Concubar the king and his friend and weapon-master Fergus were sitting together over a game of Fidchell, ”Fergus, what can you tell me of the skill at arms of the little fellow, Curuada,”  Concubar glanced around to make certain they were alone before adding in a whisper, “my son?”

“Not hard to tell,” said Fergus as he pondered the board, “His strikings are vigorous, he plies his shield with success, his counter-striking is without flaw, his spear throw is ever true and he has mastered the catching feat, the dance of the three spears, and the casting and catching feat, and none is more skilled at the salmon leap than is Curuada.”

“What is the season? false Summer, hmmm see here, I entrench my footman.” The king made his move and then looking over at Fergus he asked “What of his skill with the chariot?”

Fergus scowled at the board considering. “Easy to tell, oh king,” said Fergus, “he has mastered all the throws from the chariot, he is proficient in the tongue feat and the horse back feat, his turnings are sharp, he knows the use of the scythes, he drives with great vigor so that none can fault his rein work, why, Curuada already can execute the wheel feat. He is without peer oh king.”

“What is your move then Fergus?” asked Concubar smiling to himself with fatherly pride.

“Do not rush me.  Patience is wisdom and a piece moved in hurry is a piece soon lost. I have several moves in mind, I but choose the best of many brethern.”

“Have you taught him the use of the long-sword, oh my master-of-arms?”

“Of course, he is a prince after all.  Know oh king, I have schooled him in long-sword slashings and parryings, all the whelming blows and the cutting strikes he knows well.  Though the weapon should be difficult for one so small, he plies it with ease.”  Fergus reached to the board and moved a mercenary closer to Concubar’s province. “He saw Cormac achieve the shield leaping reverse grip whelming feat and did what Cormac has labored for three years to perfect.  This was on his first attempt mind you.”  Fergus scooped up the die and cast. “5 days,” he counted the marker along the board edge. “HAH! it is full summer and I have advantage.” Fergus rubbed his hands together and moved the same mercenary to capture the king’s most advanced chariot.

Concubar leaned over the board and scanned it, but without much interest.  “I could have used that chariot. . .” Fergus smiled to himself, pleased with the game.

“I have never trained a lad so canny.  He is by far my best work.” Said Fergus.

“In truth he was my work, remember?” said Concubar.

“As you say,” began Fergus, “Cathbad is not so very pleased that you got him on that Faery woman.  I have seen him watching my training of the boy.”

Concubar cursed under his breath, “Don’t speak to me of that druid, he won’t leave off badgering me about how bad it is to mix with the fae folk.  And yet, here is the boy who excels in all things.  How is that bad?”

Fergus shrugged but said no more.

Concubar moved a javelineer behind his entrenched footman and gathered up the die.  “He sees trouble where there is none, and more trouble where there should be pleasantness.  Do you know he pesters me now about finding a bride?”

Fergus shrugged again, but almost spoke before he thought better of it.

Concubar made his cast.  “Two only,” he moved the marker and said, “still Summer and you to move.  With all of this of the boy, is this really the time to seek a bride? I ask you.”

Fergus looked to his king and decided the question was rhetorical.

“I have no idea where I might find a proper wife.  You are right to say that a quick move in Fidchell brings loss.  You should tell that to Cathbad, how much worse to charge off to find a woman because of a boy?”

Fergus nodded supportively and kept his eyes on the board.

“If I was to go a hunting, I’ll tell you it would not be for a wife.” Concubar leaned close to Fergus and whispered conspiratorially, “I find the comfort I need without difficulty, it is easy to find a woman.”

Fergus moved a charioteer out farther on the flank, “I know a girl that would be perfect for you.”

“Truly?  Who is she?”

Fergus smiled, “Emer, the daughter of the hostler.  Well formed though delicate, she has all the womanly virtues so that no woman is her equal in face, or in voice, in sweet speech, or in grace, nor any as skilled with needle and thread.”

“Emer you say? The daughter of the Hostler at the fording of the Red River on the South Road?”

“Aye, that is he.” Fergus steepled his fingers and pondered, “How long, oh king, has it been since you travelled this your realm and saw to your subjects?  Perhaps it is time you did.”

“I could take CuRuada hunting and test his skills in that regard as well, might I not?”

Fergus grinned, “Who knows? There might even be the sort of action that a hero might find to hand.  Perhaps a neighbor’s cows might find there way to our own possession?”

Concubar frowned, “That would be merry sport, so I guarantee that spoil stew Cathbad will be against it.  Of what possible good is it to be king if I must always dance to every finger snap of the Chief Druid?”

Fergus reverted to his standard non-commital shrug in lue of a real answer.

“Well, he can’t complain about hunting.  That at least I can still do.  Fergus, what say we plan a long day of hunting, CuRuada included, and then perhaps this fellow at the ford, the hostler, will feast us so I can have a look at his daughter.  What was her name?”

“Emer, to be sure.”

“Emer, right.” Concubar clapped his hands, “Oh Fergus, this is just the thing, killing two birds with one stone, three really, a bit of hunting with my son, a bit of pleasure while I see to a wife, and best of all, Cathbad won’t be in any of it.  See to preparations.”

“I fear it can not be for a week or so, the funerary games of Macha are set for Bright’s fullness, and there is an opportune conjunction of the Stranger as well.  Then too, it is the time for a few of the lads to take up their arms.”

“hmmm, then we simply must have a cattle raid on our hunt afterward, the boys can test their mettle, and I can bring my potential new good father some wealth on the hoof.” Concubar winked, “Never a bad thing to give a gift that costs someone else”

Fergus laughed along with the king, “Aye, and he will likely be freer with the wine if we bring him good beef, eh?”

