FG 19 - Samhain (2002)

Author: * MacMorna Niafer - 24 Posts on this thread out of 2,750 Posts sitewide.
Date: Jan 12, 2004 - 14:32

Summer Isle
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I hasten to finish my tale, as it has gone on a bit too long.

During the feast that followed the slaying of the urfeist, all of the princes and champions said, I am the man who saved the princess!

The king sent for his old blind sage and asked what he should do to find the real urfeist-slayer. The sage told him - Not hard. Simply send out word to all the world that the man whose foot will fit the boot of silver and gold is the true champion who slew the urfeist, and you will give him your daughter in marriage.

The king did as his sage advised. He sent out word for the world to come and try on the boot. It was too large for some, too small for others. When all had failed, the old sage whispered to the king, All have tried the boot except your cowherd.

The king scowled impatiently. It is unlikely that he is the one. Besides he is always out with the cows, there is no use in his trying.

No matter, replied the old blind sage, Let twenty men go and bring us the cowherd.

The king sent out twenty men who found Sean Ruadh sleeping in the shadow of a stone wall. They began to make a hay rope to bind him, but he woke up and had twenty ropes made before they could could make just one. Then he jumped at them, tied all twenty in a bundle, and fastened this bundle to the wall.

At the castle, they waited and waited for the twenty men to bring the cowherd back. At last the king sent twenty men more, with swords this time, to find what was delaying them.

When they came, this twenty began to make a hay rope to tie up the cowherd, but he had twenty ropes made before their one - and had taken their swords and stacked them in a pile. No matter how they fought, Sean Ruadh tied the twenty men in a bundle and this bundle to the other twenty.

When neither twenty came back, the old blind sage said to the king: Go now and throw yourself down before your cowherd, for he has tied these forty men into two bundles, taken their swords, and tied the two bundles to each other.

The king went and threw himself before Sean Ruadh. The cowherd blinked with surprise and lifted up the king. What is this for? he asked curiously.

Come to my castle and try on a boot, the king ordered him.

How can I do that? I don't have the time. I have work to do here! answered Sean Ruadh.

Never mind that, you will come back soon enough to tend to your duties, promised the king, still doubtful that Sean Ruadh was the urfeist-slayer.

So the forty men were untied and they all went back to the castle. When Sean Ruadh stood in front of the castle, he saw the princess sitting in her upper chamber, and the boot of silver and gold was on the windowsill before her.

At that very moment, the boot sprang from the windowsill through the air, flew down to Sean Ruadh of its own will, and fit itself onto his foot.

The princess was down the stairs in the twinkle of an eye - and into the arms of Sean Ruadh.

As Sean Ruadh looked around, he saw the castle was still crowded with all the kings' sons and champions that he saw trembling a few days ago on the shore. Now each and every one of them were still claiming that they had saved the princess.

What are these men doing here? Sean Ruadh asked.

Oh! They have been trying to put on the boot, the king laughed.

WIth that, Sean Ruadh drew his Sword of Light and swept the heads off every single one of them. He threw the heads and bodies into the midden heap behind the castle to rot.

Then the king sent ships with messengers to all the kings and queens of the world - to the kings of Espania, Gaul, Greece, and Lochlin - to come to the wedding of his daughter and the lucky thirteenth son of the swan-king, Sean Ruadh.

Sean Ruadh, after the wedding, went with his bride to live in the kingdom that formerly belonged to the giants, and they lived happily ever after.

Polite applause welcomes the end of my tale. I make a humble bow of appreciation. The feast seems to be coming to an end as well. A tiny elvin lass is playing a spritely tune on a flute and a few people still dance.

I take my leave of the seannachie's corner to seek out another cup and perhaps a final dance before the dawn.
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Posted on: 8:53 am on Nov. 5, 2002

Moss ONiall
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The seannachie finishes his tale, which was much enjoyed by all. I was lost in his expert telling, carried away briefly into the world of sea-monsters and swords of light. It was a pleasant escape indeed. But now I am here again, in the bruighean, feeling quite lost.

