These fragments of the lore of Tir na Nua are presented raw, first draft, and unedited. I apologize for their original condition. However, my first priority is to capture sketches, so to speak, of the people and places of Tir na Nua. I have promised Free Celtic Fiction and before I can shape these sketches into more polished works I need to write these drafts. I share them, as they are, while I try to find the time to improve them. — LSO

 Read the beginning of this story: the Red Son of Concubar

the Coming of CuRuada the Red Son of Concubar

Nine days after Concubar’s tryst with the deer woman of the wood, the king was feasting in his great hall with his Red Branch warriors.  They would not leave off asking him about the woman and what was said between them.  Some of his men felt that it was good fortune and some were worried it was ill, but Concubar wished only that he could find the woman again.  How can I, Concubar thought, when I don’t even know her name?

Cathbad the, chief druid of Ulster, came into the hall in distress, “My lord Concubar, there is trouble on the hurley pitch.  The boys troop has cornered another boy and are beating him to death.”

Concubar sighed, “Boys will be boys, must I truly drag them from their prey?  What is this other boy to me?  Perhaps the troop has good cause.  Did you think of that Cathbad?”

“As to who the boy is, I can not say, but his cloak marks him as a prince and the broach upon it says he is the son of a king,”  said Cathbad, “And if you would know who he might be to you you’d best stop them soon or there will be no finding it out until the king, who is his father comes looking for his son.  I doubt he will be pleased.”

So the king rose from his couch and went to the hurley pitch with haste, all his warriors with him.  Now a king among the Gael must rule by right of a choosing.  He must be strong in body, perfect, and strong in voice so that his commands will be heard and obeyed. 

Concubar was without peer and his commands were always followed, so powerful was his voice.  So Concubar shouted with his commanding voice, “See here, stop beating that boy,”  said Concubar.

Even his command would not stop the boys.  So shocking was this that Concubar said not another word, but began to pull the boys off one at a time and throw them to his warriors, who’s sons they were.  When Concubar reached the bottom of the scrum he found Donall, the son of the champion, Cormac, and a little fellow with hair like flame of fire.

“Leave off you two! What is the meaning of this?”  shouted Concubar, and finally the boys stopped their struggles.  “What mischief are you all up to Donall?”

Donal answered, “This little fellow came and said that he wanted to play at hurley with us.  Nobody can play with the boy’s troop unless he be worthy, so we asked his name, but this little fellow would not say it, he claimed he was bound by his gesa not to give his name except to the king.”

Another boy piped up, “He wouldn’t say, so we told him he couldn’t play.  Then he stole our sliotar and carried it off to the goal.”

“Liar, I stole nothing, I only wanted to play.” said the little fellow.

“. . . so when he put the sliotar in the goal we confronted him.  Without permission and giving his name he should not play at hurley with the boys troop.” said Donall

“I have as much right as anyone here.” shouted the little fellow.

All the boys started to yell at that and curse him. “After that he attacked us.” said Donall

“Another lie! You pushed me down first.” howled the little red-haired boy.

“This one little boy attacked you?  All of you?” Asked the king.

“He is a demon or worse! He broke Felmid’s arm and who knows what else?” said Donall.

“This little fellow?” asked Concubar again, and the boys troop was shamed to silence.

Concubar set the two boys down.  He looked around at the boys, many of which had woundings and some who sat on the ground nursing broken bones, and the king wondered, who could this child be?

Concubar turned to the little fellow. “So boy, what is your name?”  he asked not unkindly.  He looked sternly in the boys face, but he found no fear there at all.

“I told them and I’ll tell you or anyone else, I can tell my name to none but the king, it is a gesa on me.”  Then it was that Concubar saw that the cloak he wore was outsized for one so small for it was a man’s cloak, a king’s cloak, indeed Concubar saw that it was his cloak pinned with his broach and on the childs hand was his ring.

These fragments of the lore of Tir na Nua are presented raw, first draft, and unedited.  I apologize for their original condition.  However, my first priority is to capture sketches, so to speak, of the people and places of Tir na Nua.  I have promised Free Celtic Fiction and before I can shape these sketches into more polished works I need to write these drafts.  I share them, as they are, while I try to find the time to improve them. –  LSO

The great mountain became the center of the Gaellic world on Tir na Nua.  Around Sliebe na Gael, close on the slopes of that mountain, on the rocky hills were the Connachta on the South and West to the sea, Mumah folk to the East along the coast, the Laigin North and East to the river and that land was fair, and North and West were the Uliad.  That is, these were the divisions when Dana and Lyr and his shieldmen took Sliebe na Gael, when they were driven from the plain by ice, when Wyland delved out the secret forbidden ways, when Bridgit and Lugh eloped and brought on the Rage of Lyr.   The folk were in these four divisions, the Four fourths of the Tuatha de Dana.

