Finn bowed courteously, and said:
“When I was a babe in my bullhide cradle, O Goll, I was lulled to sleep not by nursery rhymes but by war songs of the Fenians. Yes, I heard my father sing. He put all the initiation rites to rhyme, and all the battles. And when I finally fell asleep it was to dream of these things and myself doing them. As for the feats of qualification, I can perform all, I believe, except fending off the onslaught of nine warriors and myself buried to the waist. But when I come to my full growth I hope to be able to do that also. Then, having been accepted into the Fianna, all else shall happen as happen may. And if my youth be crowned by the great honor of killing you, O killer of my father and valuable tutor of myself, perhaps indeed will I assume my place under the sign of glory.”
“There is a further thing I should mention,” said Goll McMorna. “No man may enter the Fianna until he settles all unpaid debts—not only those owed by himself, but those his father may have incurred.”
“I have no such debts,” said Finn.
“You have inherited a few—nine of them, in fact.”
Then Finn, teased at last out of his temper, raised his voice in challenge. “If there be any man here with unsettled claim against my father, let him stand forth now, and I shall erase either debt or creditor.”
“Softly,” said Goll. “I will explain these debts. There is a rule of the Fianna that says no request for aid may go unanswered, especially if it means a fight against odds. Whenever anyone comes a-crying about oppressor or foe or monster too fearsome for ordinary man to handle, why then we are pleased to attend to the matter at no fee. Now, according to our rule, that obligation is incurred personally by the chief himself. He may dispatch any man he pleases upon this errand, but he himself owes the deed until it is done. As it happened, there were some requests unfulfilled when your father met his abrupt demise, and for one reason or another certain of these deeds are still undone. You, Finn, as your father’s heir, are responsible. I, as chief of the Fianna, proclaim now that no man of us will discharge any of these tasks, but will, in all generosity, allow you your chance to show what you can do. Until these deeds are done you cannot qualify for membership in our band.”
Finn looked about. The huge hall which had been so warm, so full of friends, now seemed a cold, empty place. The faces which had been all admiration and smiles were now the blank ones you see in time of trouble. He looked at the king. The old face was like a stone now with a mossy beard. He looked at Goll, whose hawk face was split by a smile of malice.
He said: “I have been ignorant of these things.”
“It was an obscure rule,” said Goll, “never invoked until now, to be sure, but everything must begin somewhere, must it not?”
“What are these deeds I owe?”
“They make an interesting list,” said Goll.
He handed Finn a scroll; the lad unrolled it.
“Read them aloud,” said Goll. “I’m sure everyone wishes to hear what projects will attract your valiant efforts in the years that lie ahead.”
Finn read the words of the scroll so that all might hear.
THE LION OF LOUTH
THE BLUE SWORD
THE IRON STAG
HOULIHAN’S BARN
THE MARES OF MUNSTER
THE FIRE-BULL
THE APPLES OF ARLA
THE WITCH-DOG OF WEIR
THE BOAR OF BALLINOE.
When he had finished reading, Finn stared Goll full in the face and said in a loud clear voice:
“Paying those debts will keep me busy a long while. I’m sure you regret as much as I do that our mortal combat must be postponed.”
Now this remark of Finn’s was as good as accusing Goll of cowardice before all the court—which is the way Finn wanted him to take it. And the lad rejoiced to see his enemy’s face flush purple and his coiled red hair spit flame. But Goll did not lose control. He took a deep breath, and said:
“We do not wish to be ungenerous. Therefore, by consent of the Fianna you will be allowed to return to Tara and challenge me for the chieftainship after completing but three of these labors, the remaining debts to be paid in the years of your full manhood, if, by some miracle, you live to see them.”
“Any three?” said Finn.
“Any three. They are all beyond your strength, I fear. So choose what three you will. And, if you should succeed, come back to Tara, young Finn, and you and I will fight in single combat for the leadership of the Fianna which I killed your father to gain, and stand ready to do as much for the son.”
“Thank you, Goll,” said Finn. “I trust I shall know how to repay your generosity when the time comes. Thank you, King, for your hospitality. Thank you all, sirs and ladies, for wit and beauty and courtesy. Farewell now. I will return after doing the third deed.”
So saying, he left the throne room, and the castle.
The Boar of Ballinoe
FINN SET OUT FROM Tara on the coldest day in memory. The trees were clothed in ice, and a single sheet of ice stretched as far as he could see. A flight of wild geese, honking like hounds, froze solid in mid-flight and fell into the bay without losing its V-shape, making a great splash that froze into a net of ice as the boy watched, amazed.
