Smoke was pleasantly surprised by the fare.  The monk’s table was bountiful it seemed the brotherhood was much more generous with its guests than it was with its brethren.  Gospels ate too, but Smoke noted his restraint despite having learned that he had been fasting while they were on the rock.  These men thought nothing of self-sacrifice, indeed that seemed to be the point of it all.

There were some 100  or so brothers, guest brothers, and novices here at the monastery.  The weather was most likely milder, but they lived in the same beehive huts, two or three together, and spent their lives in prayer and industrious work that supplied their physical needs with enough left for guests and to procure other needful things, at least in their minds, not luxuries, or niceties, but books and scrolls and writing implements, inks, and dyes.

Smoke listened as Gospels explained how his order had its foundations over the great mountains to the East even though he himself had never seen those mountains or even met a person who had.  These monks knew things far beyond their experience.  A man, even a learned one, likely knew far less, because these monks had access to written records, books, documents they had a memory to be envied.

Smoke had wondered about the Gaels who supposedly lived on the other side of the great Eastern mountain range.  He had lived in the south, had traded with Nubia, travelled through the lands of the Great Khan, dealt with factors of the blood thirsty Corn Kings, hired guides from the tribes, and from these he had heard whispers of the Gael, of the Celts on their islands, even of stranger, more exotic places, but only whispers.  Smoke wanted to know about these places.

This is most of a draft of the first chapter of my Niall Nine Hostages novel.  Notably it is a hurling match and it is for the hurling and not because there will be more of this novel offered that I present it.

Niall, eldest son of the Ard Ri, hurtled toward the goal with the sliotar balance on the end of his hurley.  Half the boys shouted with exhilaration; half howled their distress as they struggled to mount a defense in front of the H-frame goal.  A knot of boys formed up, waving their hurleys menacingly, ready to block the intruder’s drive.  Behind Niall, a howling mob closed in.  At the last moment, Niall spun away from the center of the field, still balancing the ball on his stick.  Niall grinned over his shoulder and his pursuers knew that they had been tricked.

Niall, skidding to a stop, shook his red hair out of his eyes and laughed.  He hurled the sliotar just over the outstretched hurleys of his opponents.  “Fynn!” he shouted over the cries of consternation from the defense, “Take it!”

A lanky boy with a worried look ran toward the bouncing pass with a determined set to his jaw.  Fynn Vyrrn saw nothing but the ball.  He was so determined that he did not see the larger boy, named Cenid, preparing to take him out instead of competing for the ball. Niall saw the danger, but too late, and yelled a useless warning, “Fynn!”

Fynn never saw Cenid coming as his eyes followed the path of his shot, nor did the shouted warning have an effect.  Cenid caught the running hurler about chest high and drove Fynn into the ground with his hurley.  Fynn dropped like a stone, the impact slamming his head and shoulders to the turf with a thud that brought gasps from other players.  Fynn came to rest in a crumpled ball.

A wicked grin split Cenid’s face, but he leered not at Fynn but at his older brother, Niall.  The thick-waisted lad, the second son of the Ard Ri, the high king, was easily the tallest of all the hurlers.  Satisfied that Niall had seen his intent, Canid turned his attentions back to the ball, but it was too late, already other offensive players had reached the sliotar.

A small brown-haired boy scooped up the ball with his hurley, catching it in his left hand.

“Seamus!” cried the older boys, waving their sticks in supplication.

Seamus, the quick-tongued youngest son of the king, scowled and pointedly ignored their calls for him to pass.  Three quick steps toward the goal and he slapped the ball in the air.  With all his strength the small boy swung two handed at the ball driving it at the goal with a loud crack.

A defense-man took the shot hard off his chest.  As brave as the boy was to face the first shot, he was not near brave enough nor fast enough to stop the avalanche of players all pounding after the ball.  The defender fell under the onrushing players and came up bloodied.  With a loud shout the sliotar skidded through the goal posts.

“Three!”  They called and “Seven!”

The hapless defense-man hurried after the ball, wiping the blood from his nose onto the bratt which was wrapped around his waist and pinned at one shoulder.  the scorers jogged back toward the center of the field cheering and squabbling about who had actually scored the goal.

