Her helm removed, Freyja extended her hand to the Valfather. He gently kissed her hand and then escorted her down from the throne and into the crowd of men gathered before them.

With a smile on her face, she gingerly walks upon the men, looking each over as if she were gauging them against some hidden criteria. She stopped in front of a tall blonde warrior, dressed in furs and chain mail. The warrior kneels almost on cue and she leans over and kisses him on the forehead. before moving on and doing the same to nine other men in the group. As she approached Ragnar, she smiled at him, her blue eyes entrancing him with her gaze. She stopped and tilted her head briefly before placing her hand on his shoulder and nodding to him and moving on.

Freyja returned to the Val father's side and grasped his hand. Suddenly, the room erupted in cheers as the chosen warriors disappear in a cloud of mist.

"Let us celebrate!!!!" The Val father shouts as he grabs Freyja and gives her a passionate kiss!

"Valkyr, Bring Food and drink!" he shouts after kissing the goddess.

Immediately the warriors gathered begin cheering and celebrating as the warrior maidens bring huge platters full of meat and tankards of mead to the crowd. A festive atmosphere electrifies the hall.

Ragnar makes his way to a table and sits down. The Valkyrie who brought him to Valhalla slides a plate in front of him.
"Here, eat! You will need your strength in the morning." she says.
"I don't feel like eating." he says as he slides the plate from in front of him.
The valkyrie then hands him a horn.
"Then drink!" she says. Ragnar takes the horn and drains the draught in one gulp. Immediately he begins to feel better.

The Valkyrie smiles at him. "Now you are catching on!" she says with a smile as she hands him another horn.

Ragnar awoke to the stinging night wind upon his face. As he groaned he leaned to one side and realized that he was not on the ground!
His arms grabbed for the closest thing he could find and to his surprise it was a woman's waist. He held tightly to the young maiden as he quickly gained his bearings.
He was on a horse behind a woman, but they were not on the ground. To his left and right he could see other women, mounted on horses, each carrying a man clinging to them as they soared through the air.

"Where am I? What happened to me?" he stuttered.

"Patience warrior, we shall be home soon, your reward awaits you." the young maiden asked.

"The last thing I remember was laying on the battlefield, and there was this wolf." he continued

"Yes, you were dying, but the fates have spared thee from hel." she answered. "Hang on"

As she finished the command, the horse banked sharply to the right and Ragnar got the feeling he was falling from the horse. He quickly gripped they young maid's waist even tighter and prayed to the gods for a quick end to the trip.

Down they descended through the clouds until they could see a green colored landscape beneath them. In the center of the great meadow was an enourmous hall. The hall was larger than any he had ever seen, and it's windows twinkled with the light of a million fires.

"Where are we?" he managed to ask.

"Valhalla." was her only reply. She remained silent for the rest of the journey.

The posse of horses and riders came to a gentle landing near the stables of the great hall. From hear the maidens unceremoniously pushed their riders from the saddle and dismounted. They paid little attention to the warriors as they gently caressed their mounts and led them into the stables. The band of confused warriors were greeted by a large, swarthy man who muttered something to them as he made sure all of them were back on their feet.

"Follow me" he gruffly said to them as he motioned them towards the large hall. The group remained silent as they followed the man, not knowing what to expect next in this fanciful night of the imagination. As they slowly walked up the front steps of the hall they soon become aware of the great size of the building and how small they really were compared to it. Once they reached the top step, the gruffy old warrior growls at them to stop. Above their heads in bold runes is engraved one word, "Valgrind".

The doors open to reveal the center of the huge feasting hall. As the warriors walk in they saw row after row of tables and chairs, filled with warriors feasting and enjoying themselves. As they enter the hall the air fell quiet as each of the warriors at the tables realize they have company.

The men are joined by the maidens, still dressed in their bright armor and helms. There is one more majestic and graceful than the others and she moves to the front of the group and escorts both maidens and warriors to the head of the hall where in are two large throne like chairs.

Ragnar followed the group, unsure of what to do next. As they approached the two large thrones the lead maiden raised her hands in signal to stop. She drops to one knee in front of the thrones and remains still as if she were waiting for something.

After what seemed like an eternity, a solitary figure presents himself at the throne.

"Val-father" the lead maiden says. "Your shield maidens have returned from their hunt."

"Has the hunt been successful?" the lone figure asks.

"It has my lord and I present to you the finest of the slain." she says.

"Then Vanadis my love, collect your fee."

"With your blessing." the lead maiden says.