Soon the sun will come up and the festival will end. Where will I go now? I close my eyes and wish Sean Ruach would appear before me, ready to save me from the empty morning.

I find my travel bundle where I stowed it near the hearth. Everything I own is in it, most importantly the little packets of dried plants, salves and other remedies, the tools of the healer. Finding a warm and quiet place in the shadows, I roll myself up in my brat and tuck the bundle under my head, hoping for a dream to sweeten sleep.
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Posted on: 8:25 am on Nov. 5, 2002

Nevvyn
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A faint glimmer of dawn shows in the eastern sky. I sit on the bench before the door, wrapped in the heavy wool brat with my staff propped betwixt my knees. My nightlong vigil has been uneventful, but somewhat unquiet. Three times in the darkest part of the night, The Hunt has ridden within hearing distance of the bruighean. With each passage the words jump, unbidden, into my mind and my lips:

Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by!

And with each recitation, The Hunt would change course and veer off in another direction.

All through the night, I have heard bits and pieces of songs and stories, of jigs and reels and stomping of dancing feet, of chatter and idle gossip, of harp and flute and tambour. I stand and stretch, slowly working out the kinks from these old bones. I pace back and forth, restoring the circulation and the warmth to my legs. My stomach tells me it would like to join the feast. A moment longer, old gut! I murmur. 'Tis not yet the time to relax our vigilance!

The morningstar rides high in the purpling sky, all its bright glitter and twinkle slowly fading with the coming of the daystar. On the crown of the hill, the standing stones are a ghostly silhouette against the paling backdrop of morn. Nearby shapes emerge from the gloom and become familiar objects once again. 'Tis safe enough! 'Tis time enough! I tell myself, and the world at large.

I drag the bench from across the threshold and rap thrice on the door with my staff. I hear the heavy bar being lifted and the oaken door swings wide. Ruis bids me a formal welcome and asks after the adventures of the night. Behind her, the music has softened and the hearth-fire burns low. Mostly now, it is sweet love songs and soft lullabies. Many sleep, while others talk in hushed tones. I gently close the door and hang the heavy brat on its peg. Someone hands me a cup of mulled wine and a bowl of porridge is set before me at a vacant seat. I look around and smile at the sleeping pairs. It seems Samhain is a time for refreshing old friendships and the making of new ones.
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Posted on: 8:31 am on Nov. 5, 2002

MaryIceni
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After a few dances with my brother, I go back to where Cormiac is. My brother had sent Bran to him when he had seen Moss leave.

I gather my sleepy baby from Tissa and go back to where his father is. The food is gone and the waterskin three-quarters empty. Cormiac lies sleeping, a peaceful smile on his face. Conor and I slip into the bed and the three of us sleep... .
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Posted on: 10:59 am on Nov. 5, 2002

Skene
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Summer Isle is done with his tale. He goes to the kegs, fills a cup, and sits moodily by the hearth, watching the flames. I dare not disturb him. The hall grows quiet. The old wizard returns from his watch by the door, so it must be dawn outside.

For those who still stir, young and old, I offer a story-song from my homeland, slow and easy.

There's a fisherman sitting alone on the land
His hands are his craft, his boat is his art
A fisherman sitting alone on the land
A rock, a hard rock in his heart.

There's a selchie maid swimming alone in the bay
Her eyes are the seal's, her heart is the sea
A selchie maid swimming alone in the bay
A pure white seal maiden is she

She comes to the shore and she sheds her seal skin
She dances on sand, dances under the moon
Her hair falls in waves down upon her white skin
And only the seals hear the tune.

Then standing, the fisherman takes her seal skin
Staking his claim to a wife from the sea
He raises his hand, holding up the white skin
Says, "Now you must come home with me."

Oh, weeping she goes, and still weeping she stays
Her hands are her craft, her babes are her art
A year and a year and a year more she stays
A rock, a cold rock, in her heart.

But what is this hid in the fisherman's bag?
It smells like the ocean, it feels like the sea!
A bonny white sealskin closed up in the bag
And "Never a tear more!" cries she.

