The girl sighed in resignation.
‘Then the sooner we set out the sooner we shall reach the far side of this place.’
Flann eased his sword in his scabbard.
‘I still do not like it, Scáthach,’ he said uneasily.
‘I will go on ahead,’ said Ruacán, pushing forward and striding off down the path into the glen.
Scáthach made to follow but Flann reached out a hand to her arm and stayed her.
‘Neither do I like that magician,’ he said softly.
‘Ruacán?’ The girl frowned. ‘Why? He has proved a friend to us, Flann. Why are you so suspicious of him?’
‘Why is he taking such pains to help us and journey with us?’ demanded Flann. ‘No man does anything without reward.’
‘He is a druid,’ Scáthach replied.
Flann twisted his features.
‘They are the worst of men. All they want is power over people.’
Scáthach sighed unhappily.
‘I cannot agree with you, Flann. My mother was a druidess. She was of the mystic order.’
‘I cannot vouch for your mother, Scáthach, but I can tell you the tale of the druids of my own people, the Cruithne. They betrayed the people into the hands of the tyrant Aintiarna for profit. And when the people rose to throw out Aintiarna, then the druids betrayed them again.’
‘Your experience cannot be denied, Flann,’ the girl said sadly, ‘but not all druids are like those of the Cruithne.’
‘Until it is proved otherwise, I shall judge them by my experience,’ replied the young warrior.
Scáthach shrugged and turned down the path after the vanishing figure of Ruacán. She felt troubled. She had come to like the impetuous young Flann Mac Fraech. She felt a closeness to the warrior which she had not felt it possible to feel for anyone other than Eola and Buimech. Yet she did her best to disguise her fondness for Flann. She was saddened that he was so suspicious of Ruacán the Wizened for she trusted the old druid implicitly. She now looked upon the old man as her mentor and guide. However, she could not deny that Flann had had a bad experience with druids. People were not perfect, not even druids who took oath to live their lives in harmony with mankind and nature. It was sad but perhaps one day Flann would come to realise that not all people could be tarred with the same brush. People were individuals.
They moved along a narrow path down into the valley and, at once, the air turned chill as the great blue granite mountains hid the sun from them. Then the giant trees enclosed them, blocking out the sky. Scáthach found herself shivering slightly.
Ahead Ruacán strode confidently as always, picking his way along the path with his oak staff, striding forward in spite of his age and curved back. Now and again he paused and seemed to listen but there was no sound. The air was still.
Behind Scáthach came Flann, one hand gripping the handle of his sword, his eyes moving quickly from side to side as if prepared for some imminent attack.
They proceeded for some hours in the utter stillness of the valley, exchanging no word between them, pausing only when Ruacán paused to listen a moment and then move on further into the dark woods. The journey was monotonous and tedious. However, they pressed on.
The unexpectedness of the sound caused Flann to halt as if poleaxed. It was several seconds before he drew his sword. Scáthach, on the other hand, though surprised, had fallen into a warrior’s crouch, her javelin and shield to the fore. Only the old druid stood resting on his staff with his head cocked to one side almost as if he had half expected the terrifying screech that had split the stillness.
‘What is it?’ demanded Flann, his face white, as the screech became a squealing that made him flinch.
‘Have you not heard a boar being slaughtered before?’ asked the old man.
Scáthach recognised the death cry of a wild boar but then said: indeed, Ruacán, but slaughtered by whom?’
‘Let us discover the answer to your question,’ replied the old man, and set off briskly in the direction of the sound.
A little way along the path they came on the carcass of the slain boar, quiet and still now. From it there protruded a great hunting spear the like of which Scáthach had never seen before. Its wood was of a type she could not recognise, highly polished and carved with strange symbols and designs. Silver metal was wound around part of its shaft while the same highly polished silver seemed to form its point, but most of that was buried in the boar.
She reached forward and tried to wrest it out of the boar but try as she could, the spear was firmly embedded into the carcass. She tried with both hands, placing one foot on the carcass and heaving with all her might. It did not budge.
