Night of the Fifth Moon (5 page)

‘What did Nuada do?' he asked.

‘He led a battle.'

‘Good,' said Goll, ‘and what happened in the battle?'

‘He lost his hand.'

‘Then here's
huathe
,
h
, for hand.' Above
nuin
, Goll drew another feda, just one stroke to the left. ‘There.'

He leaned back on his heels. ‘Now, show me how the feda tell the story.'

Ket pointed to
nuin
. ‘
N
is for writing Nuada,' he said. ‘Nuada led the Tuatha de Danaan in a battle. And . . .' He grinned and pointed excitedly to the other feda. ‘And
h
. That's for hand. Nuada lost his hand so he couldn't be king any more! Now,
I'll
draw the feda.' He grabbed the knife and tried to scratch a sign in the trunk. It was harder than it looked, but at last he achieved five flat strokes. ‘There! Nuin!'

‘Don't forget to put the stemline in. On the left,' warned Goll. ‘Otherwise it could be
quert
or
iodo
.'

But Ket was impatient to return to the others. ‘Come on!' He bounded to his feet. ‘I can go back and tell the story now. If we draw the feda on . . . on a stick or something . . .'

Goll chuckled. ‘It'll be quicker to write them the secret way,' he said.

‘What secret way?'

‘Watch my hands.'

Ket looked down. Goll's hands were curled in fists. Then his right hand flicked open for a moment and closed again. ‘How many fingers did I point?' he demanded.

‘One.'

Goll nodded. ‘One stroke pointing left. Which feda is that?'

‘
Huathe
!
H
for hand. And here's
n
for Nuada.' Ket opened and closed his own hand, pointing all five fingers.

‘Look who's back,' Art announced, as Ket, following Goll, stepped sheepishly out of the forest.

‘Don't worry, Ket. We waited for you. We didn't finish the tale without you,' called Riona.

There was a stir of expectation as everyone set down their bowls and turned to face him. Nessa's eyes were anxious and encouraging.

‘Have the trees brought you wisdom?' inquired Faelán.

‘The trees? Uuuh . . .' In his mind's eye Ket saw the ogham carved into the bark. ‘Yes, the trees, of course!' he replied. He stooped and picked up his branch of bells. Goll was holding out five pointing fingers. Ket grinned, and gave the bells a shake. ‘Nuada!' he announced. ‘King Nuada led the Tuatha de Danaan in a battle. And then . . .' He glanced at Goll's single pointing finger. ‘
H
. . . hand!' He looked round the circle, light-headed with relief. ‘The hand of King Nuada was struck from his arm; and though Credne the Smith fashioned a new hand of silver, Nuada had a blemish and was no longer fit for kingship. There!' He turned to Bran. ‘Now your turn.'

But as Bran began to speak, Ket's eyes drifted to the ogham rod Faelán had stuck in the ground. At the very top there was one straight line pointing left.
Huathe! H
for hand! He already knew the first feda in the message!

THE GREATER
HARMONY

‘So,' said the druid next morning, ‘Ket has already benefited from my first instruction, to gain strength and inspiration from the trees.'

Ket squirmed as the others turned to look at him.

‘Well,' he mumbled. ‘I . . .'

‘Now you must build on that lesson,' Faelán continued. ‘You must all build. You must study and communicate with everything around you, from the tallest tree to the smallest insect. Open your eyes and your ears. Be receptive to the spirits around you. See, listen, hear what they have to tell you. Come with me now, look around. Tell me what you see.'

He strode towards the forest and the fosterlings hurried after him.

‘Trees!' called Lorccán.

‘Ah.' The druid paused below the hollow oak. ‘But what are the messages from the trees?' The fosterlings looked at each other blankly. ‘How do they tell us the end of the year approaches?' probed Faelán.

‘Their leaves are changing colour.'

‘And falling off!' cried Bran, holding out his hand to catch an oak leaf as it floated down. Before it could reach him, Lorccán dived forward and plucked it from the air.

‘Got it!' he yelled.

‘Ah, Lorccán,' Faelán chuckled, ‘you have just won yourself good health during the coming months of cold. Now, what other signs tell us that winter is approaching?'

They stared round for inspiration ‘If it were summer, what would you see?' asked Faelán.

‘
Green
leaves,' said Lorccán quickly.

‘Flowers.'

‘Pigs rooting for acorns,' said Nessa, ‘and the swineherds who bring them from the ringforts.'

Ket closed his eyes and pictured the woodland in the month of Beltane. The trees and bushes would be festive with bloom – cascades of white on the hawthorn and rowan, bright sprays of yellow on the gorse, golden catkins dangling from the oak tree, bluebells nodding their heads. He could feel the sun warm through the branches and hear the buzz of insects.

‘Bees and butterflies,' he murmured.

‘And what else can you hear?' asked Faelán.

‘Pipits, reed warblers, swallows.'

‘Good.' Ket opened his eyes and Faelán nodded, pleased. ‘But now . . .' The druid swept out his arms. ‘All those signs of summer have gone. What do you see now in the forest?'

‘The blackberries are ripe,' said Lorccán.

‘And the sloe berries, and the dark purple elderberries.'

‘Hazelnuts,' said Nessa. ‘The squirrels are gathering their winter hoards.'

‘But that stuff's all obvious,' Bran broke in. ‘Everyone knows trees lose their leaves in autumn, and berries are ready to pick. You don't have to be a druid for that!'

