This is how the first ranging of the hero, CuRuada, came to be.  After CuRuada and several of the Boy’s Troop of the Red Branch warriors took up their arms, these were exhibiting their skill at arms before the hosting of the Red Branch and before the king, Concubar.  The Boy’s Troop lads were all sons of the Red Branch warriors for none was admitted to the Boy’s Troop unless he was a son of one of the Red Branch knights.  Indeed this was true of everyone, proud fathers looked on as their sons showed their prowess, and none was so proud as Concubar, for though he was not married, CuRuada was indeed his son, though secretly to most, by the faerie woman, Fand.

These lads were in very high spirits, and with their martial display they were a danger to themselves and to others.  Perceiving the potential for disaster, Fergus, who was the commander and main instructor in arms of the Boy’s Troop, advised the king to send CuRuada and the rest out on a ranging where their high spirits would do no harm and likely some good.  This seemed wise to the King, for though a king is the leader of his warriors, he is established and maintained by the peace and prosperity that he brings for his people.

Now the King, Concubar, had a great shield that would roar when the king was in danger, and too Concubar could wield it so that its roaring could gain the attention of warriors even in the noise of combat.  So Concubar took his great shield and made the roaring that brought the king to the attention of the lads and brought them immediately to heal, even the hound, CuRuada.

When they were all gathered, the King, Concubar said, “Welcome all you new warriors to the knights of the Red Branch, and you have arrived at a fortunate time for Ulster.  You may all have heard the words of our chief druid, Cathbad.  Though harvests are plentiful, though calving will bring wealth, there may be war too, in fact we know that one almost always brings the other from jealous neighbors.  For this reason we must be vigilant and we must expect danger from places where we do not expect it, and threat where there has never been before.  So my lads, it is important that we send you, young heroes, on an urgent quest to range our borders to the North and the West where we do not expect trouble and, having seen to their security, return to report their condition.”

So saying the king gave their war-like, rambunctious, pugilistic, contentious, battle anxiousness a direction where he thought it would do no damage, for in the West of Ulster were the great mountains of the West and true, there were hill men there in the foothills below, but none below the White Dash, the violent stream of water that fell rapidly from the foothills. 

To the North the King had still more confidence, for there beyond the ridge that later fell down to the great lake of the north, was no neighbor at all save the deer.  Perhaps too might be the folk of Fand the faerie woman, but who knew if they even inhabited the same world as Concubar and his Gaels, for Fand seemed born of the mist where he found her and to which she later returned after their trysting.

So, while the other fathers were advising their sons on what the proper manner of a warrior on a ranging should be, Concubar took under his arm, Son, named by his mother, Fand, and sent to Concubar, and known by all as CuRuada, the Hound of Ulster.  Concubar gave some martial advice and he advised CuRuada to go West from Emain Macha and to the White Dash but no further.  Then, said the King, turn along that stream and go northward to the ridge above the forest that falls to the great inland sea, but no further, said he.  Then go you and your mates along that ridge’s base, and not the heights, until you come to the forester’s road, and so by that way back to Emain Macha.  This do you, for yours will be the command and when you return we will all go a’hunting in the South. 

This then was good to CuRuada’s hearing because, having taken up his arms, his would be the command of the expedition.  Then too, he was not unaware that South along the way was the Ford across the Red Branch river where lived Emer.  This too seemed very good to him as he meant to have her as his wife. 

Thus CuRuada began his border ranging, but he did not know that Concubar had met with Wil McCullen, Emer’s father, and they had spoken of a marriage and made sureties.  For this reason Concubar meant for this hunting trip to lead to a feast at that same hostelry where Concubar would see his bride to be, the daughter of McCullen, Emer, who CuRuada loved.

In the first section of this story, we are introduced to Ulster (in this world, Tir na Nua, a young country in the North and West by the Western mountains), the king, Concubar, and of course, CuRuada and Emer.  This post begins the heroic deeds of CuRuada and what leads, finally, to tragedy.

Succat trudged doggedly northward along the ever diminishing trail that led to the Ribbon-wood and the Lianhan Shee.  His spirits were low, dampened by the rain, and fear that he was not up to his task.

The trail was rain slick beneath his feet, his white woolen robe was soaked, especially the hood in his eyes, and his thick woolen stole felt like iron around his neck. 