She stands again on her feet and turning to the group, she took off her helm, revealing gold spun hair that drops to mid level behind her back. Sparkling blue eyes set within pale skin that resembles fresh snow. Ragnar had seen this face before. He has imagined it many times as the story tellers wove their tales of the goddess whose bed was desired more than any other thing in the world. It was Freyja.

The blade had found it's mark. The familiar cold grey steel of his leafblade bit deep into the fleshy shoulder of his opponent. The young man's eyes fluttered and closed as the herald of death brought the sting of it's message quickly to the surprised warrior. Ragnar maintained a steady grip upon his sword as it's victim collapse to the ground.
So deep was the wound that the blade remained steadfast in it's victim's body until Ragnar was forced to apply a foot to the shoulder of his prey and tugged, pulling the blade free. Once it was free he turned to face the next of several valiant men that would hear the death's message.
Elsewhere, the night had turned cold and the wind brisk. The blonde haired maiden shuddered as she drew her fur lined cloak close to her. The pale snow glimmered under the light of the full moon and crunched under her feet as she led her mount from the stable to where the others were assembled outside of the hall. Her shapely figure cast an almost phantasmal like shadow upon the ground beneath her. The silver aura of moonlight made her appear from a distance like she was a shimmering star. The other maidens were already assembled and the air was electric with conversation and laughter. She took a position towards the rear of the pack, unsure of just what her role was in this gathering.
"It's your first ride, isn't it?" An older woman asked her.
"Yes" she nodded.
The older woman's gray highlights in her otherwise long blonde hair shown through her braids creating an almost checkered pattern in her locks and the younger one knew that the elder had seen her share of battles.

"Stay with me child and you will be fine." the older one said, nodding.
"It is a good night, Freyja will be happy." she added.
As the battle raged on, Ragnar began to feel tired. His sword and shield were still steady in his hands and he knew that if he were to survive this evening's ravenfeast, he would have to draw upon courage and strength deep within himself.
He uttered what would be his last prayer.
"Frost falls from winter sky,
as a silver crown upon your brow.
The glory of the pale moon,
the aura of your smile.
Freyja grant me courage this night!

Brisingamen does thee no justice
Come and stay with me a while.
Let me bask in your silver light.
Queen of the world, Frigga's bane
goddess of the winter's night.
Freyja grant me strength this night!
Sunlit splendor is her smile.
Distilled from morning sent dew.
Jewels set upon fresh fallen snow
Her eyes that shine with heaven's light.
Freyja be with me this night!
A pale full moon on a winter's night dare not in beauty compare
to the radiance of the autumn queen
that holds enslaved my heart!"
It began as a sharp pain in his stomach, that spread quickly throughout his body. Ragnar looked down to see the business end of a knife sticking up from his abdomen. The small blade gleamed in the moonlight as he stood there, almost dreamlike and watch the knife twist and descend back into the gaping wound from where it originated.
He closed his eyes and accepted his fate. Soon, he hoped, to be dining in Sessrumnir and if so honored by Freyja, to share her bed for one night as reward for his valiant deeds.

"SHIELDMAIDENS.... RIDE!" came the call, ringing across the vale. The group climbed aboard their chargers and with reins in hand brought the horses to the ready.

Fear and anticipation welled up inside the young girl. She had heard the many tales and longed for the time that was before her for many years. Would she be worthy of the call? She thought so, yet there was the nagging doubt that hides within the shadows of conscience, forever gnawing away at the confidence, until only fear remains.

"Daughters of the shield! Ride this night for the glory of the old gods! Stand strong and let not fear show upon your faces, for you are the elect and chosen of the father! You shall be have success this night!" Freyja's voice cried out at the head of the pack.

"For Odin, For Frejya and for the worlds ending!" the group answered

"Ride Valkyrie, RIDE!"

Over the hills they flew, their chargers racing across the sky. Behind them the aura of blues and greens and red filled the night sky. Far below them farmers would look out of their windows and see the night-lights, dancing in the sky and say "The hunt is afoot this night."

The young Valkyr stayed close to the elder woman. Still unsure of herself, she was not entirely aware of what lay ahead.

The Elder Valkyr smiled. " I am Brunhild.” she said.

"They call me Mist" replied the young girl.

"Well then, Mist, let us ride to the woods of harfelt; a midnight battle is brewing.there you shall have your first kiss!"

"Soon my child, soon." the elder said.

Anticipation grew with every heartbeat of the young maid's pounding heart. She looked over at her friend again and noticed that something was very different.
A fire burned within her friend's eyes and her appearance had changed. Gone where the graceful feminine features of a mature lady, replaced with the sleek outline of a wolf

All about her were wolves. Fiendishly gray and black shadows and shapes darting in and around the trees. Gone were the horses and shield maidens with glittering armor in the moonlit sky.