The folk of the Uliad prospered and divided into many clans who dispersed to the north until there came to be a land named by her people, Ulster, and a king of that Tuath named Concubar.  This was the time before the Gobli swept the plain with fire and the people were driven back into the Four Fourths.  Concubar was a great king, a proud warrior, and a hunter of great renown.

One day he was hunting with his friends, the warriors of the Red Branch in the new forests that covered the plain.  All the trees in that place were of one height being planted in one season by the Fae Gardeners, the Norfolk, scattered by their life giving forest spheres.

For this reason, in imitation, the Red Branch warriors made brain balls, weapons made from the vanquished.  Many lives were taken by those balls of brain and bone dust and lime, so the Red Branch warriors became known for there making and the feat of their use in battle.

Concubar was swifter than the red stag he stalked, much faster than his warriors.  The blood of his prey was in his nostrils and he left his brothers behind.  He followed the stag into a valley where the trees grew tall, ancient, moss hung, and magical.

A beautiful woman stepped out of this magical forest.  Her skin was pale as a swan, her lips as red as blood, and her hair like burnished copper, was red as well.  Concubar imagined she must be of the Sidhe, he would have left her there, for it is rarely wise for men to mix in the matters of gods, but desiring him she put aside her mantle and Concubar loved her.

Concubar took from his shoulders his cloak to make a bower for them.  In all the time they lay together she spoke no word, nor did the man until she rose and made to go, “Who are you, my lady?” Concubar asked the fairy woman.

“I am the mother of your son, my lord,” said the woman, “I am the daughter of the over King of the Northmost land, I am the watcher who has loved you.”

“Have I known you before my lady?  How can that be?  For surely I would remember you.”

“Never before tonight have I known you, but I have watched you and I know that I love you.  I will send your son to you, my lord.”  And the woman stepped away toward the deep woods.”

“Wait!  How will I know him?” Asked the man.

The woman had no answer, but Concubar could see this worried her and she stopped.  So Concubar took up his cloak and going to the woman he lay it across her shoulders, “By this my people will know him to be a prince,” said the king, “And by this all will know that his father is a king,” he said, pinning on her his broach, “And by this I will know he is my son,” said Concubar and he took his own ring from his finger and gave it into the woman’s hand.

At this the woman smiled and she kissed Concubar and said, “And for this I knew, watching you, that I loved you.”  There arose about her a mist.

“But what is your name?” the King asked her.

“Our son will tell you,” She said.  A mist of fog hid her from Concubar’s sight, and he knew she was gone.

A cool breeze took away the fog and there, not far away, was a red deer doe.  He heard the calls of his warriors and the doe bounded away with the mist.  At this the king went to them.

The Rus and the Ice Folk

Ours is a cold hard world of red rock and ice.  But better to rule in Hell… much worse to serve there.  So we thank the gods of ice and fire that we are not the ice folk.  They are our subjects, our prey.

We have the magic of iron.  We have the slavers chains.  We have the branding irons.  But we have a fear of them ever rising against us so the only answer is to keep them crushed to the ground.  This we do with our ice ships and our contempt for them.  The best and the brightest we cull and sell to the south.  The strong we use in our households and mines, under close watch, lock and key, and the whip. The devious and sly we use against their own folk.

Through their labors we live well enough.  It is ironic that once we had left the Gaellic chains behind it was the ice folk who led us to this place.  They hunted and fished, feeding and clothing us, they even took a turn in the mines and gathered the thin timber on the spine of the world with us.  They prefered the ice while we exploited the red rocked scab.  Then, when wood and iron had made us stronger, we took from them what they would have freely given.  And then we took their freedom.

Our is a cold hard world, we Rus who live near the endless ice.  Some say that we serve to keep their blood lines fresh.  Some even say the slaves we take live better with us as thralls than they would on the ice.  Easy to say as the master.  Tis better to rule in Hell than to serve in heaven, or so said the Devil and so say the Rus, finding our place in this cold hell.