Old Friends: The Lost Tales of Fionn Mac Cumhaill Read online

  But even though everyone wanted to help, there was not a single person with anything to tell. The days were passing since Niamh had disappeared with the barrel-man and people were starting to despair for her ever returning safely.

  Mac Cumhaill himself had taken a path in a north-westerly direction, and within the day he had gone as far as he could go, reaching the wild ocean at the northwest coast of Baile Lugda. He was feeling tired and confused. He decided to spend the night with his acquaintance, Luan, the high king of the little people, whose castle was under a big rath in Baile Lugda.

  That evening, he told Luan of his desperate quest. Luan was very sympathetic.

  ‘What kind of king or man could give away his daughter like that?’ he said, shaking his bald little head.

  ‘The funny thing,’ confided Mac Cumhaill, ‘is that ever since I first heard the description and name of the man I’m looking for, I’ve had a funny feeling that I should know him.’

  ‘What was his name and appearance?’ asked Luan.

  When Mac Cumhaill again repeated the little bit of information about Barli that he had already told in surely a thousand places already, Luan raised his right eyebrow. Mac Cumhaill was about to get angry as he was almost sure he saw the corner of a grin fleet across Luan’s lips.

  ‘What do you know?’ he demanded, standing up too suddenly and banging his head on the ceiling.

  ‘Well, I have a feeling that you might be right – that you should know this Barli fellow very well.’

  Mac Cumhaill sat back down.

  ‘Do you remember the time of that terrible war between your big people and ourselves?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you remember the most ferocious warrior from our side? The one you spent more time fighting than any other?’

  ‘Marla Barla!’ exclaimed Mac Cumhaill, thinking back on the terrible days when good men on both sides had battled each other over hills and marshland in the most futile war ever fought. ‘But …’

  Before he talked further, he remembered the little people’s great warrior. He had been very slender – not at all built like the descriptions of the sturdy Barli. Of course many years had passed. And the accounts of Barli’s black eyes certainly rang true. And the great, black steed that had disappeared so cleanly into the landscape certainly had the sound of little people’s transport about it. But the deciding factor for Mac Cumhaill was when he remembered the tactics used by the burly man in Athy. Fighting some of the most dislikeable characters on earth, this little warrior had shown great mercy. Mac Cumhaill realised that the reason the mystery fighter had used only a thorn stick was that he had seen the competitors were no match for him with the sword and he hadn’t wanted to kill any of them – only to scare them away. Such an act had all the marks of the valiant Marla Barla.

  Mac Cumhaill felt some relief as he allowed the thought to creep into his heart that no harm would have come to Niamh. He asked Luan if he would be so good as to take him to Marla Barla’s residence that very night.

  When they got to the small rath near Lough Neigh where Marla now lived with a small group of his friends and family, there was a welcoming glow under the black-thorn hedge to the front of the fort. The guards ushered Luan and Mac Cumhaill straight through. Inside, a great party was going on. Mac Cumhaill’s heart sank. He assumed he was too late and that young Niamh had been forced into marriage.

  But soon a very familiar figure ambled over to them. Next to the king and the other little people, Marla looked very large. He was indeed built like a barrel of muscle. He bowed to his king and then came over to Mac Cumhaill. A great, beaming smile covered his face.

  ‘It’s been a long time, brother,’ he said to Mac Cumhaill, ‘but I guessed I’d be seeing you pretty soon.’

  ‘Hello Marla,’ said Mac Cumhaill. ‘I’m afraid I’m here on serious business.’

  ‘You’re looking for a missing princess?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t look so worried – you won’t have to fight me over this,’ laughed Marla. ‘She’s over there.’

  Marla was pointing to a high-ceilinged corner of the fort where there was much dancing and merry-making. There, sure enough, was a woman much too tall for the company. But other than that, she was laughing and chatting like everyone else. She had seen Mac Cumhaill now and started moving towards him, but in no hurry.

