This then is the order of battle when CuRuada went West on his first ranging with his companions of the Boys Troop.  CuRuada and Felmid were together in the King’s own chariot, but with them went several of those boys who took up arms that day.

These then went out at Concubar’s command to range along the East bank of the White Dash and then North to the Ridgeline that overlooks the inland sea above the Plain of Muirthemne.  His thinking, with Fergus, was that these were deserted borders of Ulster and that the lads would find no trouble nor cause any.

With CuRuada was his charioteer, Felmid, who’s arm was not yet fully set, these two rode in the King’s chariot with the reins in Felmids good hand and the goad beneath his arm.  Following was Conall, the son of the Champion, and with him was Fionn, who was older than the rest and had taken up his arms the year before.  A third chariot held Diarmid, with Aengus, and Morna who held the reins.  Last of all came Conor and Braen and an older lad named Rinnchu who drove the fourth chariot.

So it was that all these came to the vale in which is the White Dash, the cold lively mountain fresh river that falls quickly from the Mountains of the West to rush across the broken bones of the mountains at their feet along the Westmost part of Ulster.  As they topped the ridge they all saw the gentle fall of the good land of Ulster as it goes down to the river and the harsh land of rock and tree that is beyond.

There below them also was the fording place called the Ash Ring for the trees that circle the slower place in the river where men can cross if they seek timber or trade with the men of the mountains.  For miles up and down the White Dash there is no such place where folk can safely pass across the waters.

“See you there,” asked CuRuada, “I see a man at the fording place.  What mischief might he be at here at the West gate of Ulster?”

“Not hard to learn,” shouted Felmid, “and with a whoop, he set the team to racing, the chariot leaping down the fall to the Ash Ring.”

“This is like to be trouble,” said Fionn to Conall.

“How could it be other?” said Conall, his face set hard and grim.  “Let us go quickly lest that youth leads all these others to death.” Nodding Fionn set the whip to their team and they started down behind CuRuada and the other two chariots.

The giant cauldron hung above a fire that had settled back to a sullen red glow.  Cathbad sat staring into the embers, deep in thought or devoid of it, while his druid assistants tended the cauldron, chanted, or fidgeted nervously.  Few enough of the small-folk remained, but when word of war had filtered out with those that had left, the men who would fight it began to gather to hear the words of the chief druid.

CuRuada had been seeking Emer at the fair, but he could not find her.  Indeed, Emer and her father had left for the ford of the Red where they lived.  CuRuada’s fellows brought him the exciting word of war predicted by the druid, Cathbad.  With them, Cu gathered near the chanting druids and the blackened cauldron with the other warriors, though the boys of the troop hung together.

CuRuada saw his destiny plain.  He must take up arms today.  As in other things he must excel to claim his bride.  CuRuada knew that the ceremony where young men took up their arms was normally held after the yearly sacrifice and druid divination.  Waiting was torment.  His friends in the boys troop were eager to be men, but Cu needed to be one.  Emer was reason enough and more.

CuRuada opened the carved box and stared at the broach and the knife.  When I take up arms there is no one who can keep me from you Emer.

Murmurs among the assembled men brought CuRuada out of his reverie.  Druids were bringing boiled meat out of the cauldron with meat hooks.  Some of it had already been spread out to cool and Cathbad was methodically eating what was placed before him.  This then was the beginning of the Consumption Vision.  Cathbad would eat all the bullock and after that there would be a vision of great power.

But a man eating can hold attention only so long, for the boys troop less than most.  Their whispered conversation was frowned on by the warriors around about them for awhile, but soon enough the process of Cathbad eating the bull could not hold even grizzled old warriors attention and they joined the boys in murmured conversation.

“I shall take up arms today, if the druid will ever finish his meal,” boasted Conor, a boy of the troop.

“Best think twice Conor, this of war is no business for mere boys,” said Conall, the champion’s son.

“I suppose a shan’t be able to with my arm as it is,” pouted Felmid.

“HAH!” scoffed Conor, “I’d not worry about my arm if I were you.  Better that you grow a couple more years before you think of it, Felmid.”

Felmid shouldered Conor with his good arm, “What do you know, you’re only three months older.”