“Even so.” The king smiled expansively.  Concubar grew serious, “Say nothing of this to Cathbad, he would only spoil our fun.”

“Ah, here he comes now”  Fergus whispered and both men turned to study their game. “um, who’s turn was it?”

“Here they are then,” said Gospels conversationally if a bit breathlessly, “I will introduce you.  Gospels brow furrowed, “Odd to say, I don’t know your name.”

Smoke coughed, “uh, well I may have neglected to mention my name.  Indeed my name is both of no importance to me anymore and of very central in importance to what I am doing here.  You see, I mean to escape what I was most recently called and it is also true that I never knew what my parents, if I had them, may have named me originally.

“This is a bit awkward,” said the monk, he looked hard into Smoke’s eyes appraising, ”though it was not my parents that named me Gospels, but rather my vocation.”

“I’ve had many names like that, from vocations.  Now I want to start new and I don’t want to trouble old associates with it resurfacing.”

“Was it murder? Are you sought for some crime?”

“No, unless it be that I killed the old me.  I had a successful life, but there are expectations that I can not meet.  Over and over my life progresses and folk expect a certain path that everyone else takes, but not me.”

There was a shout from seaward as someone in the skiff noticed them standing above the landing, Gospels turned and waved to the approaching boat and then turned catching Smoke’s eyes again and staring hard for a moment before speaking, “We must speak of this further, but for the time I must call you something.  Sailor?  Something that speaks to your vocation?”

Smoke frowned, concentrating.  “No, not that.  What was the dark hour that I first awoke and you gave me a sip of water in the night?”

“I believe after Iamerge.”

“Call me Iamerge, perhaps it will seem familiar to your friends and. . .”

Gospels smiled but not kindly, “An excellent deception, but should I really deceive my brethren, participate in that even as you deceive me?

Smoke blushed, “No, I don’t mean to deceive as much as to ease.  I have no ill intent and much interest in your abbey.  I mean only good.”

“I will hold you to that.  I think you are my purpose, but I’ve been wrong before.” Without a word more Gospels walked down to the boat landing.

Smoke followed a bit more circumspectly, allowing Gospels to lead and staying in his shadow.  The approach for the boat was somewhat precarious.  It was relatively calm, but the berth was all sharp rock and unforgiving and the sea, even when it was not in a rage, was still the sea.

Four of the monks climbed out of the boat and held it while three remained in the skiff, their faces all turned toward Gospels.  Smoke could not see Gospels face but there was a range of emotion on the men who had just come to the little island.

“Gospels! How can this be?” Dark eyes and a heavy brow gave the first monk to speak a brooding demeanor,  “We committed you to God and the sea half a year ago.  Are you flesh or spirit?”

“Ah, Exodus, good to see you.  I am still quite corporial, still some flesh on these old bones.”

“It was no jest when I said that we had little comfort here.  There is a shift like this that I wear by your head, and too, your clothes, such as they are after the sea, are drying though not yet dry.”

“Perhaps I’ll get around to the kitchen and sit by the fire.”

White Hands frowned, “This may be difficult for you, there is no kitchen, nor fire.  Rest here.  I will bring the treasure for you to see.”  White Hands bussled out the door.

Smoke gathered himself, the room was chilly and damp.  He slipped on the rough fabric of the garment, covering his head with the hood.  He draped an animal skin around his shoulders and began to feel warm again.  No fire, truely this place seemed the poorest he had ever seen.  Even in the city streets amongst the filth there was material, at least fuel for a fire, something, here there was only stone and wind and wet.

True to his word White Hands returned.  He bore a skin wrapped package and atop it a candle.  He produced a tinderbox and with a little effort made a flame and lit the candle.  “We value words you know.” White Hands spoke as he unwrapped the package, “And so for us this written word is of utmost value.  But that isn’t why this place is so austere.  We seek places like this,  places of contemplation amid privation.  Places where one can hear a still small voice.  I don’t imagine that you understand, but this place has been used by my brethren because of its difficulty not inspite of it.  We seek to remove all distraction so that we may focus on God alone, and His Christ.”

“It would seem that the harshness would distract. . .”

Okay I’ve lost my way in this.  I’ll have to get back to this later.

Some may know, but it seems to me that they do not comprehend the reality of the hundreds of years my father and I have lived.  They do not see the way he uses them.  They plot and scheme, but they live and die at his word and often serve his purpose even while they think they will succeed in supplanting him.

I am not his heir, though I am the oldest of his.  Whether it is because he hates my mother, Brigid, or for some error of mine, or because I am not evil enough for his taste I do not know.  But he delights in tormenting me.

He keeps me close, as one should always keep one’s enemys, and so I stay to watch the man.  I also must watch my back.  My brothers think I am favored to be at my father’s feet, they see me as a rival.  They seek to rise and they do not know that no son of Brigid will ever sit his throne.  But then Balor never means to give it up, he means to live forever.

Balor hates.  That seems to me to be the greater part of evil, More than anyone else he hates Lugh, his brother, and second of all he hates my mother, his sister, Brigid.  Sometimes I know he hates me third, but no one could supplant the first two in his antipathy.  His nearest brother, his wife, and his son, folk so close to him he hates the most.

This character figures in the Niall Nine Hostages tale.  He lives and observes all that Balor does. As such he could be a point of view character for “the Many Son’s of Balor.” I still need to decide on a name. He is very good looking, he could be Bres. As an observer he could very well be Tuan (I plan to use the name Tuan for an Uber-Celt that is placed with the Norfolk), the magical observer for “the Book of Invasions.” Then too, he might have a name that reflects his true parentage, but I haven’t settled on anything yet.