"Goodbye to the house and goodbye to the shore
Goodbye to the babes that I never could claim
But never a thought to the man left on shore
For selchie's my nature and name."

She puts on the skin and dives back in the sea
The fisherman's cry falls on water-deaf ears
She swims in her sealskin away out to sea
And the fisherman drowns in his tears.

(@copyright Jane Yolen)
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Posted on: 12:50 pm on Nov. 5, 2002

Ruis
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Odhanan's hint of a quest intrigues me, but we hush and let the storyteller finish his tale. Atticus is turning the little boat over and over in his hands, as if trying to see something that is hidden there.

There is no secret meaning. Our time together is coming to an end. Soon he must return to his homeland and I do not know when, if ever, we shall meet again.

Just as Summer Isle ends his story, there are three raps on the bruighean door. Nevvyn returns from his night long vigil. I arise from the table to greet him and make sure that he has hot food and a warm drink to welcome him.

Failte, Watcher of the Dawn! We clasp each other's forearms. Thank you for standing guard through the night, Honorable Elder. Were there any omens?

Wearily he sheds his heavy cloak, shaking his head. All is well, Ruis, he tells me. I offer him my arm and escort him to the hearth, where porridge and spiced wine await.
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Posted on: 1:29 pm on Nov. 5, 2002

Verctissa
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I do not mind holding Mary's baby between my dances with MacMorna. As I held baby Conor close to me, I could feel his warm, soft body against my chest. He cooed as I pulled him away from my chest to look at his little face. I tickled his nose with a piece of my long hair and he laughed, causing one of my own to emerge. I made bright faces at him, and we carried on our own little conversation as I used to do with Galan and Huctia's baby.

I look up at MacMorna who is watching me quietly. His smile is beaming, and his eyes are sparkling. I smile back, then looked down at the baby cradeled in my arms who was now dozing. I look up again and Mary has come to take her baby. I smile and thank her for allowing me to hold him, and she thanks me for watching him as she goes back to her family.

I sigh, pulling my knees up to my chest and hugging them. I am having so much fun this night - I am having more fun than I have had in ages.
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Posted on: 2:05 pm on Nov. 5, 2002

Dobhar
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In between dances, Domnall unrolls a game board and engages me in a contest of strategies. While we test each other's skills, he grumbles on incessantly about the Roman.

But Domnall, my friend, I finally sigh, growing weary of his hammerings. Gesturing to the table where Ruis and Atticus sit among the bards, I fix the renegade warrior firmly with a scowl. See there! The Roman is rubbing his elbows now with the most powerful people in the land. And did not the arch-druid warn you not to do him any further harm, upon your oaths?

Domnall grimaces. He glares in the direction of the bards' table and mutters curses. Upon our oaths indeed, Dobhar! Did you not swear to protect our homeland, guard our treasures and keep safe our people?

These words of honor coming from a renegade like Domnall somehow do not ring true. While he is ranting, he misses his play and I capture his marker, ending our game.
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Posted on: 3:07 pm on Nov. 5, 2002

Atticus Sempronius
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Atticus was fast recovering from his troubles, warm good food and Ruis magical presence all combined to fill him with a soothing warmth of contentment.

Odanhan and Lewin had welcomed him in an open and guileless way that was at odds with his earlier welcome by Domnall and his minions.

Looking across the room at his erstwhile captors he noticed their leader in deep conspiratorial conversation with a burly warrior whom Ruis had named Dohbar. They cast frequent and hate filled glances in his direction, their vicious looks where accompanied by the faint sound of sable wings, Morrigan still lurked nearby, but Brighid kept to her promise. An ethereal sound of forge hammer rang out and dark wings fled to the night.

Atticus was not about to let his remaining time here be spoilt by Domnall’s hatred, he raised his cup to the grizzled warrior and waggled his eye brows in the most outrageous manner. Domnall nearly fell over backwards in shock, there is nothing quite like a bit of mockery to put ones adversary of their stride.