The bloodied boy tossed the ball in the air, watching it with a practiced eye.  With a grunt he sent it soaring past the middle of the field.  The game resumed in earnest.  Nobody but Niall seemed to notice Fynn beginning to stir on the ground.  Niall made note of the movement and tuned back to the game.  The ball was surrounded on all sides by a press of boys and never traveled far before striking a leg or hurley.

The smaller lads hovered around the central melee of chopping an cursing boys.  When the sliotar came loose the nearest boy batted it toward his goal.  Every boy knew that if he hesitated he would be quickly mauled by the other players.  If he was quick, he might try to pass the ball with practiced swings or kicks. When given a moment to attempt it, a boy might try to scoop the ridged ball onto his hurley and carry it there or even flip it into a hand for more control.

Few of the younger boys tried this tactic. Everyone seemed to swing at the sliotar with their sticks whether it rested on the ground, flew through the air, or was being held in an unfortunate hand.  So eager were the boys that it did not seem materially important whether or not the lad holding the ball was on their team or not.

A few of the boys were older and a lot more accomplished than their mates.  Two stood out far above he rest, one for his size and brutality and the other for his speed and skill.  Where Cenid went, he pushed the smaller boys away with shoves, kicks, and even an occasional reckless strike with his hurley.  Stifled tears followed close behind Cenid, the Ard Ri’s second oldest son.

Niall, the elder by less than a year and shorter by nearly a foot, made up for his stature with his wits, his skill, and his ferocity.  No collisions impeded his rapid dashes unless a shoulder sent an opponent stumbling unbalanced but unhurt.

Niall moved like the wind.  Slicing in, Niall tapped the sliotar free from the knot of boys with a well aimed poke from his hurley.  Laughing with glee he easily scooped up the ball with his carved ash stick, his ears full of the cursing and the consternation of his fellows.  Niall snatched the ball from the air and took two quick steps away from the other combatants.  He looked for a teammate down the field in scoring position, but all his team seemed tangled in the cluster of struggling hurlers behind him.

Decision brought instant action, Niall lifted the hurley to his shoulder as he took another step and slapped the ball into the air with an open palm.  The sliotar hovered in the air a moment and then began to fall to the green, but Niall, his hurley gripped tightly in both hands now, was well prepared for his shot.

A moan went up from the boys who were unfortunate enough to be on the other team.  Though smaller than most of the other boys Niall was powerful and above all intense.  With practiced efficiency he drove the ball over the goal in a high arching shot that brought a sigh of admiration from his team-mates.

“Hah!” crowed Seamus.  The scrappy brown-haired boy nudging the large, now red faced, Cenid, “Niall is going to beat you again.”

“Shut up Seamus!” Cenid placed his hand over the smaller boy’s face and shoved him back onto the pitch as he strode through the press of players toward Niall, “You carried that ball and threw it.  I saw it!”  Cenid’s eyes narrowed and he stabbed his hurley at Niall’s chest.  “You always cheat.  How else could someone so small and puny beat me?”

Seamus had dusted himself off and followed, the mischief that danced behind his eyes would not let him resist the urge to take another poke at his older brother, “Perhaps if you had something other than moss in your head you’d be smarter than the sliotar, Cenid…”

Cenid rounded on the smaller boy, charging with his heavy ash hurley raised and a murderous gleam in his eyes. Seamus cowered, seeing the glint and fearing a beating.  Other boys seemed to melt away from Seamus, where he stood.  The hurley fell toward Seamus in a blur too quick, the youngest prince couldn’t even cover his head with his arms.  Inches short of the small boy’s head, another hurley shot out to catch Cenid’s and knock it aside.  The ferocious impact shattered the hurley that Niall held and sent Cenid stumbling past Seamus.  Seamus scrambled behind his protector.

“You owe me a hurley Cenid,” quipped Niall as he examined the broken stick before casually tossing it away, “and you almost owed me a new brother. You would have killed him if you’d hit him.”

“Mind your own affairs Niall or I swear I’ll give you worse than I’d ever give Seamus,” growled Cenid.