Succat was sure his quest was of God, but the powers Lianhan Shee were legendary.  It was said, by those who had never seen her, that if you could not resist the Lianhan Shee, you became her slave forever.  Of those who had seen her, there was no witness living.

Miserable, Succat approached a daunting hedge of woodland.  He shivered as the darkness resolved itself into mighty trees rising into the mist. Between the imposing tree trunks there seemed a way, a way into darkness, a fearful way. 

Doubt assailed him.  Phillipians, his soul friend had warned him against this quest at the instigation of Exodus, the abbot.  Without their blessing he felt isolated and alone. 

“Lord God, I know this quest is sent of you.” Succat fell to his knees in the pouring rain, “It is written, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, but I doubt myself.  Please me, I am weak.  Give me your peace, I am in fear.  I doubt. . .” The rain hammered down without relenting, Succat despaired, “Lord, be with me now, I need you.”

Leaning heavily on crozier, his staff, Succat clambered to his feet.  He was stiff from the cold, shivering from the soaking and from fear. Clutching his crozier for comfort he made his way into the mysterious wood. 

The rain abated immediately.  Beneath the trees, the air seemed strangely close, warm and dry.  the way was lit by a strange glow that did not rise much beyond where he set his feet, but it guided his steps and kept him from crashing into the giant trees that loomed all around.

Succat felt the light brush of things he feared to know.  They might be cobwebs or dry tendrils of moss, and he chose to ignore imagination that paralysed him with fear. Thus he travelled through darkness with light at his feet, until he stepped into a meadow.  Above him shined Bright, the great moon, glowing in her three colors of red and blue and yellow.

God be praised, He thought, Free of the wood and the rain too.  Succat looked up at a normal sky with stars and moon, and as he watched, the Traveller tumbled across the sky.  All seemed well, but then he chanced to look across the little clearing.  He was stunned.

A radiant woman stood at the edge of the meadow. She seemed to gather every bit of light from the moons and cast it out in scintillating brightness.  Her dress was modest, but plain fabric could not contain the sensuality of the creature, the Lianhan Shee, for she was beauty in every line and curve.

With growing fear, Succat recognized her, formed of his fondest imaginings, the image of the abbess of Kirnarven, but voluptuous and fertile, as if she were a courtesan or goddess of love and not an ascetic of a holy house.  The coal of his doubt was blown into flaming fear.

“For what have you come, oh man?” Her smile was inviting, or mocking, or enigmatic.  Whatever, it was utterly enticing to Succat.

The hard wood of his shepherd’s crook, brought him back to his duty. I am bound to God’s work and seeing her only shows it more necessary. If I am fuddled by her how much more a young man? They are helpless against her wiles.

He lifted his crozier in both hands and held it as a weapon, as a shield. “You have no hold on me,” he lied, “you will cease your foul concourse with the men of the village.”

She looked bemused. “Is that truly what you wish to say to me, oh man?” Her laugh was like a tinkling of silver bells, “It is late, and you are weary. I will forgive your harsh words this once.” Smiling she turning away into the deeper wood. “You will find rest, and then we will talk,” and then she disappeared taking the faery light with her.

Succat quaked with fear.  I’ve faced the Lianhan Shee and given my warning, perhaps that is enough.  For a moment he hoped it might be true, but he knew it was not.

The abbot’s edict returned to mind, and it yet rankled.  Succat would rather die than give abbot Exodus the satisfaction of being right, but would he risk his immortal soul?

Shame struck like a blow.  Was this quest nothing but his need to prove the abbot wrong?  He should flee now if this was only a sop for his pride.  No, there was much more to it, the widow Alban came to mind, her tears for her son, Gerald, struck down when it seemed he’d overcome his sickness.

Stopping the Lianhan Shee was the Lord’s work.  Succat knew he must stop the beguiling creature from making tatters of men’s lives, and for Gerald she led to his death. Still, having met her, Succat feared failure even more. 

“No, I can do all things” He reminded himself, In Christ even Succat, the monk who never mastered a book, even he could face her.

How long he warred with himself he couldn’t say, but when he looked for the Lianhan Shee, she was gone.  The forest was again cold, dark, and foreboding.  “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” he reminded himself and followed her deeper into the blackness of the Ribbon-wood.