Atticus had clearly seen the little ring that Ruis had found in the Barm Brack and qiuckly hidden. As he toyed with the little boat he had found in his portion, he forced himself to put aside the implications for a while, leaving was something he wanted to avoid for the moment.

Lewin leaned over and spoke.

"I hear you are a poet friend Atticus, perhaps you will give us an example of your work."

Atticus demurred, feeling a little self conscious in the company of professional bards.

"What’s this Atticus, you've never been shy about your work before....especially when your verse is addressed to our dear Ruis." Said Zoe with a laugh, sitting down next to them. Ruis blushed, an unusual occurrance for such a self possessed woman. Odanhan and Lewin laughed uproariously at her discomfort, then Lewin passed a small cup of amber liquid to Atticus.

"Here my friend try this, it will scare away this strange shyness."

Atticus sniffed at the liquor and smiled.

"Caledonian Ouskie"?

"Indeed not, this is our own Hibernian brew, much superior to Caledonian."

Atticus doubted that, like his Uncle Andricus he was much attached to the Caledonian spirit. But it would not be polite to contradict his hosts, so he grinned at Zoe and downed the small tot in one.

It was powerful stuff, his head exploded and his eyes seemed to encompass an all round vision. Having been under the influence of ouskie before he wasn’t too surprised. What did shock him was the tiny figure filching crumbs of Barm Brack from his trencher.

She was about six inches tall had gossamer wings,perfect in form and quite nude. She was also angry at being discovered in her theft, raising her tiny little thorn sword she assumed a fierce expression and thrust the miniature weapon into his thumb.
Several things happened at that point. A child wandering past giggled happily and pointing, shouted "Fairie." Atticus fell backwards of the bench, and the little creature hovered above his face brandishing her thorn for a moment before disappearing out of the smoke hole with her stolen crumbs.

Odanhan roared with laughter. Tis good luck to see the little folk my friend."

Ruis groaned in embarrassment and Zoe patted her hand consolingly muttering about men never growing up.

Lewin picked him of the floor.

"Only children are supposed to see the wee folk, but Odhanan is right its surely means good luck."

Atticus wasn’t sure about good luck because as he sucked at the spot of blood on his thumb Domnall chose that moment to make a particularly vile and loud comment about the Emperor.

Atticus quickly sobered, many Romans would have reached for a 'gladius' sword at that point, but Atticus was no soldier and had little military training...no there were other ways to fight back. He stood with quiet dignity and adjusted the folds of his toga.

The room quieted ominously, and Domnall and his men grinned in anticipation, Dobhar watched with interest waiting to see what this Roman would do.

Ruis half rose to intervene, but Odhanan held her back.

"No lass he must answer this insult himself or loose the respect of all." Ruis reluctantly sat but concern was written on her face.

Atticus walked out into room, straight past the wary Domnall, ignoring him completely. Instead he approached the Seannachie and requested the floor, his request was granted and the Seannachie left the floor.

A warrior he was not, but an orator trained to cast his voice in such a way as to hold the attention of any audience, they listened breathless to his voice.

" We have heard many wonderful tales here this night, some to delight and entertain, some to make us laugh or weep, and some to teach us a lesson. Such is the short cautionary tale I wish to tell you now. lend me your ears good people and learn."

OLD KING LOG
THE FROG POOL WANTED A KING,
JOVE SENT THEM OLD KING LOG.
I HAVE BEEN BLIND AND DEAF AND WOODEN AS A LOG.
THE FROG POOL WANTED A KING,
LET JOVE SEND THEM YOUNG KING STORK,
LET HIM BE MAD,BLOODY,CAPRICIOUS,
WASTEFUL AND LUSTFUL.
KING STORK SHALL PROVE AGAIN THE NATURE OF KINGS,
YET I AM.
I MUST REMEMBER OLD KING LOG LOG
I WILL FLOAT INERTLY IN THE STAGNANT POOL.
LET ALL THE POISONS THAT LURK IN THE MUD
HATCH OUT!