‘Ah, so that is why
you
seek further.' Faelán stooped and patted the rotting leaf litter. ‘Search beneath these leaves . . .' He thrust his hand under the leaves and when he drew it out, a grey, scaly woodlouse was crawling across his palm. ‘Hold out your hand,' he instructed Riona.

She pulled a face as he eased the insect onto her reluctant finger.

‘What can you feel?' he inquired.

‘Nothing.'

‘This insect is so small, so light, we cannot feel it exists. Most people would crush it, and not even be aware they did so. But in spite of its tiny size, it plays an important part in the cycle of life. By nibbling the fallen leaves, it will gradually break them down till they become part of the soil. In turn, the dead leaves will nourish the tree that bore them, so that new leaves can grow.' He looked up into the branches of the oak then back at his listeners. His tone changed and he snapped a question. ‘What are the lessons in this?'

Nessa gestured in excitement. Her green eyes shone, and her red-gold hair was the same glowing colour as the birch leaves.

‘We can all do something to help others, even if we are small and weak,' she exclaimed.

‘Good.'

‘And . . . and we should respect all lives, even the lives of insects?' asked Ket.

Faelán nodded. ‘Insects, trees, even leaves. Ordinary mortals smash through this world, disturbing and destroying for their own needs. But a druid tries to be part of the Greater Harmony.'

‘I've seen that when you walk,' said Ket excitedly. ‘Your feet don't even disturb the grass. Are you going to teach us to walk like that?'

The druid tugged his beard. ‘That is something you must work out for yourselves,' he said. ‘It is learnt through observation. Between now and the next new moon, I advise you to open your eyes and look around you.' He spread his arms. ‘Study the insects; the birds; the buds on the trees. The river. The sky. Respect them, and learn what they can teach.'

‘But . . .'

The druid dropped his hands. ‘Yes, Bran?'

‘We've already got all those stories to learn!'

‘If you memorise the tales, the poems and the songs, and learn nothing more,' chided Faelán, ‘then you will only reach the level of a bard. Is that your desire? It is an honourable calling, but a bard has not the powers of a druid.'

‘I want to be a druid,' mumbled Bran.

‘Well then, keep your eyes and your ears open. Look around you – in daytime and at night, in sunshine and in rain – and you will learn many important things.'

Gently, he returned the woodlouse to the leaves, and straightened up.

‘Ket . . .' He turned. ‘You have already shown an affinity with the trees. Which tree was it that gave you support when you needed to complete your story task?'

‘Uuh . . .' Ket saw all the others watching him, jealous and curious. He closed his eyes and pictured the ogham signs scraped into the smooth, grey-green trunk. ‘It was an ash.'

‘An
ash
?!' The druid's voice rose inquiringly. ‘The ash is a warrior's tree. Its strong wood makes fine spears, but I would not have expected . . .'

He gazed at Ket, one eyebrow raised, and Ket felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

‘It wasn't the tree that helped me, exactly,' he mumbled. ‘It was Goll. He showed me some ogham. He carved it on the trunk.'

‘Aaah!' Faelán nodded, but Ket could feel the indignation of the others around him.

‘Is . . . is Goll
allowed
to help?' burst out Riona.

‘Why not?' responded Faelán. ‘When I challenged you to search for ogham clues I did not tell you where or how to look. It is your good fortune if one of the anruth chooses to teach you. But now . . .' The corner of his mouth curled. ‘Ket has a difficult choice. He must decide if he will share his knowledge with the rest of you.' In the strained silence that followed, he turned to leave.

The moment he was out of sight, the others rounded on Ket.

‘You cheated,' cried Lorccán indignantly.

‘Ooh, Master Faelán, the
trees
helped me,' mimicked Bran.

‘You
are
going to share, Ket, aren't you?' pleaded Riona.

‘Will you?' asked Nath-í.

‘Of course he won't,' scoffed Bran.

‘Hey, everyone, stop pestering him,' scolded Nessa. ‘We're all competing, remember. He doesn't have to tell.'

‘I . . .' Ket had planned to tell Nessa anyway. And maybe Nath-í and Riona. But as for Lorccán and Bran . . . Ket pressed his lips together. If those two found clues, they would never dream of sharing. But Bran had a point. Faelán had just told them that being a druid was all about helping others.

‘He's going to tell! He's going to tell!' squealed Riona as Ket knelt on the ground and began to brush some leaves aside. ‘Careful, don't hurt the woodlice!' she warned.

‘I need a clear space,' said Ket.

Everyone hovered over him as he scraped the shape of a feda in the dirt.

‘That's an
n
sound, for Nuada.'

‘Is it in the message?' blurted Lorccán. ‘I'm going to see.'

‘Bet you're tricking us,' said Bran.

The two of them leapt to their feet and raced towards the ogham stick.

‘But . . .' Bemused, Ket leaned back on his heels. ‘They should have waited,' he said. ‘I know another one too.'

Riona squirmed excitedly.

‘Show us. Quick!' she said. ‘Before they come back.'

She gathered up the leaves again, and as soon as Ket had drawn
huathe
, she covered it up, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Don't let them see, don't let them see!'

‘Hey,
I
didn't see it properly,' Nath-í complained.

‘Come on.' Riona grabbed Nessa's hand and tugged her to her feet. ‘Let's move away from here. Before they guess what we're doing.'

The girls hurried away, giggling, while Nath-í poked at the pile of leaves.

‘Watch out!' Ket had spied a frightened woodlouse scurrying for cover. He tried to coax it onto his finger as Faelán had done, but the instant the creature felt the touch of a hand it curled into a ball.