  Marla Barla explained what had happened. He had been in the area of mid-Laigin, looking for a good otter to use as a guard on his fort. He heard the story about the big people’s king in that area, holding a competition with his own daughter as the prize. He was such a big fairy that he had the advantage of being able to pass as a very short human, so without saying who he was he had moved amongst the people of Athy, making more enquiries. When he had asked why Fionn Mac Cumhaill was allowing such a thing to happen, he had learned that Mac Cumhaill was out of the country. So he had decided to do Mac Cumhaill a favour. He had entered the competition himself and when he had won it, he had taken Niamh away to safety.

  ‘You could have done me a bigger favour by letting me know that you’d taken her,’ said Mac Cumhaill, pretending to be angry.

  ‘Ah, well, I couldn’t make it too easy for you,’ laughed Marla Barla. ‘But you figured it out – eventually!’

  After they had established that Niamh was in no rush to get home, Luan sent a messenger to Tara to tell her sisters that she was safe, and then Mac Cumhaill and Luan settled down to enjoy the festivities and the hospitality of Marla Barla’s fort. There were many tall tales, riddles, jokes and tricks that were shared in Barla’s fort that evening.

  The next day, when Mac Cumhaill was leaving, Niamh came to him very apologetically saying, ‘Fionn, I hope people won’t be too offended…I mean, do you think people would mind if I stayed here a while longer? I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, alanna mo chroí,’ said Fionn. ‘I always found that anyone who has time to set themselves up in judgement of other people’s private business is not a person whose opinion I would care about in the first place. The good people of Laigin, not least your sisters, will be happy with the report I bring them. Besides, I would stay here myself if I could.’

  Within a month, a message was sent to her sisters. By that time they were ruling Laigin from the castle in Athy. Their father had disappeared and nothing was ever heard of him afterwards. The message was a wedding invitation.

  Marla Barla and Niamh married in what was the most interesting and unusual wedding ceremony in the history of Éirinn, with little people and big people celebrating together and arguing about where the couple would live and what gifts their children would have. They were the happiest couple in the whole of history and they lived very long lives with each other. When their many children grew up, some of them chose the fairy way and others went to live with big people.

  When the story, the fire and all the company evaporated, cold rain was dripping through the oak tree under which Dark was sitting. It looked like it had been falling for a while. His parka and pants were already wet through.

  When he got outside the rath, it was spilling and he was starting to cough and splutter by the time he climbed into his bedroom.

  He was still coughing at school time. It was only a tickle, but his mother said, ‘Art, I’m just sorry that you had to be out with the vet last night. You’re working too hard. This can’t go on.’

  Dark said, ‘Don’t worry, Mam. It’s nothing. Nothing to do with being out with the heifer.’

  When it came to homework-checking time that morning, Sullivan didn’t even ask him. She just opened the door and he went out.

  He wasn’t long in the corridor when he saw the familiar wren land in a bush opposite him. The wren was so busy looking in the window and trying not to be noticed that it didn’t spot a magpie approaching it, hopping down from branch to branch in the ash tree above it, turning its head from side to side so as to look at the wren with one eye and then the other. Dark s
potted the magpie’s plan when it was almost too late. No time to go to the door to shout the magpie away. And the windows were double-glazed so the wren couldn’t hear him clapping.

  The only thing to hand was the fire extinguisher, lying in the corner. He jabbed the window with it, base first to be sure the glass would give. He hadn’t known that double-glazing broke with such a bang. It was certainly enough to alarm the wren and frighten the magpie away. It was also enough to bring the teachers out of every classroom off the corridor.

  ‘What in heaven’s name is going on, young Arthur McLean?’ said old Mrs Moriarty, the Gaeilge teacher. Everyone called her Auntie Úna and said she was a little bit cracked. She had been there as long as anyone could remember and had taught all the parents and Jim the caretaker and she was old even then. ‘Are you hurt, love? Is someone after firing a shot at you through the window? A plague on their souls!’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Dark.

  ‘Oh, dear. Well, whatever happened, it must have put the heart sideways in you. Don’t you worry about it now,’ said Mrs Moriarty, looking up at him kindly.