The young Valkyr screamed with terror but in place of her voice, a mournful howl filled the air. It was in that moment she realized that she was as much a wolf as the others all around her.

An old gray she wolf ran toward her. She sensed that she should follow her.

Soon they arrived at the scene of a terrible battle. The dead and wounded lie scattered about, hacked to pieces by the swords and axes of men. The wolves darted to and fro, from body to body biting and gnashing. Some were still alive when the beasts attacked. Their screams were quickly silenced by the vice of canine jaws.

The old she wolf led the younger to a far corner of the field. There they found the young Ragnar, a mortal blow to his abdomen. He was alive, but the young wolf could smell the stench of death upon him. She looked at him and then at the old she wolf.
The young warrior struggled to escape, reaching for his sword, but weakness was upon him. It was then the young Valkyrie knew what she had to do. She leapt for his throat...

Winter night is the time to sit around the fire and hear the seanchai's tale. It is now that the chests of the imagination can be flung open and fantastic things be seen.

A tale I will tell you of Fionn and the great decision he was forced to make. It will be thought by some a blessing and to others, a curse. However you may think it, three apples from the tree at the center of Tir Na Nog shall fall upon us this night. One for the teller of the tale, one for the listener and one for he who might hear......

One summer day Fionn was hunting in the woods he loved so much with his hounds Bran and Sceolan. As they hunted they came upon a white stag roused by Bran’s howling.
.
Fionn followed the stag over hills and through valleys until he finally cornered the stag at the bottom of a rocky ledge. As Fionn drew back his spear to kill the stag a mist formed between the stag and him.

In the mist there was a skilled champion. He wore a black tunic, embroidered with red trim, his skin was pale white. He carried an ivory handled sword, trimmed with the purest yellow gold. With each swing the blade howled like a demon. His shield was as black as the Raven's feathers and it had a crimson bird upon its face. The shield’s edge was as sharp as a razor and with it he could split a boar's hair lengthwise.

"Let us do battle" the champion said.
"I swear with an oath that we will fight!" Fionn replied

Fionn and the champion fought, from that time until the setting of the sun but no one was a clear winner so that night they each agreed to rest until the rising of the sun on the next day.

At dawn, the champion reappeared. This time dressed in a tunic of green with gold embroidered trim. His shield was green and upon the shield, he bore a harp.

"Let us do battle" said the champion.
"You shall have your wish" replied Fionn.

And so the fighting continued all that day. For every blow of the champion’s sword upon Fionn's shield there was a blow upon the shield of the champion by Fionn. They fought hard until the setting of the sun but again there was still no clear winner.

"It is enough" said the champion, and he disappeared from Fionn's view. In his place appeared two women whose beauty was as such as never before seen of womankind by mortal eyes. One dressed in flowing black robes, her hair as black as the night and skin as pale as the midnight moon spoke to Fionn.

"My champion whose sword is strong and will not retreat" she said.
"We have loved thee from afar and have come to thee to have you choose between us one from the other. We sent our champion to you that he might vanquish you and decide for us whom should have you."

The other, dressed in a tunic of green, her hair as red as the evening sun and bright blue eyes then spoke to Fionn.

"Decide thee this day between us, for we cannot bear to share thee anymore." she said.
It was then that Fionn recognized the women as belonging to the sidhe.

"I will not be tricked by you this day. You cannot make me choose between you." said Fionn.
"It is the right of the captain of the Fianna to have the love of all women who set their eyes and hearts upon him."

"It is not a good choice you make, King of the Fianna!" the fair one spoke.

"Because you refuse our wish, this shall be your geasa. You shall have a woman in every corner of Eire, yet great misfortune and sadness shall it bring you. Their love shall drive thee mad and you shall hunt your own, pursuing them like you would a stag with your hounds until you shall cause his death, and the death of many of the great and noble of your kind and in the end, their love shall take your family from you. Such is the bond of those who refuse the love of the Mor Rhiogain and Bridghid.

With that, the two disappeared and Fionn was left to himself to ponder............

The Seanachie’s Dream

There are dark, moonless nights when a bright campfire burns hot and its sparks rise high into the air. Embers, like minute galaxies of stars in an even briefer universe, quickly fade into oblivion and are lost forever unless one focuses his attention on a single spark. If that focus is successful, a mind can travel to untold worlds hidden within those points of light. It is here that the knowledge of past generations speaks to the one who will listen.