Again his path was lit with a soft iridescence. “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path,” Succat quoted, feeling a bit smug until, with a sick twist in his gut, he realized that this was more likely sent by the Lianhan Shee.

The sound of rushing water grew until he came upon a lovely brook.  The light was more pronounced, a phosphorescence that bled from the moss bearded trees, and even from tiny floating things high above him.  It was a wonderland of soft light in, yellow, pink, and blue.  He drank from the brook’s cool water. Weariness came over him and he barely lay down upon a carpet of soft moss before sleep claimed him.

****

Succat woke to bird song, and sunlight filtering through leaves.  He felt energized, in fact, Succat could not remember ever feeling better than he did after a night on the mossy brook side.  The pastor almost leaped to his feet when his custom was to work the stiffness out slowly.  Here in the Ribbon-wood he felt spry as a callow youth.

Succat saw a riot of flowers filling the border of the clearing, and with a start he noticed berries, ripe to bursting, all around.  It isn’t possible, ripe berries in Spring?  It almost seems I’ve slept all through Summer.  Succat wondered as he sampled the juicy profusion and found it all good.

Shaking his head, he bent down by the stream, splashed his face, and washed his hands of the berry stains.  He drank deep of water cupped in his hands.  staring into the surface of a deep pool, Succat was shocked to see his image on its glassy face.  He hardly recognized the man staring back.

“You look well after your rest,” said the Lianhan Shee. “Are you hungry? I’ve brought something to break your fast.”

Succat spun to face the Lianhan Shee.  In the light of day she might have been any other human woman.  But looking at her, all he wanted in the world was to crush her to him, to kiss those perfect lips, and. . .

He turned away, though it was the last thing he wanted. “You want to possess me,” he managed. “And I would be helpless, but the Spirit of God strengthens me.  I did not come to tryst with you, Lianhan Shee.”

“That is not my name.  Not to tryst, what then?”

“I came to stop you.”

“Stop me? Why should I be stopped,” She laughed, “I stay in my place, I do nothing but good.”

“You are deceitful. . .”

“Deceitful? I break no promises, I tell no tales.  Who has deceived you?  I promised rest, which you’ve had.  I’ve offered you breakfast.  Do you mislike my bread?  Are the berries in your beard not to your liking?  You all come to me and not once have I deceived. . .”

“So! When Gerald Alban came he asked for death?” Succat accused, “No?  Well woman, if he was not deceived by you, why is he dead?”

“Gerald?  The sick boy?  I did him no harm, I would not.  I healed Gerald Alban, just as I healed you.”

“Like you healed me?” Succat was puzzled, “What is this?”

“Simple truth, I do no harm.  You feel that I can do what I say, for I healed your many hurts.  Gerald could not have walked home without my help, and you accuse me.”

Succat was undeterred, “What face did you show him? This one?”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not?  Ah, this face is for me. Gerald saw another, a face so he would love you.  Is that not so?”

“What you are accusing. . .”

“You, Lianhan Shee, always show a perfect face. For Gerald, a face stolen from his dreams, and a different perfect face to every man who comes.”

“They want to give me their essence and they are comfortable with. . .”

“Comfort is it? You make them lust and then you suck out their life.”

“I never do that.  I heal them of their hurts.”

“Oh, but what an awful price, eternal wanting you.  Is that not so Lianhan Shee?”

“Don’t call me that name you despise. You talk of wanting and stealing life, but I never would.”

“Said the pretty face, in form and manner to drive a man mad.  Does eliciting lust, please you?  Does it flatter you that they would die to love you just once more?”

“I don’t understand.”

Succat stared at her, she was rigid with anger, but beautiful nonetheless.  He was sworn to chastity, a pastor among his flock, blessedly free of desire for years, but this creature brought stirrings so deep and frightening he did not know what to do with them.  It made Succat angry.

“Don’t understand?” he spat, “Yet you show me this guise, this, this flesh.  I know you are false, still I, a man of God, would ravish you.  Don’t you understand?  Truly?  Can’t you read my mind?  Isn’t it our thoughts you use to make the perfect flesh to taunt a man, to tempt me?”