Niall frowned and strode closer to the taller Cenid, “I thought I explained my interest in this, not that I need an one to keep you from killing someone on a whim,” Said Niall.

“He had it coming brother, and I’m sick of your interfering too.” Cenid crouched with his hurley held like a weapon before him, “What makes you think you can command me?  And what makes you think you can stop me?”

Niall chuckled humorlessly and stepped even closer to Cenid, ready to fight, but bare handed, “Age, experience, intelligence, and the fact that I just did it.”

Cenid roared and lifted the hurley for a killing stroke.  Long before he could strike, Niall seized the haft of the hurley and pulled it down and away from Cenid as he whirled inside the arch with an elbow raised.  Pulled off balance Cenid could do nothing to avoid the elbow that sent him sprawling without his hurley.

Seamus snickered, but a look from Niall silenced him. “Hurling is over for today, off with you all.” Niall shouted loudly enough for all the players to hear him, but to his smaller brother he spoke softly aside, “That goes double for you Seamus.” Niall turned back to Cenid where he crouched on the ground, red faced.

“I’ll make you pay Niall,” Cenid hissed.

Niall ignored his threat. “Cenid, you owe me a hurley,” He said examining the finely carved and decorated hurley that he had taken from Cenid, “this used one will do.  Keep your wits about you and learn from your mistakes Cenid.  I’m not your worst enemy.  You should know I’m no enemy at all. Your worst enemy is yourself.”

Work in Progress  –  Expect change

Re-thinking the Time Line  — I will need to work out some birth rates and distributions of different genetics.  The 2 and 5 womb duty is planned for honest randomness, but three factors work against the plan. 1) The original designer,  Bridgit Collins, is not there to administer it 2) Dana Bailey focuses on a pure Celtic breeding program for her core which forces the Sinoese and Russian reactions and 3) the ice-age causes technological losses.

This is how the Tuatha de Dana came to Tir na Nua

-2   -   The great ship of the Gael sailed swift through the tightening grip of star light.  The Tuatha de Dana all slept.  Then ship master Bailey alone was awakened, he sensed the fearful threat.  The great tuath ship rushed above the clouds, toward the shores of the new country, Tir na Nua.  Looking ahead, it was barren of life, in chaos and storm, but the great magics of the Tuatha de Dana would put it right.

-1   -   With their far sight the Druids of the Tuatha de knew that there was a good land here.  What had seemed a clear in their seeing was made more difficult as they approached.  There were two lands that seem to be inhabitable.  One is sparse, a wasteland, but stable and at peace. The other seemed to be a fair land, but it was moon struck, star crushed, mountain whelmed, a great shaking of earth, a vast cascade of waters.  For the brave Celts it is ideal.

0   -   Driven by a fierce wind, Bailey took the steering oar and made to split the nine waves.  No doubt the landing place is rough and inhospitable, rocks on every hand, but the great oarsman god of the Tuatha de steered their ship through the nine waves.  Each wave roared its displeasure, each howled its resistance, each washed the deck in fury seeking to carry away the unwary.  So it was that the leech, Bridgit Collins, was carried away. In fear, three gods defy Bailey and fled to the quiet land.

Others would have lost heart, but ship master Bailey was undetered.  He mounted the nine waves and rode out the nine troughs to steer the great Tuath ship to rest upon the face of Tir na Nua between the great height of Slieb na Gael and the expanse of the Mountains of the West.   (DB 37 yrs.)

1   -   Then the Oak men blessed the land, the Druids of the Tuath de made formings and green places.  First the birch and the alder grew in the meadows of grass, then the willow held to the streams, then too the oaks set down roots and sacred woods were formed by the Oak men of Dana.  Then too, salmon were brought forth and the red deer and swine roamed among the seedlings. In the West, in the fair plain away from the burning of the ship of the de Dana the wise men and stewards made a habitation for the Tuath.  Not to be outdone Dana herself births Llyr (1).

2   -   More and more the people of Dana went out on the plain with the craft of the druids, of the oak men. There food grew for man and for beast in abundance.  It was a pleasant land and children were born to the Tuatha de Dana.  (25 wombs four fold as they say, 100 at the end of the generation.)