“Hush now, have you no respect?” said Conall, “Think twice before you take up arms.  There are two ends to a spear.  Make sure you can stay on the right end of it.”

“I will take up arms today,” stated CuRuada flatly.  The druid was still eating, but CuRuada had no more stomach for this show, “Come get me when it is time to take up my arms.”  Without another word he walked off toward where people were gathering their things to depart.  CuRuada went first to where the Lokian smith had been and finding his booth gone went looking for him among the carts and wains of the people leaving the fair grounds.

“That is an odd fellow,” Remarked Conor.

“. . . Said the boy with more freckles than face,” Felmid laughed, but yowled when Conor thumped him on his broken arm.

“Hush you,” whispered Conall, and the boys all fell silent, “Have you no respect?”  Conall pointed to the diaz where Cathbad was finishing his meal.

Cathbad took from an assistant a huge bowl of broth mingled with blood and slowly began to drink.  His helpers hovered near as the great druid finished the last of the bull.  Cathbad dropped the bowl and held his arms out.

There was sudden noise of chanting and drumming the cauldron was drawn off the fire and fragrant incense was cast on the coals.  Others of the druids waved censers about spreading still more fragrant smoke.  In the midst of it all Cathbad sat with his arms held out. 

Then an elder druid came toward Cathbad struggling under the weight of the bullocks hide he bore, eight others carried a platform of sorts with handles where the druids held it up.  The elder shook out the bloody hide and with the help of some of the younger assistants wrapped Cathbad, already red with the blood of the sacrifice, in the bloody skin of the sacrifice.

The eight druids with the elder lifted Cathbad onto the platform which the they then lifted onto their shoulders with Cathbad, entranced, upon it.  The general noise died to silence as the elder druid took up a censer and began to chant.  He led the bearers down off the dais and all the druidry who had been helping with the vision quest fell in behind in a sort of procession.  Everyone else stood or sat around the empty dais as the procession moved off, Cathbad above all on the shoulders of the bearers.  The thin voice of the elder druid was joined by the assembly as they slowly walked away.

“What now?” asked Felmid.

Conall and several older warriors around stared at him disapprovingly.  Conor whispered, unabashed, “Cathbad sleeps off his big meal, has his vision, and then we all hear.”

Felmid considered this for a moment before commenting, “Why in the world did we stand here waiting?”

Conor shrugged, Conall frowned, and an elder warrior not far off shushed louder than Felmid’s comment.  Conall muttered under his breath, “have you no respect?”

Meanwhile CuRuada searched for the smith.  He strode along the long line of carts and wagons looking for the short dark Lokian.  When he would have almost stopped he saw the man with his wagon and team.  On seeing him Cu couldn’t imagine what he would say.  The man made up his mind for him when he looked back, and seeing the young warrior, motioned him forward.

When CuRuada walked up beside the wagon the little man called down, “Don’t tell me that you’ve come looking for another gift for yet another lady friend.”  CuRuada’s look of horror made the black-haired metal-worker laugh.  “No?  Well that’s good to hear.  How did your friend like the gift?”

“I don’t know, I couldn’t find her.  Likely left with the rest; left like you.”

“Likely so. . .” said the smith. “So why come see me?”

CuRuada shrugged, “I couldn’t stand waiting for the chief druid’s vision quest.  It’s a hard thing to watch a man eat and eat.  Afterward is the ceremony where boys take up their arms and become men.  I need to take up arms today.”

“The only good reason to wait that I can see is so you don’t miss something you have to have.”

“That is good advice.  Now I owe you twice over, how shall I repay you?”

The dark Lokian laughed, ”There’s no need.”  He thought for a moment and then leaned out of his wagon looking Cu directly in the eyes, “But some day you and your friend could come see me.  I’d like to see that brooch completed.” His blue eyes danced with mischief before he added, ”My name be Goffanon the smith.  Beyond the Red Branch and up in the hills the folk know my name and the paths to my forge.  Seek me when you would find me.”

CuRuada waved, “I will come Goffanon, so says CuRuada.”

With that he rein whipped his team to better speed to close up the gap between his wagon and the next in line.  He shouted back at Cu, “Don’t forget to bring that girl of yours too.”

