Night of the Fifth Moon (7 page)

SAMHAIN

Nearing the sound of voices and the scent of aspen smoke, Ket forced himself to slow down and saunter into camp. Lorccán and Bran must never guess his secret.

‘Hey,' called Nessa. ‘What took you so long?'

The fosterlings were clustered around the hollow oak, draping it with holly to keep out evil spirits.

‘Yes, hurry, it's getting late,' cried Riona. She was on her knees, laying a ring of prickly leaves and red berries around the roots of the tree.

‘Coming,' said Ket. ‘I'll just . . . I'll just . . .'

At that moment, there was a loud hiss and billow of smoke and Art and Bronal staggered away from the fire, coughing and flapping their hands. Ket grinned with delight. On Samhain Eve every flame in the land had to be extinguished, and the two anruth had just poured water over their campfire.

Masked by the pall of smoke, Ket crept over to the Sacred Yew and squatted beside the ogham rod. He laid his stone on the ground and examined it eagerly.

The word had to be
Cormac
, his grandfather's name, so the four strokes at the top, pointing left, must be
C
, and the next was
o
. . . He peered from his stone to the message on the birch rod. The
C
wasn't there. But the next feda was! And the two after that! He thrust his knuckle in his mouth and bit hard to stop himself crowing with excitement.

‘Hey, what are you up to?'

Ket jumped with shock, and threw himself on top of his stone. But it was too late. Lorccán had already reached out to grab it.

‘Don't!' cried Ket. ‘That's mine!'

‘Not now, it isn't!' Lorccán waved it in the air.

Blazing with fury, Ket launched himself at Lorccán. The other boy twisted and struggled, but Ket hung on, clawing at his arm, till the stone was back in his grasp. Triumphantly, he spun round and flung it towards the trees.

‘There!' he panted. ‘It's gone!'

‘Ha, I can find it,' retorted Lorccán. He tried to step away, but Ket seized his léine. There was a loud ripping noise.

‘Ket!' It was the shocked voice of Faelán. ‘What is this rough behaviour?'

Ket dropped Lorccán's sleeve as if it were burning his hands and turned to face the druid.

‘Young man, this is not the behaviour I expect from someone who aspires to be a druid.'

Ket's cheeks flared. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lorccán sidle towards the stone. He clenched his jaw.

‘You have disappointed me,' the druid continued, shaking his head. Then he glanced up at the sky. ‘Now, it is getting late . . .'

Lorccán stopped moving and all the fosterlings stared with dismay at the setting sun. Soon, the Spirits of the Dead would begin to stir.

Ket's eyes fell to the cairn. In the sunset, the rocks glowed pink.

‘And they're not all rocks,' Ket remembered, his stomach twisting, ‘some of them are skulls.'

He felt for the comfort of the red string at his wrist, and found nothing. He looked down. The string was gone. It must have been torn off when he struggled with Lorccán for the stone. He was gripped by a feeling of panic.

‘I must start my vigil,' Faelán announced.

Tonight the druid would stand waiting and watching on the peak of the cairn, with the dead beneath him and firewood laid ready at his feet. Far off in Uisnech, when the Old Year ended, the leader of the druids would light the first spark to signal the New Year. Then a message of fire would spread across the land from peak to peak as every watching druid lit a flame.

‘Who will carry my firewood up the cairn?' inquired Faelán.

‘Not me,' whimpered Riona, backing away.

A taste of fear filled Ket's throat, but the druid's eyes came to rest on Bran.

‘Bran, gather some wood and bring it up the mound for me,' said Faelán, and he strode across the Plain of Moytura towards the cairn.

Nessa hurried to Bran, her face creased with concern.

‘Oh, Bran . . .'

‘Pah!' Bran stuck out his chin and looked round defiantly. ‘I'm not scared by ghost stories.' He picked up an armload of wood and marched off.

Nessa let out a sigh and turned to Ket.

‘What were you and Lorccán squabbling about?' she asked.

‘I—'

Before Ket could answer, Riona came bustling up like a herd dog scenting danger. ‘Come on,' she urged, ‘we have to get inside the tree!'

Nath-í's sleeve caught on the holly as they squeezed through the opening.

‘Uch, this stuff scratches,' he complained.

‘Careful, don't pull it down!' warned Nessa.

They all crowded in. Lorccán took the space in the middle and the others squashed around the edges, with bits of rotting tree trunk showering down on them. Ket could hear Riona breathing nervously beside him.

‘Nath-í, when we were little, before you came, we always sneaked in here to sleep when it rained,' said Nessa.

‘
I
never did,' said Lorccán.

It was true. Even when he was only seven, Lorccán had always slept outdoors beside the anruth.

‘When I was little, I cried every night with homesickness,' said Riona. ‘Nessa, you used to comfort me, remember?'

‘I remember,' said Nessa, ‘and you made
me
cry.'

‘And me,' said Ket.

‘
I
never cried,' said Lorccán.

‘I wish Bran would hurry up,' said Riona. ‘It's nearly dark!' She leaned anxiously forward.

Peering through the slit in the trunk, they could all see Bran toiling up the cairn. He dropped the bundle of wood, and turned to scurry down again.

They heard the pounding of his feet, and the next moment he was scrambling through the entrance, gasping for breath.

‘You made it just in time,' said Riona.

