I greet my opponent in the old Sgáith tongue and take his measure. He has the hands and face of a fili, but he is a fighting-man and his garments cannot hide the well-honed lines of his hardened limbs. From under a mop of sun-streaked hair, a pair of dangerous grey eyes take my measure in turn. Most would agree he is ready for the first challenge.

Judging by the way he stands with his mouth agape before my fifty naked Deirfiúracha Sgáith, I'd say not quite yet. I chuckle and flash him a bemused grin as I watch the lissome lassies gently remove his clothing and rub him down with scented oil. They make the sign of silence, lead him to a seat covered in soft furs and serve him wild berries and mountain water from our clearest streams. He is to rest and recover his strength while he watches me perform the ancient initiatory war dances of the Craobh Sgaith, only hints of which have ever been seen beyond these walls.

The deep, rhythmic thudding of bodhrán begins, shaking the ground underfoot. I lead the Deirfiúrachas Sgáith in a slow, steady dance step three times sunwise round the hall. Armed with sword and shield, each Deirféar falls into position as she reaches her station in the Chariot Wheel of Life and Death. Upon my third passing, each takes three paces into the centre, carefully places her targe blade-up on the ground and steps back into position.

When the circle is complete and I am once more standing before Amlaidh on the place that marks the beginning and the end, the bodhráns pick up their pace and from a distant hill echoes the soulful ceòl mòr of the piobaireachd. A great whoop of triumph and joy escapes me, and I begin a series of highly athletic toe-heel steps and cleas forms upon the first targe. Fifty times, from one to the next, around the circle I leap and dance. Fingers grouped and arms upraised in the shape of antlers, I perform the antics of a stag on a hillside, all the while carefully avoiding the sharp spike of steel projecting from the centre of each targe. A single false step promises to cause more than a little pain. Though simple, the steps must be executed precisely, with positions strongly held. An accomplished warrior can make this task seem easy, but it takes great skill and dexterity to dance on a small round shield.

The music slows as I approach the liminal spot in front of Amlaidh where end meets new beginning. He looks rested and alert and studies carefully a series of simple warm up exercises I do in preparation for the second round of dancing. The bodhráns sound the signal. Each Deirféar places her weapon of choice beside her targe and returns to her station. I take a formal bow and leap onto the first targe to the quickening pace of the piobaireachd. Around the wheel of life and death I go, dazzling my audience with a display of kicks, trips and sweeps as I demonstrate weapons skills and such acrobatic stunts of valour as the Edge, Body and Level Shield feats.

Once I've come full circle back to my sacred resting place, I take extra care to ready myself for the third and final round: Rinnce an Chlaidhimh. Two by two, the Deirfiúracha Sgáith take seven strides into the circle, cross their swords on the ground and carefully place a severed head on the centre point of each cross. All take their positions but the three who are to attend me. One brings me water, another rubs me down with oils of lavender and mint, while the third adjusts my plaits.

Amlaidh leans forward, eager to meet whatever challenge awaits him, his storm-grey eyes following my every move with the open curiosity of a young lad anxious to show off his Macgnímrada. I shake my head and signal Ciannait Threchíchech to see to his needs. He is forbidden to enter the circle until he has been prepared, mind, body and soul, for the ways of Na Healaíonaí an Chogaidh Sgáithach. The rigours of training must always begin with bradán - the life principle of the individual. Only through anáil, dùisg and leapaidh lánlaidhí can a true warrior achieve balance and become one with earth, sea and sky.

Ciannait assures me Amlaidh will stay put until called. Straightening my back, I place hands on hips, take a bow and sashay toward the first pair of crossed swords. I negotiate the outside area with the pas de basque step, then clap my hands to signal the piobair to pick up the tempo, and perform delicate footwork near the point where the swords cross. With a swift, vigorous leap and twirl over the severed head, I land on the opposite side and move smoothly into a more involved form of embellished high cuts. I take great care not to show signs of strain, nor do I touch the swords or dislodge the head at any time during the dance for fear of bringing an ill omen down upon me that would signal defeat in battle.

Twenty-five times I dance among the swords of my sisters and leap over the heads of my enemies with all the vigour these ancient rites demand. An abundance of joy fills my heart, lights up my face and ignites the room as I again stand victorius in the sacred space with no beginning or end the Deirfiúracha Sgáith calls An Beith agus Troid ar an bhFarraige. Inner and outer warriors unite and know no bounds. With bare skin glistening in the glaring torchlight and a huge feline grin splitting my face ear-to-ear, I take a gloriously deep victory bow. Proud am I to have once again successfully completed the first feat in the rigorous initiatory Cleas of the Craobh Sgaith.

A great roar echoes off the walls as fifty warriors cry, "Scáthach Buanand! Scáthach Buanand!" and enthusiastically bang their swords on their targes. Nearly deafened by the sound, I nonetheless straighten my shoulders, raise my fist in the air and shout "Buanand!" several times before taking my seat under the giant yew tree. After such an ordeal, the simple pleasure of sitting and sipping fresh water is increased tenfold. When I am rested and the excitement dies, Ciannait leads Amlaidh around the outside of the circle and presents him to me. I hold his eyes in mine and begin chanting the intiatory rite in the ancient Sgáith tongue to the beat of a single bodhrán and the low rattling of sword on targe.

"Who dares enter Màrrach Mór?" I challenge.

"A nameless ábhar has crossed our threshold," Ciannait responds.

"From whence does the nameless ábhar come?"

"From beyond the shadows."

"And what does the nameless ábhar seek?"

"To learn the Way of Cleas Sgáith."

"To what purpose?"

"To champion the Deirfiúracha Sgáith and guard Màrrach Mór against the approach of the profane."

"Have you prepared the way?"

"I have."

"Do you swear by Na Craobh Sgáith that the ábhar you sponsor will honour our oath of secrecy?"

"I swear!"

"Does your ábhar understand the consequences of breaking the oath?"

"He does."

"So be it! At sunset he shall perform the first feat of the initiatory Cleas na h-Craobh Sgáith."

___

Drochaid an Leum - Bridge of Leaping
sgoil na healaíonaí an chogaidh - school of martial arts
Màrrach Mór - Great Hall of Enchantment
Deirféar - sister
Deirfiúrachas Sgáith - Shadow Sisterhood
Craobh Sgáith - Shadow Branch
ceòl mòr - great music
piobaireachd - sound/music of the traditional Highland pipes
Macgnímrada - youthful deeds
piobair - piper
Buanand! - Victory!
ábhar - pupil