Anger flare in her eyes, “I don’t understand you Succat. You talk and talk.” The Lianhan Shee strode toward him, careless of herself and the way her clothing strained against her and how each step moved her in ways he would never forget.  He was only human, he reached for her, but she had already grasped his head in her hands, “Then show me what you want of me Succat, so I will understand.”

Succat thought she was offering herself to sate his lust, but in this he was frustrated.  Her touch paralysed his body, but it unleashed his mind to show her everything he wanted in humiliating detail.

His lust, set free, shocked Succat to his core, and the Lianhan Shee was no less shocked.  She recoiled, trying to cover herself, as if she had not seen that he had imagined her completely.  “I would never want that!” she shrieked and struck him so hard that he fell in a heap.

Succat wept for the shame of his lust, for his defeat, for failing his Lord and his people, and he wept for the ruin of his life. The Lianhan Shee had won and his soul was forfeit, owned by the faery woman.

In growing horror, Succat realized that he was weeping too, for having wanted the demoness, though it was his ruin, he still desired her.  She would never give him what he wanted. “I would never want that!” she had said, words that were a final dagger in his heart.

Cold rain brought him back to his senses.  The mossy carpet was gone, so too berries, the flowers, and everything but the bleak bones of the trees.  All that remained of the wonderland of the Lianhan Shee was the rivulet dancing over the rocks. Had it all been a dream?

Was the healing gone with the mossy bed?  The deep pool revealed nothing, the rain ruining it as a gazing glass.  Despite failure, Succat felt strong. Looking down, Succat saw a younger man’s hands without the rheumatism that had plagued him.  He clambered to his feet without the ache he would expect.  The comforts were withdrawn, but not his healing.  

Shrugging, he stooped to take up his crozier.  He traced the hook and cross with new fingers, but Succat remembered old responsibilities.  He’d failed, but what could he do but return?  Feeling devastated in spirit, but new in body, he headed South through the dreary wood.

As he walked, the new strength in his body brought euphoria.  Without thought, Succat broke into a run.  Whatever else, this battle was over, he had never felt better in body, and youthful exuberance banished his spiritual malaise.

Succat broke out of the wood into a clearing at a ground eating lope.  A man sat on the wet ground, his body was emaciated and his eyes looked feverish with need.

Succat skidded to a halt before the creature.  Succat marvelled that after a handful of breaths his breathing was normal.  “Who are you, and how came you here?” he asked.

The old man regarded Succat from his low place in the mud. “Do you not know this face, Man of God?”

Succat frowned in recognition, “It is the guise of the Fear Gorta you now wear, Lianhan Shee.”

“Lianhan Shee was never my name, a pleasant face for pleasant conversation only, curiosity’s face.  Now I hunger to know, I must know. This face, hunger’s face, is appropriate.”

“I have no alms to give you.”  Inspiration came, “Here, take this crozier”  Succat tossed his shepherd’s staff before the Fear Gorta.

The stick figure man sighed. “It is not your walking staff I desire, Man of God.”

“What then?  Should I thank you for healing me?  How did you?”

“Tis’ easily done, I see in you how you aught to be.  I fix what has gone wrong.  I confess I find your kind endlessly fascinating, you and all the myriad life you brought, so perfect and yet so damaged.”

Succat stared at the old man in the mud, “Thank you for not taking the healing from me. . .”

The Fear Gorta waved away the words with an impatient hand, “I do not require thanks.”  The old man turned his intense stare on Succat, ”I need to know.  You spoke of your god, but you were so damaged, so in need of healing, how could your god be Creator of All.  Yet I know there is but one author of life.  How can this be, oh Man of God?

Succat laughed without humor, “It is age, we grow old and die, it is the curse of sin.  As it is written, Just as people are destined to die once, and after that to face judgment, so Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many; and he will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him.”  Succat shrugged,”And so I wait, and I die.”

“You will cease to be, like you say Gerald has?” Succat nodded but the Fear Gorta was not finished, “and this Christ of whom you spoke, who was he to die for this curse.”

“He is God, and He was a man too.”

Before Succat fully realized his danger the Fear Gorta seized him by his robe.  Succat struggled, but he could do nothing to free himself from the fanatic grip.