‘Who attempts to steal my spear?’ thundered a deep voice, like the threatening of a summer storm.
They swung round to find a giant of a man standing watching them. If they had thought Goibhniu the smith was a giant, then this man was fully a head taller and broader. He wore a yellow kilt and tunic and carried a thick leather belt studded with jewels around his large midriff. From the belt hung a large sword and a dagger. The dagger was almost big enough to provide a sword for Flann or Scáthach, while the sword would have needed two hands to lift it. The giant wore a large golden hero’s tore around his neck while his head was a riot of corn-coloured hair. His face was humorous and his eyes a twinkling blue. Had it not been for his larger size and the colour of his hair, Scáthach might have suspected that the man was Goibhniu in some disguise.
‘Who are you?’ demanded Flann, pushing forward protectively to Scáthach’s side.
The giant ignored him, his gaze on the girl.
‘Who attempts to steal my spear?’ he thundered again.
‘Not I,’ responded the girl spiritedly, ‘I meant to examine it for I have never seen so beautiful a hunting spear before.’
The large man grunted indifferently.
‘Nor will you again, girl,’ he said.
He strode forward and holding the spear in one giant hand he lifted it to his shoulder with the bleeding carcass of the boar still attached. Then he stared at the three of them.
‘You are strangers in this land,’ he observed. His tone implied a question.
Ruacán moved forward to act as their spokesman.
‘Indeed we are. We journey the path to Lethra.’
The giant made no comment. He turned and swung off down the path with his burden across the shoulder.
‘Wait!’ Scáthach shouted.
The man halted and turned back.
‘It is customary in my country to offer strangers hospitality.’
The giant’s eyes widened and then he threw back his head and laughed.
‘Boldly spoken, girl. If it is hospitality you desire then you may have it. Come, follow me.’
Without another word, the man turned and recommenced his long, striding walk. They had almost to run to keep the man within sight. After a while they reached a small wooden stockade in which stood a wooden hut. A fire was burning outside.
‘Welcome to my encampment,’ the big man said, throwing down the spear with the carcass still attached.
‘We would be better welcomed if we knew who welcomed us,’ snapped Flann, his chest still heaving from the exertion of following the giant.
‘Would you now?’ pondered the man, as if considering the fact. ‘In that case I should know who I am welcoming to my encampment first.’
Flann snorted.
‘You see before you Scáthach of Uibh Rathach, Ruacán the Wizened and Flann Mac Fraech.’
The giant looked at the young warrior slyly.
‘You wear a hero’s tore and carry yourself proudly, boy. Yet it is strange that you do not introduce yourself as Flann Mac Fraech of anywhere in particular. One would have thought you were some great chieftain by your manner.’
Flann flushed in anger.
‘Have I transgressed some rule of hospitality to be made the victim of rudeness?’ he snapped.
‘No rule has been tra
nsgressed. But there is much pride in your voice, boy,’ replied the giant. ‘Nevertheless, we shall let it pass.’ His blue eyes wandered to the others. ‘Ruacán, you are welcomed by virtue of your wisdom and age. Scáthach of Uibh Rathach, you are welcomed for your ancestors’ sakes. You, Flann Mac Fraech, are welcome as the companion of these two travellers.’ Scáthach raised an eyebrow at the quaintness of the method of welcome.
‘And who is it?’ she said, ‘who welcomes us?’
‘Forgive me, Scáthach of Uibh Rathach, I am named Bolga, and this is my domain, the valley of the dark pass.’
‘And what do you do, Bolga,’ snapped Flann, ‘to sit in judgement on others?’
Scáthach reached forward and held out a hand to stay the impetuous temper of the young warrior. However, the giant, Bolga, seemed to take no notice. Instead, he bent over the slaughtered boar and began to carve it for the spit. The girl watched curiously.
‘Isn’t it easier to remove the spear before carving your boar for cooking?’ she asked.
Bolga grinned.