CuRuada turned to walk back along the cart track.  Far back along the way he saw Conor and Felmid walking toward him.  At that he remembered the smith’s advice and began to run toward his fellow boys troop members.

“Hey there Cu!” shouted Conor, “If you plan to take up arms today you best come at once.  Cathbad has eaten and his vision can’t be far off.”

“How long did we stand around while he ate?” asked Felmid, “I’m sure it can’t come as soon as we would want.”  Felmid fiddled with his splinted arm, “Not that I’ll be taking up arms.”

“I must,” stated CuRuada flatly striding toward the diaz where he had watched the druid’s divination sacrifice.

Conor and Felmid were hard pressed to keep up with him. “Hey now, hair on fire,” Conor jibbed, Felmid laughed at that encouraging him, ”What’s all the hurry for?  Cathbad has predicted war and death, of course the king isn’t too worried about that.  Kings don’t do the dying.”

Felmid broke into a jog that had him clutching his splinted arm in one way and another until he found a comfortable way to hold it.  “Yeah, at least hear what Cathbad’s Consumption Vision has to say. . .”

“It matters not.  I will take up my arms today.”

Conor and Felmid shrugged at each other and fell in behind CuRuada as he strode toward the crowd of men awaiting the Chief Druid’s vision.  As the three of them approached, there was a flurry of activity and the elder druid walked up the stairs and onto the dais followed by an entourage of younger druids.

This fellow was not so theatrical, for as soon as his following entourage took up their places around him he began to read from a wand scratched with runes.  “This is the vision of Cathbad, hear and know the future if you can understand it.” The old man’s voice boomed out over the audience, “Indeed there will be war.  This will waste the good foaling and the fine fishing and what should be blessed will be bitter.  Many will die both in fighting and for greed and for cursing that comes of war.”  The druid spoke derisively, looking down his nose at the king, “All this but reinforces what Cathbad saw from the liver and the entrails.” 

“It was the chief druid’s choice, get on with it.” said Concubar.

The old turned his eyes to where the young men gathered, “Only this word remains, this for the young, this warning before war.  The first to take up arms today will gain fame at the cost of his life, will be showered with glory, remembered forever for his deeds.  Wait you!  Know that glorious is his life, but short.  This Cathbad saw, great his deeds but so soon his death.  This was Cathbad’s seeing and we know that it is true.

Good to have a famous name, but to die young was a bitter thing.  The older of the boys troop hesitated.  Even Conall considered. 

Single-minded, CuRuada pushed through his fellows, “I will take up my arms today.  Better to be remembered than to die in a bed.”  Hearing this Concubar was proud because CuRuada was his son though he did not make it generally known.

The elder druid turned away and to his fellows he said, “This too was Cathbad’s seeing and we see it is true.”

I am forced by the format of this Blog to name the post as I begin writing.  Often it does not go as I anticipate and I want to end a post before the story really warrants it, or the story turns and the title does not reflect well the content.  In this case there are a number of things happening that occur before or during Cathbad’s vision (which we don’t actually see) and so this title seems a bit forced as does the ending and the vision.  This last for reason of wanting to wrap up a post while still offering the information promised in the title.  Hopefully I can improve the uneveness if/when I rewrite this tale.

LSO

The king, Concubar, strode into the coolness of his great hall followed by his champion, his druid, and a small boy who’s finger bore a ring that made his claim to be his son.  Concubar made directly for his throne, but paused as he approached, “So you say that you will give your name to the king and no other, is that it boy?”

“That is so, it is a geas upon me,” The boy stated flatly.

“Well then, lucky for you the king is here.  Come sit and let’s all hear what such a marvelous little fellow like yourself might be named.” Thus saying he motioned for his champion to sit upon the high seat, it took some waving and nudging and in the end a firm tug on Fergus’s leine, but at last the Champion, stronger than he was nimble of mind, realized the ploy and sat down on the high seat, looking a bit uncomfortable, “See?  Here is the king, so let us hear your name then boy.”

“I am to give my name to the king alone, so said my mother to me, it was she that put on me the geas.  I might give my name to the king and no other.”  said the boy firmly.