“This can not be the Creator.”  The Fear Gorta desperately searched Succat’s face. “Why would he do it?” 

“Unhand me!” but Succat needn’t have asked, the bag of bones had already released him and was weeping uncontrollably in the mud.  Succat backed away slowly, hoping he might escape.

Succat fled.  He ran as fast as he could, hoping the Fear Gorta would let him go.  Ahead he saw a stream of water, fast flowing, that he’d crossed on his way.  by was an apple tree in full bloom of Spring.  Succat hadn’t noticed it when he’d crossed before.  He slowed at the strangeness, he stopped dead when he saw the man of hunger, the Fear Gorta, step from behind the tree.

“You’ve forgotten your staff.” he said simply, but there was nothing simple in the creature.  Stretching out his hands, stems of apple wood grew from his palms.  As Succat watched, they wound about each other and grew into the shape of a staff.  The wood stretched and curled and it grew.  More and more the living thing took the form of his crozier even as it budded, broke into flower, then leaf, and finally dropped yellow leaves over the white flower of its blossoming.   

The Fear Gorta handed Succat a crozier of intricately knotted apple wood.  “Why do you carry this, Man of God?”

Stunned, Succat blurted, “It is my office.  I am a shepherd like the Lord Jesus was, I have gone out into the world to preach.”

“Why do you do that, Man of God?”

“Because He commanded it.  It is written, go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature baptising them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Where is it written? I must know.”  Before Succat answered, another idea seized the old man.  “Here is water, why might I not be baptised?”

A hundred objections burst on his mind, but in the end, the need on Fear Gorta’s face drove Succat to his waist in the pool with the withered old man. 

Succat intoned, “Our Lord commanded: baptise them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.  It is in that name I baptise you, Fear Gorta, Lianhan Shee. . .”

“I am The Mind of the Ribbon-Wood.”

Nodding, Succat lowered the man beneath the water, but when he would have brought him back up, there was naught but a drifting of orange mud carried away on the current.

Lugh went looking for Oatey after the not so honorable Martel Jones had left.  The party was over, but there were still folk cleaning and straightening.  Polite directions and sly smiles followed him as he wandered from server to cook to reveler to chambermaid and at last through passages, dark and narrow, to a low doorway, curtained, and beyond it, a dark chamber.

“Oatey?” He called softly, not wishing to disturb folk behind other curtains in the nearby rooms.  He glanced about for another helpful source of direction, but finding none he pulled aside the curtain and called into the room, “Oatey? Might I speak to you?” There was no answer from the small chamber and no light to reveal it.

A fine fix, he had little enough confidence that he could find his way back out and none that he could find the girl, thought Lugh.  He hovered in the doorway wondering if he should feel around in the dark for a place to sit or a light or just go.  This is my chance to be rid of her and her giant killing.  Martel Jones does have a point about Oatey Moss and Peace being mutually exclusive.

“Its considered rude to hover in doorways, Lugh,” said Oatey Moss. 

He might have jumped, but Oatey didn’t seem to notice.  She slipped past him and reached up inside the doorway for a candle and a chemical match which she struck against stone and brought to the taper.  “Welcome to my home, such as it is.  I went looking for you and heard from a few that the blond youth was asking for me.”  She slipped inside, drawing aside the curtain so he could pass into the cramped space beyond.

The place was small, there was room for a bed and not much else.  The tight quarters were made tighter by stacks and stacks of books that covered nearly everything but the bed and a narrow path that led to it.  “It’s cluttered,” said Oatey, suddenly embarrassed, “here, sit on the bed.”  She slipped by him on the path and found a book stack to perch on.

Lugh sat on the bed and looked at the girl, she was flustered, here in her home, when before leaders, warriors, and giants she was supremely confident.  Lugh wondered how both of those women could be Oatey or indeed which was the real one.  “I didn’t know where you were.  I really don’t know anyone here either, except you.”

She looked up at him in dismay, “Oh my, I didn’t think about that.” 

Before Lugh could recover from the shock of her clear innocent embarrassment Oatey Moss, giant killer, burst into tears. 

She was always doing that, surprising him.

Jim Cooper led Iamerge out of the sunshine into the cool dark of the inn.  There were stairs leading up and a hall, but Old Jim, the mayor of Rat Town, led Iamerge down a stone stair into a chill common room lit by nothing but a few tapers here and there along the bar. 