It was twilight now. As they watched, the colours of daylight bleached out of the world. The sky darkened. They could see the black shapes of the anruth huddled by the dead ashes of their fire, and the shadowy figure of the druid on the cairn. The last glow of sun, like a trickle of blood, stained the edge of the sky, and faded away. For a moment, the round, bright shape of a full moon hung above the treetops, then a bank of cloud drifted across, and they were left in darkness.

‘The Spirits of the Dead are rising,' quavered Riona.

‘Don't worry,' said Nessa reassuringly. ‘They won't get past our holly.'

‘The anruth don't have holly!' Riona protested.

‘They could if they wanted,' said Nessa. ‘They're not scared.'

Ket felt a tenseness in the group around him, then suddenly Lorccán sprang to his feet.

‘I'm not scared, either,' he exclaimed. ‘I'm not skulking in here.'

Roughly, he pushed his way outside.

‘Lorccán, don't! Come back,' wailed Riona.

There was no answer. They could hear his stumbling footsteps and then he disappeared in the darkness.

Inside the tree there was a stunned silence. Ket could feel the blood pounding in his ears. Far in the distance, there came an unearthly cry, followed by the sound of beating wings, growing steadily louder. Suddenly, thousands of black shapes came pouring into camp, whirling and diving. They churned up a wind that screamed and eddied about the tree. The fosterlings clung to each others' hands while the voices of the anruth rose in a rapid, nervous chant.

‘Protect us!

Spirits of Earth, Sea and Sky

Protect us!

Spirits of Sun, Moon and Stars

Protect us!

Spirits of Fire, Water and Air

Remember our offerings

When the barrier

Between our worlds

Is rent asunder.

Take pity

In this time without time.

Take pity

Harm us not

Protect us

Till the New Year comes.'

The beating and flapping surged and ebbed, like a rolling wave.

Ket wanted to call to Lorccán, but no sound would come from his throat.

‘Look!' breathed Nessa.

A tiny light was flickering in the blackness. As they watched, it grew larger until they could see it was a leaping fire on the top of the cairn. For a moment, the shape of the druid showed in front of it and then he disappeared.

There were murmurings and scrapings as they all strained forward to see what was happening.

‘There he is! He's coming over here.'

A gleam was bobbing towards the camp. They let out a wavering cheer as Faelán, carrying the flame, appeared between the trees.

In front of the hollow oak, a sprawled figure lifted its head from the ground and rose slowly to its knees.

‘Ah, Lorccán, so you do not fear the spirits,' said Faelán. ‘Come; light the first fire for the New Year, and keep vigil with us for the night of Samhain.' He held out the torch, and Lorccán stepped forward.

THE TOMB

‘Ooh, I don't know how Lorccán dared,' said Riona. ‘
I
couldn't go out there with all those spirits around!'

‘Don't see how you could ever be a druid then,' said Bran.

‘Weren't
you
scared climbing the mound of the Shadow Ones?' asked Riona. ‘And walking on those skulls?'

‘Well . . . I didn't look down,' admitted Bran.

‘I wouldn't go near the dead tonight,' said Nath-í fervently.

Ket didn't want to either. But Bran had climbed the mound, and now Lorccán was out there with all the Spirits of the Dead roaming about . . .

With his insides turning to water, Ket forced himself to his feet.

‘I'm going outside too.' He tried to sound brave as he thrust his way out of the tree. Rain pelted his face, and the air was so frosty it made him gasp.

‘Ket, where are you going?' called Nessa anxiously.

The bright, welcoming circle of the campfire lay in front of him but Ket stared beyond it, across a world of darkness, to the small flicker of the Samhain fire high on the mound.

‘To the cairn of the Shadow Ones,' he whispered.

As he passed the campfire, curious faces turned towards him. He saw Lorccán's astonished expression and the glint of Faelán's eyes. He was glad they couldn't see that his legs were as trembly as a newborn lamb's.

Rain ran down his hair and face as he stumbled forward. All around, in the murky night, shadows seemed to shift and quiver as if they were following him.

The grey mound of the cairn loomed in front. He could see the crest, lit by the dancing flames. And below . . . He jerked to a halt. There was the entrance to the tomb.

He stood in his wet clothes, teeth chattering, and stared at the low opening, half-sunk in the ground. What would he find in there? The Shadow Ones, or skeletons with bare, grinning skulls? He started to reach for the red band at his wrist, then remembered it was gone. Sweat joined the rain running down his forehead.

‘Go on,' he growled at himself.

Step by unsteady step, he stumbled forward till he reached the cairn. Now he had to climb through that black hole into the earth. He took a shuddering breath, and lowered one foot. The next moment he was slipping and sliding on wet mud, and clutching at the massive stone doorposts. Then he was out of the rain, cowering inside a tunnel, with dry walls of stone curved around him. In the faint moonlight that came through the opening, he could see a paved floor sloping downwards.

Dragging his hands along the stonework, Ket took a few shuffling steps. Soon, his hands were patting air. It was dark in the depths of the tomb, but he sensed a chamber arching around him. He waited, ears straining, eyes trying to pierce the blackness. There were no sounds. No voices. No movements. All he could see was something glinting on the wall in front of him. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, a long, silvery shape emerged from the gloom. It seemed to be a horn, hanging by a string. Ket stretched out to touch it.