‘Easier but impossible.’
‘Why impossible?’ she pressed.
‘Because this is no ordinary hunting spear. When it enters, it makes one wound but, once it penetrates the flesh of man or animal, its head opens out into thirty barbs so that it cannot be withdrawn.’
Flann whistled softly, his anger momentarily forgotten, at the wondrous spear.
‘That is truly a formidable weapon,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine anyone facing someone armed with such a weapon? They would be too fearful of the consequence to stand and fight.’
Ruacán’s lips thinned.
‘You are right, my son,’ he said. ‘Such a weapon is a fearsome thing. In the hands of an evil person it would do great harm. Only in the hands of someone who would not abuse its power would it be a weapon for peace.’
Bolga chuckled.
‘And who is to judge who that may be, Ruacán?’ he asked.
‘It is already predestined,’ replied the old man quietly.
‘The spear of Bolga will have two more owners before it will vanish from the ken of man.’
The giant’s eyes widened.
‘Do you seek to steal the spear of Bolga then?’ he demanded.
Scáthach shook her head.
‘No. But mayhap I could purchase it from you?’
Bolga made a negative gesture.
‘The spear of Bolga is not for sale, girl.’
‘Then I shall fight you for it,’ she replied simply.
The giant chuckled humorously.
‘You do not lack in courage, Scáthach of Uibh Rathach. No, you do not lack in courage.’
He examined her thoughtfully for a moment.
‘I am in a generous mood,’ he said eventually. ‘I will tell you what I am prepared to do. You may have the spear in return for a favour.’
Flann drew his brows together.
‘What trick is this? Beware, Scáthach,’ he warned.
The girl smiled at the warrior.
‘First let us hear Bolga’s proposal. There are always two answers to a question and I can refuse equally as I can accept.’
Flann sighed.
‘You have seen that this is called the valley of the dark pass?’ Bolga began.
‘That much is obvious,’ snapped Flann.
The giant ignored his interjection.
‘Once it was a beautiful valley, well-lit and lush in flowers, musical in bird song. Once. For in the centre of the valley stood a small temple to the lords of light. In that temple hung a lantern and while it hung there, light exuded through the valley. Then one day an evil warlock extended his rule over this valley and stole the lantern of the lords of light. He took it to his fortress which stands on the peak of one of those high mountains and hid the lantern in his dungeons, in the bowels of the mountain, so that its light would never shine again in this valley and all would be dark and still for evermore.’
Bolga turned his blue eyes to Scáthach and stared into hers.
‘I believe you are sent for a purpose, girl. Go and retrieve the lantern and I will give you my terrible spear — the gae Bolga'
‘Why don’t you go and retrieve the lantern?’ demanded Flann.
The giant’s shoulders dropped.
‘Alas, I was the keeper of the temple of Solas, the lord of light. I allowed the lantern to be stolen. Such was my punishment that the lord of light put a geis on me, a prohibition which forbade me to carry out the deed of rescue. I was to wait for one who would do it in my name.’
Flann glanced at Scáthach.
‘I say this is a trick.’
The girl shook her head.
‘Tell me, Bolga, who is this mighty warlock who has defied your gods and made this valley dark?’
‘His name is Cruitin the crook-back. He is as cunning and sly as the fox, as tenacious as the wild boar and as strong as the bear. He is not to be trifled with.’
‘You paint a terrifying picture,’ smiled the girl.
‘He is terrible, indeed,’ agreed Bolga, his face serious.
‘A lamp for a spear?’ Scáthach reflected. ‘That seems a good exchange.’
‘Scáthach!’ Flann cried in protest.
‘Where is the fortress of this Cruitin?’
Bolga stretched out a hand, pointing between the dark trees to the high, precipitous slopes of the granite mountain beyond.
‘You will find his fortress resting on the top of that peak, Scáthach. But be warned, as your young friend has said. Cruitin is an evil man.’
‘Then it is time that he is taught evil does not pay,’ replied the girl.