The words were spoken to all but their target was obvious to all. Domnall staggered, half drunk, to his feet, face red with anger he kicked the table in front of him spilling its burden on the floor. With an audible curse he reached for his sword, but before he could draw Dobhar's beefy hand stayed him. Domnall started to resist but Dobhar curtly shook his head and growled an inaudible command. There was a split second when Domnall fought, but Dobhar’s superior strength won and Domnall stormed off calling his men to join him.

The room remained silent and Atticus stood proud and determined, sporting his bruises as trophys,waiting for a verdict.

Odhanan stood up followed by Lewin and Ruis, looking especially fierce, Odhanan spoke.

"It does us little credit to offer a guest insult, have we forgotten all our cherished customs of guest friendship."

He glared around at the silent crowd.

"Ruis is our most respected priestess, if she claims this man as worthy of friendship then, Roman or not, I too will be glad to claim him as friend."

At that others rose in agreement, some adding their own welcome. Others remained silent, especially Dobhar who rubbed his beard thoughtfully, but nobody openly objected.

Ruis walked with calm dignity to Atticus side and took his hand defying anyone to object. Now Lewin decided to lighten the mood, speaking to the crowd.

"Well my friends,I have heard that our Roman friend here is a poet and bard of love, I say we do not permit him to leave until we have heard an example of his work."

This produced shouts of approval from Zoe and Cythera and many others, the Seannachie with a smile gestured to the centre of the floor. Ruis smiled encouragement and stood with her friends leaving him alone under the gaze of an anticipatory audience. He closed his eyes and thought, then turned his eyes on Ruis forgetting that there we any others present.

When we have loved, my love,
Panting and pale from love,
Then from your cheeks, my love,
Scent of the sweat I love:
And when our bodies love,
Now to relax in love, After the stress of love,
Ever still more I love
Our mingled breath of love.

When he had finished he gazed into Ruis eyes oblivious of everything else.

He might of remained that way for a good long time, if that pesky Faerie hadn’t returned to tug at his ear with a mocking laugh.
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Posted on: 3:53 pm on Nov. 5, 2002

MaryIceni
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A loud clatter from down below wakes Conor. He starts yowling the way he had the first time Tissa held him and he'd awoken in her lap.

"Husheen, Conor," I said. Eventually Conor's yowls softened to hiccups but not before the yowl awoke Cormiac. "He's got good lungs, Mary."

"MacMorna said the same thing, Cormiac."

Cormiac then touched our son's cheek and Conor smiled, giggling. "I'm going to see if I can bring up some porridge," I told Cormiac.
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Posted on: 4:33 pm on Nov. 5, 2002

Verica
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I was half asleep, nestled into Dobhar's shoulder while he played a game with the troublemaker Domnall. Skene's voice drifted through the smoky air singing an old story-song in our own language. The familiar sound lulled me further towards sleep. I dreamed I was a child again, wandering the shore with my father.

Then another voice comes into my dream, a man's voice speaking in a strange cadence. I open my eyes just in time to see Domnall draw his sword. Then Dobhar leaps to his feet and I crash to the floor.

Instinctively I roll towards the nearest shelter, a nearby bench. Peering out, I see Dobhar put his hand out against Domnall's blade. The two warriors glare at each other, standing still as stones. I want to run to Dobhar, to help him push Domnall down. I flex my legs and get ready to spring.

But before I can leap to his side, Domnall turns aside. With a sharp command, he gathers his henchmen around him. In a clatter of metal and obscenities, they leave the bruighean.

Dobhar rubs his beard thoughtfully, frowning. The woman druid strides over and links her hand with the outlander. I crawl out from under the bench and do as Ruis did, taking Dobhar's hand in mind.

He looks down, surprised, as if he has forgotten I was there. We watch as the outlander Atticus takes the place of the storyteller. He shuts his eyes for a moment, then gazes at Ruis.

I cannot grasp the words but I think I understand the meaning. Dobhar sighs. Something in the words of the outlander has inspired him take me in his arms and deliver passionate kisses. Happily I respond.
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Posted on: 6:20 pm on Nov. 5, 2002