog, and its outline grew clearer. He saw that the figure was not only human but distinctly female as well. His initial fear that somehow one of the pursuers had already come before him faded away. He watched her approach with a curiosity that soon turned to recognition.

It was the Shadowy One of Cnoc-na-Righ who stepped up before him. She smiled.

"I said that we would meet again, Finn MacCum-hal," she told him. "You seem to have a talent for getting yourself into traps."

"iVe been told that before," he said ruefully. "But, can you help me?"

"That is why iVe come." She lifted a slender hand and took one of his. "I will lead you out."

Her touch sent a wave of vitality surging through him, washing away the fatigue. He was able to move freely again, and he let her lead him ahead. Together they climbed a slope that soon brought them out of the blanket of fog, onto the crest of a high ridge.

Finn looked back. The fog was a long band cutting across the woods below. A barrier he could not have avoided. He turned to the Shadowy One with a grateful smile.

"Thank you again for your help," he told her. "I owe so much to you—"

She pressed her fingers lightly to his lips.

"Please, no talk," she told him urgently. "WeVe little time before your hunters come, so listen to me. It was Tadg who sent this fog against you. The cx)ntinued use of his powers against you has angered my people. For that reason I was allowed to come to help you. But it was only for this time. Til not be able to give you help again. Instead, I can tell you this: if youVe again faced with such a situation and you must learn what to do, use the power of the salmon."

"The salmon?" Finn said, not understanding.

**The salmon of knowledge," she said. "You must remember."

He shrugged. "But it gave me no power!'*

There were shouts behind them. Finn looked around to see the band of Moma warriors moving through the woods just beyond the band of fog. They stopped, spotting him on the high ridge, gesturing emphatically toward him. Then they plunged into the thick cloud.

"They are coming," she said. "I can wait no longer.**

He turned back and gripped her shoulders, holding her.

"Wait! YouTl not escape me so easily this time. You must tell me about the salmon."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Finn, you nmst think! I can do no more for you. Think what you did when you first tasted the fish. Now I must go!"

She lifted up on her toes, leaned forward, and planted another long, warm, and most emphatic kiss upon his lips. Then, before the pleasantly surprised young man could react, she pulled away and fled gracefully into the trees. He was left with the lingering impressions of her smooth skin, her springlike fragrance, and her soft lips.

Her kiss had also left him with another tingling charge of extra energy. It erased the last effects of the fog's magic, giving him a feeling of vitality greater than when he'd begun the race.

He was going to need this extra vitality, for now the hunters of the Fianna burst from the fog just below him at an all-out run. Motivated by the nearness of

their quarry, they were putting their all into a final effort to capture him.

Some of them whooped in triumph as they closed in. But their elation was short-lived. It might as well have been a fox that they were trying to catch as Finn darted away into the trees.

"Keep on! Keep on!" shouted GolL "He's not out yet!"

And his men did keep on after the flying young warrior. But it was no use. As before, Finn quickly left them far behind as he ran the final distance to the edge and burst from the trees into the view of the waiting crowd.

A tremendous cheer burst from the watchers as he pulled to a stop before them, grinning broadly. Then he was surrounded by well-wishers so excited by his victory that little notice was paid to the Fianna pursuers when they stumbled, panting with exhaustion, from the woods.

Conan came out last, puffing, red-faced, barely able to keep his feet.

"I . . . told . . . you—" he gasped out to his brother.

"No more, Conan!" Goll snapped back, and pushed through the adulating crowd to Finn's side.

At his order, the Fian chieftains once more inspected the young warrior. They did it carefiilly, again and again, seeking any tiny scratch, any bit of twig embedded in the clothes, any single hair pulled out of its place. Finally all shook their heads and turned to their captain.

"He has passed," one announced. "He has won the right to become a man of the Fianna."

"Not until he passes the bardic test," Goll said sharply. He stepped close to Finn, meeting his eye. There was a certain smugness in his expression. "I doubt youVe had much chance to acquire the poet's skills hidden away in your glens all these years. "

Finn smiled modestly. "Some," he said. "I was taught by an ollamh named Finnegas."

There was a gasp of amazement in the surrounding crowd.

"Why, he's said to be one of the finest bards in Ireland," a Fian chieftain said in an awed tone.

GolFs smugness faded. The look he now fixed on Finn was stone.

"Of course/' he said with a certain resignation in his voice. "Such a thing I should have guessed." Then he shook his head, trying to recover some confidence again. "Still, it must be tested. We will return to the dun. There the high king's own ollamhs can determine just what skills you really have."

Chapter Thirty-two

A CHIEFTAIN OF THE

FIANNA

At the orders of Goll MacMoma, the crowd began to break up. The nobility started back toward the gates of the fortress. The common folk drifted back to their fairgrounds. As the people scattered, Finn was joined by his companions. He accepted the congratulations of the warriors, gave great hugs to Muirne and Liath and even a protesting Bodhmall.