Jim patted a seat and then slipped behind the bar, “It looks like ol’ Mare ain’t here yet so I’ll have to tend my own self.  Will an ale do you?  That’s what I’m having.” 

Jim poured, Iamerge sat, “Sure, anything is fine with me.  You said that Ruaridh Ua Birlinn rode out of town?  What do you imagine he was doing?”

Jim slid a tall mug across the bar and then followed it around to Iamerge, his own ale in hand, “We’ve had some trouble with the overland trade.  A few have come in mauled, but mostly they come in fine or they don’t come at all.”  Cooper sat down next to Iamerge, took a swig, and planted his ale on the bar, “Ua Birlinn hasn’t had any such problems, at least not yet, because he always guards his traffic and put more men on since the trouble started.”

“So you think that changed?” asked Iamerge.

“I don’t know what to think.  Didn’t seem those fellers who come in was mussed much, but Ua Birlinn sure didn’t waste no time heading back out.  Seems if his trade ain’t in trouble then someone-else’s.”  Cooper smiled, made to drink again but paused to ask, “So, you said that Gospels is back.  Don’t know if you know it for good news, but it is.  The Brothers are the anchor that holds this place together, feeds most of us, good folk, but they weren’t the same when Gospels left.”

“I can imagine.  Gospels is, unique in my experience.”

“Sure, a brother looks pretty much like another to most folk, but Gospels ran that place well.  Its good when there is peace up on Bell Hill.”  Cooper chuckled to himself and took a drink, “mmm, even for us sinners.”

“Yes,” Iamerge allowed and then put his mouth to his ale to keep his own council.

“So, we heard that Gospels felt led by the Spirit to get in a skin boat and be washed out to sea to land wherever the good Lord made him land.  Mad as a, as a, mad as a hermit it seemed to me.  How’d you find him?”

“As my luck would have it, Gospels found me, pulled me out of the surf on the Skellig.  He’d washed up there and no matter how many times he put out again the coracle always came back.” Iamerge explained.

“Strange luck that.”

“It is not my custom to let it be known who I might be,” said Lugh, “or who I might not be.  You seem quite certain of yourself.  Let’s assume you are correct and, assuming it, go forward quietly.”

“So you admit. . .”

“If asked, I am Finn, as you can see.  But I will not have it said that Oatey is a liar.  She is guiltless.”

“She is NOT guiltless, nor is she guiless.” Huffed the Norfolk, “What that girl is, beyond doubt, is trouble.”

Lugh laughed at that, and then laughed the louder when the man turned purple with pent anger, “Indeed, it’s good to know that on at least that we agree.”

The man glanced around conspiratorially, “So you see our dilemma.  There is no doubting her power, or her popularity among the young and, might I add, the foolish.  This can only lead to trouble.  Trouble bigger than one fourteen foot giant I should think as well.”

“Are you the girl’s father?” asked Lugh.

“NO!” barked the man, then quieter, “No, her parents are gone, both of them.”

“. . . and you want me to steer the girl.  Away from giants?  Away from here?”

The man seemed to ooze slime as he smiled at Lugh, “You and I are men of the world, Finn, if you like.  Surely one so experienced can guide her away from these troubling matters and leave our folk in peace.”

“What of these giants?  Isn’t this a service she supplies?  I can only imagine what a creature like that monster would have done if she had not lured it to its death.  She claims that these giants can be shrewd, that they have allies.”

“Aye, that she pretends to be one of these Giant wives to lure them, she says.  You know a woman is the wife to one man, but what if this giant was not her mate?  Fine, she lures him to his death.  What if she is the wife of a far worse giant?  Maybe she has roused him already and uses us to kill off his rivals.  What if she betrays us?  The giants sleep until she rouses them.  Let them sleep I say.  Let them sleep and we will all live a more peaceful life.

“I see, I will think on this, but how much I will not say.  Can I take seriously this, whispered in my ear by a man I’ve never before met, nor even know his name?”

“As you say, Finn.” said the Norfolk, ”Then I will tell you, my name is Martel Jones, Chief of the Oakwood Sidhe, and First Speaker of the Conclave of Elders.”