“But the king is here,” prompted Concubar.  Then he prodded Fergus.

Fergus blinked stupidly a time or two before offering, “Yes, let’s have it lad, what is your name?”

“To the king alone may I give it.”

“But these are my trusted advisers, surely it is not so great a secret that it must not be heard by my confidants at the same time I hear it,” said Fergus, getting the idea of the ruse but spoiling it a bit by looking over at Concubar who rolled his eyes after giving the Champion an encouraging nod.

“To the king alone.”

Fergus glanced up at his king who’s slight nod set him in motion, “Leave us then, I will hear the boy alone.”

At that, Concubar and Cathbad began to withdraw until they saw that the boy followed them.  “What is this?  Aren’t you going to say your name?” asked Concubar.

“To the king I will,” said the boy seriously.

Concubar stared hard at the small boy.  He was well formed, thin but not overly so, there were bruises from the boys troop fight but there was no fear in the boy at all.  Looking on him Concubar recognised him, surely this boy was like he had been.  The king laughed, “Good and good, well then I guess I’ll hear it.  Fergus, Cathbad, leave us.”

The two men left and the king returned to his throne followed by his small visitor.  “So, your mother put on you this geas that you must give your name only to the king, here I am then.  Lets have it boy.  And while you have my attention, perhaps you should tell me your mother’s name as well, who put this geas on you?”

“My mother, the lady Fand, put on me the geas as she gave me the name.”

“Fand you say?”

“Yes sir, Fand, whose father is Muirthemne.”

“So boy, give me the name you must only speak to a king.”

“It is not to any king I am bound to speak it, but only to you.”

“Only me?” Concubar felt flushed, angry or guilty or afraid, “Let’s have it then,” he whispered.

“My mother called me Son.  It is the only name I ever had.  Son is my name.”

Concubar nodded, the boy showed no sign of glee at his discomfort or fear.  Concubar looked into the boy’s eyes and saw only innocence and truth in eyes of his son, “It is good that you told me, Son.”

The boy nodded solemnly and asked, “May I go play with the other boys now?”

“Are you still geas bound?” asked the king.

The boy frowned, concerned, “Yes, I must only speak that name to you.  Can you make them let me play without telling them my name, I must not say it?”

“Your mother was wise in this.  Tell, if they ask, that you gave your name to the king and that I said you could play,” the boy’s face lit with happiness and he would have run off without leave, but he turned back when Concubar called him, “Son! A moment.  Did your mother, Fand, say aught else.  Did she give you a message?”

“No sir.  She named me, placed on me the geas, and told me where I might find the king I must tell my name.  Can I go play now?” the boy said impatiently.

“He has no idea,” thought Concubar and said, “Yes, go play.”

As the boy left the druid and champion returned.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Cathbad, “What kind of mischief is the boy at?”

“Easy to tell, that little fellow’s name is Son.  Just that, no more, no less.  And his mother is Fand.”

“What!  The wife of Mannanan Mac Lyr?  That’s ridiculous.  He is playing a game on us all.”

“I don’t think the boy is.  I don’t think he even knows what his name means.  And the mother may be married to Gol Mac Morna for all I know.  The boy claims the Fand that is his mother is the daughter of a man named Muirthemne.

“Stranger and stranger.”

“As you say.  This is a puzzle.  I don’t know what this Fand intends, but until we do, we need to watch the boy and make sure he comes to no harm.”

“What if the boys attack him again?” asked Fergus.

“See that they don’t, quickly.  I sent him out to play at hurling,” said Concubar.

“I’ll see to it.” said Fergus as he strode to the doorway.

“Fergus! One more thing, introduce the little fellow as something other than Son.  Keep that name to yourself.”

“Aye, but what?”

Cathbad stroked his beard, “Sometimes the simplest is the best.  Why not call him “Little Fellow.”  He’s smaller by a head than any of the boy’s troop.”

“Little Fellow then.”  Concubar smiled, “though it might not fit for long.  The lad is not nine days old unless I missed my count.”

“You were foolish to involve yourself with the fairy folk.”

Concubar frowned at Cathbad as he said, “Hurry Fergus, make sure that Little Fellow doesn’t come to harm.  We don’t know what price Fand or this father, Muirthemne will ask from us if he is hurt or worse.”