3  -  Lugh (2) is born.  He is remembered first for his many skills and that he did good.  (40 yrs. and he took up arms. I would lay my weapon there)

6   -   This is the way it was with the Tuatha de.  Each wife with her husband had a first born, but second, Dana gave a child.  The women bore this womb duty so that children of the gods were born.  Second and Fifth were borne as womb duty for the Tuatha de Dana.  But Dana favored the bright celtic stocks for her kings and queens.  Dana herself bare Brigid (3) not the betrayer who fled, this was the true born daughter of Dana herself.  Rus and Sinoese did not do their duty to the De Dana but selfishly made children of their own.  

8  -  Teutates (4) is born

9  -  Morrigan (5) is born. (Difficult birth for DB.)

11   -   Far in the north a party of the dru meet with tragedy.  One of them is killed, but he is animated by the god of the earth to speak to them.  That there is a necromancer of great power is clear and so the dru cleanse the place with fire.  This is the custom in the north, to burn the dead.

12   -   The wise of the Tuatha de consult with the great goddess, Dana and it is decided to meet the Necromancer and his minions with fire For a time this necromantic mind withdraws and avoids contact and the violent reaction that usually follows.

13  -   Weyland, known as Loki (6) is born

16  -   Gwynn (7) is born.  (DB nearly dies in child birth, at 53 yrs old.  Meds warn her against pregnancy.)

20  -   the generation of Llyr takes wives and husbands.  (about 100 pairs)

19  -  There was a woman of Sin, Mitsuko, who delved into the knowledge of life and stole from the great Dana a life.  This one, finding himself in the womb of the Bramble Sidhe, the Norfolk, lived among them until it was his time to wander, as do his brothers and sisters, though he did not know them by name or face.  Much later he would learn his name, Tuan.(His mother Adelade is 17, a first gen Norfolk.)

20  -  Soon after birth, Tuan goes with his Norfolk family to the roots of the Western mountains.

20  -  Llyr and Brigid are handfasted.  Now Brigid was long in flowering as was the way with many of Dana’s own children, but not so for Llyr.

30  -  Most first gen families were begun.  As they say, one hundred wombs four fold and again twice four hundred.

39  -  The ship master, Baily dies. (84 yrs.)

40  -  This is when the second generation began to take husbands and wives.  Then there were but two hundreds and fifty of all the peoples, Celts, and Rus, and Sinoese, and Norfolk Umircen, and too of the lesser folks.

42   -   The Rus were proud, and unhappy with the allotment given them by Dana and the rig Llyr.  They made to take preminance over all the Tuatha de, but they were thwarted and cast down by Llyr (41) and the shieldmen of Llyr.

43  -  Now Weyland/Loki focused his efforts on finding all manner of metals and rocks and powders of same for his magics and his pranks. (for this reason he was called Loki)   So he went to the mountainous regions of Sliebe na Gael.  There he delved its and found great treasure.

45  -   This year Brigid began her moon rites and a wedding was prepared.  This seemed ill to Lugh and he took Brigid, A moon time and a two day times they eloped and then Brigid was found by the Shieldmen and returned to Llyr.  This was when Llyr’s heart was darkened to Dana’s plans and all her ways.   Llyr’s anger was awful to see and his rage may not yet be cooled, who can say?

46  -  Brigid bore Mannanan (Mac Llyr).  In all this Llyr’s anger did not cool.  Having given Llyr an heir, Brigid rejects him.  For this and because he has no love for her at all Llyr dissolved their bonding.  For this reason Dana takes with her Brigid her child and they lived among the islands of the inner sea.  In her anger, Dana caused children to be born to Brigid without husband. 

49  -  Brigid bore Epona (8)

51  -  Brigid bore Scota (9)

51  -  Mannanan is sent to Llyr in his crystal palace at his insistance.  Then Llyr became rig of the Tuatha de Dana, for Dana herself kept to the islands of the inner sea, and to Eire itself, and nolonger came to the crystal palace or ever to her people at Sliebe na Gael. 