It was one of these nights, while I pondered, that I found myself in a dark and dreary world. All around me was a scorched black earth dotted with deep cracks. The sky was black as coal, and a thick mist obscured all that was behind it. It appeared to me like a dragon, reaching out to swallow me whole, as if he were hungry after an age of slumber and its darkness filled me with fear.

Forward I made my way; each step was treacherous and slow. After a short distance it felt to me as if time was moving slower and what were really only hours began to seem like days. I worried that I might not find my way home and all my hope was lost. I was tormented with the thought of never seeing those that I loved again. The fear consumed my soul and in this moment of despair, I prayed to whatever god would listen to me and save me from this darkness that overshadowed me. In this moment of despair, before me appeared a white stag.

It was the only living thing I found and when I saw it, the despair that afflicted me lifted. I followed the beast, not knowing why but I felt like it was the right thing to do. The mist began to clear and before me was a tree, unlike any I had seen before.

It was large, reaching high into the sky. The trunk was as white as newly fallen snow on a cold and moonlit winter night. Above me I could see the stars and the full moon in the darkness. All around the tree was a beautiful garden that glowed with the radiance of the sun at mid-day. I could see all kinds of flowers blooming and the moonlight cast upon them a hue of white never before seen by mortal man‘s eyes. Beside the tree ran a river, clear and pure as the mountain sky. I was thirsty and drank from it with cupped hands; its cool water refreshed me from my long journey.

I placed my hand upon the tree and light filled my body. Suddenly I was caught up inside the trunk. I could see a myriad of veins that carried a white-glowing sap that was as bright as day. The veins carried the sap high into the trees where the leaves captured the sunlight as well as the light of the moon and stars. The precious elixir then flowed down to the roots of the tree where before me it was transformed into a wonderland of colors. I could see bright blues with fiery reds and yellows and all of the colors of the rainbow were present in the roots. It was as if jewels surrounded me, each one refracting the light in order to create the most splendid display for my eyes.

Within these colorful foundations before me I saw an old man asleep in a corner. He lay near a table and a cup. A golden cup and upon it was engraved the image of the very tree that I was now in. I awoke the old man and he welcomed me and offered me a drink from the cup. When I drank, my understanding was opened. I could see heroes and fair maidens, proud warriors and jealous gods. Each of their stories was unfolded before me and I knew them all as if I had lived each one of them. Nine times the old man offered me the cup and when I had finished drinking I placed it again upon the table. The old man then spoke to me.

"Keeper of the Tales, take these things with you and tell them to all who will listen. Bring each whom hears them and understands to the tree and let them partake of the cup that I have given you. Return often and partake of the cup which you have seen and more shall be yours to see. Such is your ancestral right, Seanchai"

He bowed his head and transformed before me into the white stag and bound away into the night, leaving me to tell this tale.

Oh where are the days of old when warrior's bold deeds were told?

Who is worthy of Fionn's bright shining fame, or of Chuchulain's everlasting name?

Alas those who would be called so are like unto the last summer breeze that races across the land like the white stag and are gone, never more to be felt.

The day of the warrior is over. The weak are now strong and the stout trunk of the oak is rotted through.

Oh but let me sing to you of red summer nights followed by walks in the white sand upon the moonlit beaches of some distant caribbean island. A place where the soft breeze of the ocean skips through the palm trees and gives inspiration to those who dream of life eternal as lovers, giving them a brief taste of what immortality's prize should be and yet hides from them mortality's undeniable truth, that all that is beloved will slip from our hands one day into the vast unknown where only when we go there ourselves, shall know if such things shall last forever.......

Tonight I recieved word of the death of the man that served as my Rigfennidhfiannasecond while I lead the Fianna Organization.

Rigfennidhfiannasecond Rogh aka (Ric Pinkerton) was killed when the vehicle he was in collided with another near Las Vegas Nevada.

He was my first contact with the Fianna Organization. He pledge assurities for me and oathed me into his fian, and he stood proudly by my side when Rigfennidhfianna Cian selected me to succeed him. He has always been a brother to me. I will miss you my friend.

In visions, I see you, surrounded by the glorious dead and they shout in unison "Prepare the hero's portion, for a great warrior has joined us!"

1. Preserving the memory of territorial boundaries and tributes.
2. Expounding his patrons' genealogies.
3. Recording their military exploits.

We are assured that the recounting of genealogies is essential to preserve due class distinctions in Irish society, while the versifying of battle deeds guarantees immortal fame for the chieftains concerned.

Katherine Simms
Images of Warfare in Bardic Poetry.

"To the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee."-- Moby Dick