Fergus nodded and left, leaving only Cathbad with the king, “This is a mess,” said Cathbad.  “It is never a good thing to mix with the Fae folk.”

“Too late by half Cathbad, that Little Fellow is my son.  I’m sure of it.”

I am sorry that I haven’t posted in awhile, I’m still imagining what you might like to hear.  I was spending much time poking around the theories about the origins of the Celts.  There is much to say about what little there is of the Celtic world existent in written word.

This might seem somewhat ironic after my previous post about many academics being uncomfortable with the idea of Celts at all.  But certainly there were a people who lived in ways similar to folk on the mainland, these people remained, even after Romanization, in northern Britain and Ireland.  Some of the academics who allow for Celts call these people the Insular Celts.

It is very interesting that these people, unlike their possible predecessors, or antecedents, or whatever, some of the legend and lore of the insular celts was preserved by Christian monks.

Now the neo-pagan greatly resents the fact that we would know almost nothing at all about the Celts, save only their material leavings, if it were not for these sons of Hibernia who happened to be able to write, and did.  Would it be better if we just had Julius Caeser’s words to define a people?

Anyway, I’m a long way into this and still not much about stories.  The monks wrote down oral traditions that on the main land had died with the druids who carefully preserved them in their well trained brains where it did not survive the erasure of those druids.

Tolkien wanted to supply an Anglo-Saxon mythology that he felt the English lacked.  I seek only to popularize and perhaps expand what is available of the stories of an interesting folk who left very little behind.  I for one am willing to believe that some or even most of what we have of Celtic legend and lore is true, at least in the sense of an echo, dimmed and somewhat clouded, of a people and a way of life.

Anyhow, I hope to bring what I find to light. Let the light judge to its truth, to expose fraud or fabrication (would you say that Frodo is Fraud? is Middle Earth not a wonderous fabrication?), to be enjoyed as entertainment, to be considered as insight into days gone, or to be a springboard to more and better discovery.

Free CELTIC Fiction

My hope is to create fiction that speaks to the Celtic Heart.  So, warts and all here is a new story that I rip from Celtic legend and set in my new world, Tir na Nua, the Red Son of Concubar.

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Here is the novel beginnings: Intro to and Beginning of The Abbot and the Djinn.  Follow my progress HERE.

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Using a sort of “just start writing and see where it goes” technique I’ve completed the first draft of a short story.  In the end, Concerning The Deer Riders wandered a bit farther than I had anticipated.  Legendary wanderings?  You can read Concerning the Deer Riders yourself and see what you think.

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My Polished Stones

Since this is my process, a good deal of it is rough here as I begin.  My hope is to get better and better at writing Celtic Fiction so that reading it free will become a bargain and not a chore.  I plan to work on a few of my stories to make works of fiction closer to my potential.  That is, I plan to polish them by rewriting them for your reading pleasure and in particular the reading pleasure of those who might come across this sight and have little patience for my early fumblings unfiltered from my imagination?

Recently I’ve realized that I should not.  My first goal was to get something, anything here, secondly I NEEDED to write because it had been a long time since I had.  I have courted your opinion to no effect, but then why should I expect it?  Do I read other’s work and offer up my opinion, my help?  Not recently and can I help? 

So, I intend to polish up a few of the stories that have accumulated.  The raw novelization of the Abbott and the Djinn will continue, undoubtedly I’ll put up more unfiltered imaginings like the Deer Riders and Child of Moss.  Then, in a section before those unpolished stones, I will begin to offer some that have had my attention and effort so that you can judge me or at least have a better chance of being reliably entertained.  Some may read on to the raw.  HERE is the page that will list the more polished work. (it is currently empty <sigh>)

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Other Stuff

I am in the process of writing several novels, but on the way to that I offer these thoughts, insights, resources, and diversions of interest to me and, I hope, to you.  Here I hope to gather legends and lore, notes on antiquity, and present day reality.  Have a look HERE

For now, welcome, and please tell me what you like or you don’t.  I value your insights.

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LSO

PS. HERE are some authors I have read and admire by way of giving you hints about where I’m aiming