52  -  That same witch of the Sinoese, Mitsuko, takes a life from Dana and holds it in her own womb.

52  -  Also Brigid, sick of her mother’s use of her, took up a knife and opened her veins.  Hearing this Lugh who haunted the fringes of the world, made his way to Eire to make her free.  Before Brigid will leave,  she destroyed the remaining lives that Dana had held.  Lugh wants Brigid to travel with him, but she is wroth and goes off on her own.

53  -  Mitsuko the leech bore Kazuki.  (51 yrs.)

56   -   The gods were good and made to grow upon the face of Tir na Nua much that was good, more land than the Tuatha de Dana could hold so that there was much that grew wild.  Still the Norfolk, learned of the Dru, brought seed and made new to spread what was good still farther.  They became known as the Briarwood Elvish, the Deer Riders, the Sidhe.

59  -  At this time the seas of Tir na Nua were exceeding warm and on the land mountains burst forth with smoke and fire.  The lights of the sky were dimmed and ice prevailed greatly on the face of Tir na Nua.

63  -  The Sidhe fought the advance of the ice to help the things that lived on the land.  Norfolk range east and west of the crystal palace of Llyr.

65  -  This is when the ice forced the Tuatha de to all go to the South. Then Llyr’s folk lived at Sliebe na Gael.  Also at this time Rus and some icefolk fled north onto the ice.  Llyr with his sheildmen pursued them, but they were defeated by the ice and snow. 

66  -  Then the crystal palace was covered over with ice and lost. Much that was known and much that was made was lost.  In grief perhaps Dana dies. (103) 

67  -  Llyr without restraint began to oppress those not of the Gael.  He takes from the smiths their tools and makes of the learned men farmers and workers. 

70  -  Weyland/Loki delved into the Western mountains.  In the face of Llyr’s prohibition he gathered the tools of the smiths and braziers and preserved some of the knowledge of the wise.

70  -  Many people hated the oppressor Llyr.  Umircens began to make for themselves a place upon the plains and east and west along the great ice up to the Western Mountains and the Disputed Lands.

98  -  The witch/leech Mitzuko leads the Sinoese defection. (96-yrs.) Most of the men of the Sin are cut down by Llyr and his Shieldmen.  At this time Llyr became their captain to hunt the Sinoese and cared little for leading the Tuatha de Dana.  He calls his men the Bloody Hand and they are as a people apart and above their brothers of the Tuatha de.  At this time the people said, “He is no king, he is like a Balor.” This was said because of his actions and because his father’s name had been Bailey.

100  -  Scota established colonies over the Yellow, her people try to be seperate from Llyr (Balor) and his bloody hand who are setting up camps to raid against the Sinoese.

126  -  Llyr/Balor and his Red Hand warriors begin to oppress brown skinned folk.  Along with enslaving Sinoese he reduces many others to servitude if not out right slavery.

145  -  The fifth generation is fully born.  There are 100,000 – 150,000 men and women on the face of Tir na Nua.

158  -  This is when the Ice prevailed most on the face of the land and then a great warm summer began to melt it away.

164 -  Peoples continue to go out from Sliebe na Gael.  Balor’s privations continued. This year an Umircen, Chip Wilson, finds his passage across the mountains.  Balor made cities to take slaves in the disputed lands to the sea.

173  -  Balor’s Red Hands, other folk begin to call them Fomorians, begin to raid Scots and even some among the central Gaellic peoples.

175  -  This year the first of the Darklings and Gobli came into the disputed lands against Balor’s cities and his Fomorians.

176  -  Browns and Blacks defected to the South across the Freedom River.  There are others who escape, led by Billy Two-Feathers, into the mountains of Amerinds and Umircens.

180  -  The great Darkling Wars began in earnest.  Hordes emptied Central Gael except for the Horse folk who will became the Scythians.

187  -  This was the Darklings and their Gobli Hordes high tide: only Mount na Gael, Scots wall, Fomorians at sea and in a few coastal forts, Horse folk (Scythians), Gaels who move out into the Oceanic Islands and south to become the Southern Gael and the Sinoese on their pinnacle forts remain north of the Freedom.

