“Not much to tell.”  Iamerge’s mind raced as he thought over what he should and shouldn’t tell.  The best course always seemed to reveal the least, “I washed up on the Skellig and Gospels was there to pull me out, care for me, feed me, such as there was on that bleak place.”

Jim Cooper nodded, knowingly, “Tis said there’s naught to eat and the saints perch there for months living on water and sea foam, then there’s some who say that their god gives them food, and others that say that they’ve a fat larder there and since they don’t eat here its there they go to eat.”

Iamerge laughed, “Well, as to the larder, I saw none, I ate no sea foam, and Gospels gave me bits of dry fish, some little leaves of green herb, and sometimes raw egg of sea birds on the isle, if it was his god that gave him that to eat then he isn’t a very generous god.”

“You make it sound like there is no fuel at all, nothing to burn.”

“Unless you can make wet stone burn there is naught of that at all.”

“Incredible, how did you live?”

“How did Gospels live before I came?  I’ll tell you I’ve never slept better than I did in their guest house last night.  Not because of any opulence, just not the austerity of the rock.  There are five men out there now.  I don’t know why they do it.”

“No wonder they have produce and more to sell, they don’t eat any of it,”  said Jim Cooper to himself as much to Iamerge.  “What do you know of their god?  I confess, they don’t have much truck with old Jim, but I’ve heard their bell and I’ve heard their weird singing a time or two.  They seem virtuous, but I’d say men that virtuous can only get in the way of a man’s business.  In the end.”

“To tell you the truth I can’t speak to the beliefs of the monks like Gospels, they are new to me as well.  But I can’t say anything against them, they seem virtuous, generous, and good to a fault.  I do take your meaning though, I think.  What’s a man to do who can’t live up to such a standard?  What must they think of those who don’t live as they do?”  Iamerge took another drink from his cup and cleared his throat, “Still, if I understand them, they serve the same God, the Lord they call him, who is served by the Jews that I knew quite well.  It seems to me that they are similar in their kindnesses and that it is their Lord who commands it of them.”

“So, these Jews grew food that they did not eat as well?”

Iamerge laughed at that, “Oh no, not so.  The Jews were adept at trade, at numbers, at drawing value from a thing.  It seems to me that the Jews took part in the blessings that their Lord brought them.  The monks like Gospels are prospered and they choose not to partake, indeed they take pride in denying themselves.  I can’t say if it is their Lord that demands that privation of one and not the other or what the truth of it is.”

“It sounds to me that you’ve travelled a far piece Iamerge.  I’ve never heard of these Jews.  Then again, I’d not heard of these monks either ’til I came here.”

“I would have thought to be the mayor of Rat Town you’d have had to be born here.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t born here, nor most of the rats for that matter.  They come on the boats, but I came from Cooperstown.  I’d be there still if there was one.”  For once Jim seemed a bit sad, “Mayhaps again.  But that’s nobody’s business.  Not yet.” The two men fell silent and they sat and nursed their drinks in the cool darkness.

“So, do you think that Ua Birlinn might have returned by now?”

Jim laughed, “Oh you and Ruaridh will get along famously, all business aren’t you?  I’d like to say that he’d be back by now, but I can’t. I figure you’ve got more of a wait than his returning.  Single minded he is, just like you.  I figure he’ll be about what ever took him out of here so fast a bit longer than it takes him to get there and back.  Don’t you?  Jim got up and moved back around the bar.  “A waste of a day I’d say.  Not like to be see’n visitors, since you’re ask’n me.”  Cooper refilled his ale and looked at Iamerge, “Can I get you a refill lad?”

Iamerge sighed, ”No, thanks.  I think I’ll get the lay of the land at least.  Perhaps I can find out a bit more about what’s happened and when I might speak to Ua Birlinn.  My thanks though, for the ale and the conversation.”