  ‘What, then?’ said Sullivan, shoving in front of Auntie Úna. ‘What on earth are you after doing now?’

  ‘The young man just slipped and had an accident, can’t you see that?’ said Mrs Moriarty sharply to Sullivan. ‘Great God almighty, anyone with an eye in their head can see that. If you didn’t have him shut out in the corridor every bloody day, it mightn’t have happened.’

  ‘Excuse me, Úna,’ interrupted Magill, just now arriving on the scene, ‘I think you are wanted back in your own classroom. Miss Sullivan and I will deal with this.’

  ‘So, what are we after going and doing now? Hmmm?’ said Magill, turning to Dark.

  ‘I just did it for the wren,’ Dark said.

  Magill paused for a minute and then he said, ‘Ah, I get it. That’s supposed to be funny. He’s making a little joke of us, Miss Sullivan; he is telling us he did it for the lark. Right? ’

  The whole class had come out for a look. Even Ciara.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Dark, flustered, ‘I didn’t mean to joke. I mean…I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘See, I knew there was a little skanger hiding in there,’ said Sullivan, ‘pretending like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and the minute your eye is off him he is vandalising the place.’

  The strange thing was, as the principal and Sullivan were ranting away, and as Dark stopped listening to them, the magpie came back. Dark was sure that it too was now looking at the carry-on inside and for a second he thought he saw the magpie’s head take the shape of a scrunchedup man’s head. And that face was laughing at his difficulties. There was no doubt about that.

  The principal complained loudly: ‘I can never get through to that mother of yours on the phone. She will have to learn that it is not wise to ignore me. You phone her and tell her what you’ve done now and that if she could be bothered to come down to see me, I’ll be in my office waiting for her.’

  Dark took out his phone.

  ‘Either way,’ Magill said, ‘I am calling the police.’

  Even Miss Sullivan seemed surprised at this, but she sauntered back to her classroom.

  Dark knew his mother would get in a panic straight away if he called her – for a long while now all unexpected calls had that effect on her. But since the principal was going to call the police either way, Dark didn’t see the point of bringing his mother into it. So he pretended to phone her.

  The moment of chaos seemed to have passed. Everyone except Dark went back to their classrooms. It was quite cold standing in the corridor then.

  Dark went out to bring the fire extinguisher back inside. Only as he opened the door did the magpie lose interest and leave his perch on the ash, cackling as he flapped away to do some other mischief.

  Just after lunch, there was a big ‘whooo’ sound from people staring out of windows across the school. Magill had been as good as his word. A squad car had arrived and a garda strolled into the schoolyard. Even though he was hatless and not too serious-looking, Dark, watching now from the window of Mrs Moriarty’s class, was suddenly frightened. He had never thought he could get arrested or anything like that.

  Magill came into class and called Dark out to meet the guard, who was standing in the corridor where the window incident had occurred.

  ‘I can’t interview him without a parent present,’ Dark heard the guard saying to Magill.

  Dark couldn’t hear what the principal said back to the guard, but there was definitely something about ‘a most uncooperative single girl… irresponsible parent… out of control…’

  And then old Auntie Úna came out of class again and went up to the guard, saying something.

  The guard didn’t hush his voice when talking to other adults, like a teacher. He turned back to Magill and asked, ‘Is this right, what Mammy Moriarty is saying? Out in the corridor for hours every day?’

  The principal was shaking his head vigorously and waving Úna back to her classroom.

  The guard came back over to Dark and asked him out into the yard for a private chat. He said in a cross voice, ‘Any time you like now, sonny, you can tell me what happened here, because vandalising school property can get you in a lot of trouble and I don’t have time to waste with lies or bullshit.’

  Dark said, ‘I broke the window.’

  ‘Are you being smart? I can see that. Why?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Would you just tell me what happened, like a good man.’

  ‘I can pay for it.’

  ‘Oh, right, I’m sure. And how would you propose to do that, now?’ said the guard, still impatiently.