But then the young warrior's joyous expression turned to a grim one as he glimpsed someone through the thinning crowd. For Tadg himself had arrived to witness the successful outcome of his newest effort and was now standing, fi*ozen, staring in dismay at the victorious youth.

Finn stepped toward him, determined the wily druid would not avoid a confi*ontation this time.

"Well, my grandfather!" he said. "You seem un-

happy at the outcome. Not as you expected again, is it?"

"What do you mean?" Tadg shot back, still off balance from this unexpected turn.

"I mean that you failed," Finn said. "That's twice in the same day, I think."

Muime understood the meaning of this. Angrily she moved toward her father too.

"So, my loving parent," she said with heavy scorn. "You have used your powers against my son again!"

Tadg had by now recovered his self-control. His response was assured and cool.

"I've no idea what you are speaking about. These tests are a matter between MacCumhal and these Fianna men."

"Don't He to me," she told him hotly. "I look at your face and I see the truth of it. I knew that you disliked Cumhal, but I never believed that you hated him, and me as well for marrying him. "

The attention of many, including Goll MacMorna, turned to them at this. Tadg was aware of their notice and it clearly made him uncomfortable.

"I had nothing but admiration for the man," he said quickly, sounding a bit flustered, "and nothing but love for you."

"Love!" she said with a derisive laugh. "Oh, yes. So much love that you've avoided speaking to me since I returned."

"I have been . . . very busy with Samhain," he hedged. "But I've worried all these years about what became of you. And you are welcome to return to my family now. You and"—he forced himself to smile weakly at Finn—"my grandson."

"Of course," she said. "You could be rid of your shame easily theti. You could destroy me and my son as you destroyed Cumhal!"

"I played no part in the death of MacTredhom," Tadg argued vehemently, glancing around at the curious eyes. "This is some madness that has obsessed you, Daughter. It was a struggle between the Fian clans that killed him."

"Was it?" she asked, glancing meaningfully toward Goll. "Or were the sons of Moma merely tools for

Tadg opened his mouth to protest, but she gave him no chance.

"Good-bye, Father," she told him with finality. "You told my son that I was dead to you a long time ago. I am happy to remain so."

With that she turned and walked away with great dignity.

"You've given me several causes to take your life, my grandfather," Finn added. "But I would never be able to harm one of my own blood. Good-bye."

He joined his mother and, accompanied by the rest of their party, they started back toward the fortress gates. The high druid, flushed with shame at this public humiliation, stared balefully after them.

"You lying hypocrite," came a voice fi*om behind him.

He turned to see Goll MacMoma watching him. The rest of the crowd had departed now, leaving the Fian captain, his brother, and the druid alone at the edge of the woods.

"What is it you re speaking about then?" he asked irritably.

"I heard what you told her," said Goll, moving toward him. "But it was she who spoke the truth. You did ever\^thing you could to see Cumhal dead, and youVe done the same for his son. YouVe even used those black powers of yours today, haven't you?"

"Of course I have," Tadg admitted, waving the fact away with a careless gesture.

"So you did play some trick with the spears. I was thinking you had after I talked to the warriors who threw them."

"Yes, I did. And what else was I to do? You must know by now that he can't be stopped any other way. Your tests don't work."

"I warned you against using your druid treachery," Goll told him darkly.

"You're a fool," Tadg answered harshly. "Our pur-

pose is to stop him. If it takes my powers, then I will use them. Otherwise he will take the leadership."

"If he challenges me, I will fight him," Goll told him. "iVe said I would do so."

"You will lose. You would have lost to the Baiscne clan in your last fight with them." He fixed Goll with a chill, commanding eye, all pretext at diplomacy now gone in his anger. "It's time you understood. Just how do you think you'd be where you are now, my grand captain, without my powers?"

"What are you teUing me?"

"That it was an enchantment sent by me that sapped the strength of Cumhal and his men and gave you the victory."

Goll understood. "Of course. The fog. Like the one in the woods just now." He jerked his sword fi*om its sheath, stalking toward Tadg, face twisted with his wrath. "rU kill you for what youVe done!"

Conan moved in, quite swiftly for all his bulk, and seized his brother, pulling him back.

"No, Goll! What are you doing?"

"He's dishonored us!" the captain shouted. "Don't you see? We won the leadership with treachery! His treachery!"

"He is still a high druid, Goll," his brother reasoned, fear in his voice. "To harm him would bring their powers against us."

"Listen to him, Goll," Tadg advised, backing away, his arms upheld before him. "No greater crime can be done in all Ireland than harming a man of the druidic class."

Goll shook ofiF his brother's grip, but he made no further advance upon the druid. His first madness had passed. He slammed his sword back into its sheath.