“Suit yourself.  Have a look, but come back by if you like.  I might have found a bit out myself by then.” Cooper winked and walked off toward the kitchen, “I do wonder where ol’ Mare has got to.”

Iamerge rose and went up the dark stair and out into the day.

Welcome to another tale of the Dream-Walker.  These stories grew out of an idea for a people who live to the north of the Gaellic Plain of Tir na Nua called Deer Riders, the Norfolk, or by some Bramblewood Elves.  The Dream-Walker is a wild seer, not a shaman or a holy man of any sort, but a man who can slip his body and walk time and space, see things nobody else could see, and return to his time and his own place on the those Gaellic Plains among the Scythians.  He has kept his journeys secret for most of his life, but now he is elderly and he shares his stories with his grandsons.  You can read the first story (which got totally out of hand) it begins with Concerning the Deer Riders.

Dream-Walker and the Giant

“Is this really the best way to catch a fish?” Asked the young plains rider, skeptically.

“Well, if you’re old like me young fellow, this is not only the best way, it’s the only way to catch a fish.”  The man chuckled.

“Catching a fish is boring, if you ask me.” said the boy.

“As I remember, you asked me, Bres,” said the old man. ”Catching a fish isn’t boring, its waiting to catch a fish that wears on a body.  You’ll see, when you catch one yourself.”

The man tipped his head back, sun warming his bald head, and let himself slip out of his shell, just a bit.  They called him Dream-walker, at least the Norfolk had, but he didn’t need to dream to do it.  Any moment of quiet contemplation could serve.  His dream self slipped into the pond and with eyes sharper than human and much sharper than his withered human shell, he looked for a fish worth the name and a memory for his grandson.

With a gasp and a snort he came back to himself.  The boy eyed him accusingly.  “See?  Boring Grandfather, you went to sleep.  Tell me that isn’t boring,” said the boy, but returned to contemplating the spot where his line disappeared into the still water of the pond.

“Well Bres, my boy, the secret to finding a fish is thinking like a fish.”

“How do I do that?” said the boy, exasperated but interested.

“Well, if you were a fish, what would you want?”

The boy pondered that awhile, his plump cheeks puffed out and his eyes squinting, “I guess I’d want food.”

Bres was the youngest and always the hungriest of his grandsons so the old man was ready for his answer, “Sure you’re right, a fish wants food, but for a big fish, for a fish that lives past being a fry, such a fish wants protection first.  There is always a heron or an eagle looking for a meal too.  The fish wants to eat, but if he has lived long enough to be worthy of catching he has always wanted NOT to be eaten still more.

“I never thought of that,” said Bres.

“And you’ve caught no fish,” said the old man.

The boy looked over at his grandfather and his smile turned sly,”but grandfather, you haven’t caught a fish either.”

“Oh ho,” laughed the man, and he reached over to tickle the boy, “do you think I don’t know where the fish are?  I’ve caught more fish than you’ve eaten. I just didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

The plump little boy squealed with delight, “oh grandfather.”

“Let me help you boy.  Why I know where the Bass of Knowledge lies right over there in the pond.”

“The Bass of Knowledge?” Bres asked skeptically.

“Why it’s the biggest meanest fish anywhere around here.  It has lived for a hundred years at least and all that time it has listened to the whispering of the wind and the murmur of the land and it has rested in this pond near the Dagda, so it has heard all his dreams too.”

“The Dagda?  What is the Dagda?” asked Bres, fishing and the Bass of Knowledge forgotten for the moment. 

Bres was the man’s favorite grandson, though he knew he shouldn’t have favorites, and the man was no doubt Bres’ favorite grandfather too.  The man always took pride in how he had a nose for a story.

“Bres my boy, let’s give the Bass of Knowledge a little more time to listen to the wind and to the land and to the giant’s dreams. Let’s you and I have a walk and a stretch and I’ll tell you about the Dagda.”  They pulled in their lines and set them aside, then hand in hand they walked up the hill that held the little pond in its embrace.

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.”