  ‘I’ve got two calves of my own. I’ll sell one of them.’

  The guard looked up from his notepad and the biro that was irritating him because it was only writing patchily. He took another long look at Dark. He put away the notebook and faulty pen. His tone changed completely.

  ‘You’re the son of Seán McLean, the Lord have mercy on him? Staying up there at Connie’s place?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know how much glass costs. Do you know would one good six-month-old calf cover it or would I have to sell the two of them?’ asked Dark.

  ‘You don’t have to sell anything,’ the guard said, very quietly. ‘Pat Curtain is my name. I’m a friend of Connie’s.’

  ‘I would rather my mother didn’t have to pay for it.’

  ‘Or find out about it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Listen, don’t worry about that,’ said the guard, still quietly. ‘They have insurance. You’re a good lad to offer. I don’t know what you thought you were playing at, but I’m just going to tell Magill that you had a dizzy spell from standing out there, and knocked the fire yoke against the window as you fell.’

  ‘He won’t believe you,’ said Dark.

  ‘I don’t give a fiddler’s what he believes. You just don’t make a liar of me. Alright?’

  ‘Alright,’ said Dark.

  ‘And try to keep out of the old goat’s way in future so that he’s not calling me up here every day. Alright?’

  ‘Alright.’

  Dark listened as the guard went back in and chatted and laughed and patted Magill on the back. The principal wasn’t smiling.

  As he left, the guard shouted back at Magill, ‘By the way, that ould extinguisher is out of date. That could turn into a much more costly mistake than a little bit of broken glass.’

  Dark was ushered back into the classroom by Magill, who never said a word to him. That was his last time in the corridor.

  As he walked down the fields to meet the Old Man that night, he marvelled at how well Dreoilín’s spell was working. A year ago, if he had been shouted at by the principal and then questioned by the gardaí, he might have said he didn’t care, but in truth, he’d have curled up in terror. Now, he really didn’t care much at all. Or didn’t care that he hadn’t done any school work or homework in a long time. He
didn’t give a hoot about any of them.

  He started coughing again as he made his way inside the rath. The red-mopped little rogue, Bal, grabbed him less roughly by the arm and brought him straight over to the fire. Bal pulled the cup roughly from Etain, adding something to it from a rolled-up leaf he took from his cape. It tasted so bitter that Dark spat part of it out. Conán laughed.

  ‘Drink up, you cur, and show some appreciation when a man is trying to cure your bad chest,’ said Bal.

  Dark drank up and he did feel better, for the moment.

  The Old Man asked him how he was doing.

  ‘Has any one of you ever seen such a thing as a magpie with a man’s face?’ Dark asked.

  The Old Man laughed. ‘Ask Bal. A man can see queer things if he looks closely enough at any situation.’

  That was all. Then he started talking and everyone stared into the flames and fell silent.

  The Greatest Battle That Never Was

  Mac Cumhaill had just left Tara with Conán, burdened by the king’s instructions to hunt down and kill a young man called Skellig, who had had the temerity to attack the king. Before they had got far, Fionn was summoned back by Cormac for another conversation that would drive him to the very edge of fury and despair.

  When they re-entered the chamber, the king invited them to sit with a sombre assembly, mainly of brehons, men to whom Cormac now delegated too much of his thinking. In recent times Cormac gave a lot of his own thoughts over to his hobbies – activities the brehon s persuaded him he had great hidden talents for, like designing watermills and painting pictures of dogs. His talents in those fields remained well hidden but Mac Cumhaill felt that his real talents in the field of pragmatic cunning were also starting to become blunted by engaging with these ineffectual men. Goll was also already there. Judging from the silence when he walked back in, Fionn himself had recently been the subject of discussion.

  ‘Fionn,’ started Cormac in the gravest tone he could issue from a face that had been badly bruised by the attentions of Skellig, ‘my apologies for calling you back, but these wise gentlemen have just brought me dreadful information. A massive attack on our nation is imminent.’