This begins a rough first draft of a timeline of the Celts, known as the Tuatha de Dana, who took Tir na Nua.

The letter came to me as head copyist and librarian with a note in the abbot’s hand, “please look to this yourself. We are bequethed books from a rich trader’s library. You will find the details in this letter.”

The letter itself was beautifully written on fine parchment with embellishments and even illuminations, extravagant even in a gospel book or psalter, but ridiculously austintatious in a letter that was so utilitarian and mundane.

We were directed to a manse in the center of the city, right on the trade square, to get “books” from the “library.”  I thought it mad wishfulness, but I brought brother Timothy and a hand cart.

A thin young man, dressed in black silken robes, answered the door at my knock.  “I am the Djinn’s seneschal,” he looked over my shoulder. “I’ll show you. Come.”  With nary a word more he led off into the maze that was the mansion. Up stair and down hall after hall I followed the dark figure.

“These are the master’s private apartments,”  the Seneschal intoned.

“Aren’t they all his?” I asked, overwhelmed into a comment I would otherwise have restrained myself from making.

The man in black stopped and turned to eye me, chimera like.  I have no idea what he might have thought of my impertinence.  “Here,” he said and flung open double doors.

I was dazzled by the brightness of the light pouring into the room from the tall glazed windows opposite the doors.  My guide strode into the room and I followed blinking.  The room was spare apart from the opulence of so much glass, a couple of tables with stiff backed chairs in front of the windows and a more comfortable couch just inside the door.  There was a rich dusty scent in the air.

I gasped, stunned, there were books, scrolls and codexes, filling the shelves on both walls of the room, to a man of letters, wealth unimaginable.  “My master knows your order.  The books will have the care they deserve.”  said the Seneschal.

“Which books am I to take sir?”

“Why, all of them of course.”  The dark clad man stepped to the sideboard next to the couch.  He pulled a satin cord and a bell tolled somewhere in the bowels of the mansion.  “I take it that you are unprepared for so many.”

“It will more than double our own library.”

“Will there be a problem?” asked the tall young man.

“No no, of course not.  It is just that there are…,” I could not find words.

“Yes?” I could only shake my head in wonder. The man glanced around the room, pondering, “You are welcome to the shelves as well, if you like.  There are several cases of writing material as well as a supply of bees wax candles,” He tapped a box that dominated the  surface of one table, “everything in this room is for the order of San Gospellis. I will send servants to aid you and you may wish to bring another cart the next trip.” Without another word he was gone while I wrestled with words with which to thank him.

It was well past vespers when all was safely stowed.  I would be months surveying, cataloging, and organizing so many documents.  I was never more thrilled, more energized, and at the same time more tired than as the librarian for the abbey of San Gospellis at that wonderful time.

Two weeks later a cart rolled into our abbey. It contained precious glass panes.  That was a remarkable month. 

The only other item was a small psalter.  Oh, but it was so much more.  Knowing the collection as I do, I might actually trade the whole for that one little book. 

Singled out like it was, coming alone with the glazing, I immediately took it into the library and began to look through the little book.  It began as many personal psalters do, favorite passages copied in haste, I was stunned that I recognized the hand.  It was that of our founder, who’s writing filled many of the pages in our library.

That would have been a great treasure, to find this personal book of our founder, but fairly deep in that book began a journal of a fantastic odyssey. Perhaps you would not want to take the word of a copyist and librarian who was born near the abbey where he has lived almost all the days of his life. So you judge against your experience this tale and tell me if it does not rate the name odyssey and whether or not fantastical is a fitting description.

Malachi

Two Son’s of the UiNiall, Eremon and Crimthan, were returning from battle training on an island near Alba. These two had always been rivals, brothers they were, and always seeking to best each other and liking it not at all if his brother was viewed as superior in any sense. They had been sent to sharpen their battle skill, but ruth to tell also to see if one might better the other and so be clearly more fit to lead the clan.

The sly one, Crimthan, brought up the subject that runs thick between them, “At some point we will be forced to fight each other if one or the other does not yield.” Then followed a long recitation of all the arguments and counter-arguments that both know well and have heard all their lives, but always they lead to this impasse. “If only there was a way…” The sly fellow mused.