Ruacán seemed to be the only one who was not perturbed by the events. He took himself to an oak tree and sat down with his back resting against the stump. Flann looked scandalised.
‘Are you sitting there and letting Scáthach go without warning her?’
The old druid smiled thinly.
‘She has had enough warnings, my son. She has made up her mind and once a mind is made up no one can change it.’
‘You propose to stay here and let us proceed alone?’ pressed Flann. ‘Is it not your duty to come with us?’
‘My son, there is little I can do at my age by way of climbing mountains. Scáthach has skills enough and, I believe, she has mental agility enough to perform this task.’
Flann bit his lip.
Then stay, old man. I shall go with her.’
‘Go or stay as you like,’ replied the druid, closing his eyes.
Flann wheeled around to the girl.
‘Are you set on this course, Scáthach?’ he asked.
She smiled at his impetuous loyalty.
‘There is no need for you to come, Flann. This task I can accomplish on my own.’
‘By the gods, no!’ insisted the young warrior. ‘We have come thus far together. We shall go on together to meet this Cruitin.’
She sighed softly.
‘Very well, Flann. Let us find a path to the black one’s fortress.’
Bolga was chuckling now.
‘You will find the path easy enough. May the gods protect your arms.’
Scáthach raised a hand in acknowledgement and turned away followed by Flann.
‘Wait!’
Bolga shuffled forward.
‘One more thing I must tell you, Scáthach of Uibh Rathach. When you reach the lamp, do not attempt to lift the visor from it. No one can gaze on the light of Solas and live. Whosoever gazes at the light will be not only blinded but utterly destroyed.’
Scáthach stared back.
‘It is a powerful lantern.’
‘Powerful indeed,’ agreed Bolga.
‘But it is safe so long as the visor is lowered over its flame?’
The giant nodded.
‘And is Cruitin able to gaze upon the lamp?’
Bolga shook his head.
‘He is of the darkness. He, especially, would be destroyed. But he stole the lantern when the
visor was drawn and hid it in his dungeons where no one will ever gaze upon its light again.’
‘Thank you, Bolga,’ the girl said. ‘We will go now.’
They turned back along the path through the darkened valley heading towards the steep sides of the surrounding mountains.
Flann was unhappy.
‘Is it worth this hazard simply to gain the spear of Bolga?’ he asked after they had gone for some distance in silence.
‘You heard what Ruacán had to say. The gae Bolga is a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands.’
‘Ruacán!’ sneered Flann. ‘Are you so sure that your hands are the right ones to guard this weapon? Maybe you have become so enamoured of the spear that you want it because it exists.’
He suddenly bit his tongue at the harshness of his words.
The girl did not seem upset.
‘Do not think I have not asked myself that question, Flann,’ she replied after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Yes, I have a collection of powerful weapons now — the javelin and shield of the ocean god, and the sword and helmet of Goibhniu. Perhaps, having seen that fierce weapon, the spear of Bolga, I covet it as well? Yes, that I have thought about and questioned my heart. The answer is — no. I do not want the spear for myself. I need the spear because I feel that it is my destiny to have it. Do not ask me to explain any further. I cannot.’
Flann grimaced.
‘I am sorry, Scáthach. I regretted the words almost as soon as they left my mouth. I am a clumsy fool at times. I mean well, but I … ’
She turned, raising herself on tip-toe and suddenly brushed his lips with her own.
‘Hush now, Flann. You have no need to explain yourself to me.’
His cheeks reddened.
‘Scáthach … ’ he began, but she had turned and was moving on.
‘Come on, Flann, I would like to find this fortress of the dark one before nightfall.
‘Nightfall,’ Flann tried to bring his mind back to the task in hand. ‘It seems that it is permanently nightfall in this place.’
They came through some trees to find themselves facing a great grey granite wall.
The girl pointed.
‘There are some steps cut there. Perhaps that is the path upwards to the peak.’
‘Let me go first,’ insisted Flann.
She made to protest but he was already scrambling upwards.
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