The ship master feared to land his boat lest it be dashed on the rocks and they all be lost, so they ride at anchor on a storm tossed sea. And such a ride, even the sailors, veterans all, looked a bit queasy. The two sons of clan Niall are impatient. Their training and their pride will not let them show anything but exasperation at the delay.

“What if we agree to a race?” Crimthan eyed his brother, gauging him, “First one ashore will rule the clan?”

Eremon sighed, “Truly? A race? Is that a fit way to decide so great a question, I wonder?”

“Isn’t it as good as any? Better than most, for I do not have to raise a hand against you my brother, and you do not have to raise a hand against me.”

“What if we both perish in this fool contest? “ asked the stronger.

“I’m surprised by you, Eremon, I’d have not thought you would give into fear. I’ve never known you to lack courage.” And this he said knowing that whether geas or just willfulness his brother would die rather than have his courage put in doubt.

Eremon growled deep in his throat, “Courage…”

Crimthan fought hard to hide his excitement as Eremon mulled but for a moment, “If we do this fool thing, and I win will you support me? There can be no turning from this course if we decide, this is far too important a thing. I know you think you are wiser than me, but I think you trust yourself too much. I will want your advise, but I do not think you would be the best to rule. Will you swear to support me if I reach shore before you?”

“You know that I will.” Crimthan promised.

“Let us have witnesses then, Ferdiad, Eochaid come witness.”

The witnesses gathered with the brothers, “Let the one who’s right hand touches shore first lead the clan with the full support of the other, setting aside concerns and trusting to fate and blood. Swear it Crimthan as I swear it now before these witnesses, the one who’s hand touches first will rule.”

“I swear it. The one who’s right hand touches first will rule.”

Prepare you then, I will speak to the captain and ask him to carry us closer into shore that we may not both parish for your impatience.  Eremon turned to the captain, but his brother was already in motion.

“You should prepare, but as for me I have prepared all my life. Wit should lead bravery. He ran to the rail dropping his cloak, revealing his body stripped for swimming and greased against the cold. With not a word more  Crimthan dove into the heaving sea.

The boat approached as Crimthan labored in the waves and for a moment he feared he had miscalculated. Had Eremon taken command and decided to dash the boat on the rocks? It sounded like the kind of direct action that he would favor, but Crimthan didn’t think he would risk so many lives.

The boat turned parallel and the waves crashed over him so all he could do was fight for his life. As he thrashed he felt the sand beneath him, then the wave slammed him into the bottom.

Crimthan struggled out of the surf. His body was numb he was shaking, and his teeth chattered, but that meant nothing. He was elated, he had done it.

“Save my hand!” The shout rang out over the roar of the waves, but the words meant nothing to Crimthan until he staggered out of the surf and  saw the ghastly lump, like a fat white spider, on a smear of red.

“That, is the right hand of the chief!” shouted Eremon.

Crimthan crawled to the hand. He’s mad he thought. Crimthan grabbed the cold dead thing and clamored to his feet. An urge to throw the thing into the surf came and just as soon left him, washed away in peals of laughter. Exhausted he collapsed, but couldn’t stop laughing. “I have it!” He laughed and couldn’t gather himself for a moment. “That was a long reach my brother, but I think you will need a new right hand!”

“You always were the wise one, good thing for me I favor the dexter. But a chief ought to have a strong right hand,” Eremon called from the boat.

“I have what you lack my brother,” He waved the grizzly trophy above his head.

“Instruct me. Do I lack wisdom?”

“No, not that. Now I see you are wiser than I am.”

“Surely not courage.”

“No brother, I risked my life to cheat you, but no one can doubt your courage this day.”

“Strength then?”

“You know as do I, you are the stronger.”

“You will have to tell me then, what do I lack?”

“I told you, but perhaps you need ears.” Crimthan could hear his brother Eremon laughing, “You will need a strong right hand, and that I have.”

“Better at my side than at my throat! eh brother?”

And ever after that clan wore the hand gules as a badge of courage.

This is an adaptation or reimagination of a legend that explains the Red Hand on our arms.

LSO