He was surprised at himself too. For here he was driven from the comforts of Tara, from its blazing fireplaces and roasting meats and warm-breathed perfumed ladies, out into this flaying wind to seek out the most fearsome creatures whose names were ever whispered—and instead of being miserable, he was bursting with wild joy. The weak sunlight fractured off the icy trees in a dance of light. He saw fiery splinters of blue, purple, red, green, yellow, white, blue, paler blue, storm-pink lilac, and the purples of wrath—the crystal trees bore fire-fruit where the sun touched them. And bending in the wind and shaking their boughs, they made a tinkling ice-music for light to dance by.
He did not feel the cold. He was clad in fur of wolf and bear he had killed himself, and he was busy trying to decide which adventure to seek first. The order of things is very important when you are moving among the brute order of events—which is always—and if you seek the aid of magic, then the sequence of words and numbers is also most meaningful. He decided to consult the Salmon of Knowledge.
He could not, of course, consult the actual Salmon himself, who lay locked in unknown leagues of ice deep under some mountain stream, so he did what the Salmon had told him to do in such an event—he bit the thumb which he had burned when cooking the Loutish Trout according to recipe. He bit his thumb, and said:
Salmon, Salmon, I bite my thumb.
Speak ye forth, be not dumb.
Come to me this day of ice
With fish-mouth words of wise advice.
As he spoke, the words themselves froze in the air and fell to earth, rearranging their letters and spelling out new words. This is what he read:
Yes of foe
Always no.
In such a test
first is worst
last is best.
“Thank you, Salmon,” said Finn aloud. Then to himself: “Now, what can he mean?”
He read the verse and read it again. But still it made no sense. “I can’t ask him, either,” said Finn to himself. “He will never repeat himself nor ever explain. He teaches that the best part of wisdom is unriddling things for yourself. I did pretty well at such puzzles when I was under his tutelage, but my wits have grown rusty, I fear, at Tara. Still, I must make myself understand. For ignorance, upon the start of such a journey, is death’s own darkness.”
He stared at the words again, and stared and stared, sunk upon his haunches, feeling the very marrow of his bones freeze as the wind screamed.
Finn heard something. He whirled about and looked back toward the castle and saw a remarkable sight—Dagda’s harp flying after him. Its strings were tightened by the cold, and it sang as it flew:
Farewell Tara’s halls
Its weaponed walls.
I journey long
to aid
your song.
“Would you be coming with me then?” asked Finn in wonder. “O Harp of Dagda, will you accompany this homeless lad upon a scroll of deeds?”
The harp answered:
Who fingers my strings
full sweetly sings
of colored shadows, truthful lies,
of the fears of the brave
and the folly of the wise.
“Ah, you rhyme after my own heart!” cried Finn. “Unriddle me this verse then.”
Yes to foe
Always no.
In such a test
first is worst
last is best.
“This is the message sent me by the Salmon of Knowledge, a most wise and prophetic fish. Can you read me its meaning?”
“I can,” said the harp.
I tell you, Finn
brave young friend,
Your tasks begin
At the very end.
“Begin at the end, is it? But is this indeed what he means that I must start at the last item, the Boar of Ballinoe instead of the Lion of Louth, which heads the list?”
“Yes, yes, so I guess,” sang the harp.
Not north to Louth
But west by south
Must we go
toward Ballinoe.
“West by south it is!” cried Finn. “And ho to the Boar of Ballinoe!”
The cat and falcon, too dark against the snow, found the hunting very poor. Finn consulted the harp and was taught a spell:
Cat and bird
By this word
I teach you to bleach
Quite out of sight.
Now each by each
Go white, go white.
No sooner had he said this spell than the cat turned white as an ermine, and the feathers of the gray falcon paled until she disappeared against the snow, except for the hot black circles of her eyes. Invisible to their prey, then, cat stalked and hawk stooped, and filled their bellies again.
After some whirling snowy miles Finn met a man in rusty armor riding the skeleton of a horse; his hands were bone and his head a skull. He offered combat, but Finn said:
“Begone! I cannot wound you for you have no blood. I cannot kill you for you are dead.”
The wind whistled through the standing bones of the horse, making a thin laughter. The skull spoke:
“I was fat, very fat. My wife, the beauty, said: ‘Stop eating. Grow thin, or I take a lover.’ So I began to fast until I had starved myself quite away and became as you see me now. But she took a lover anyway because I was poor company at mealtime.”
“Unjust, unjust!” cried Finn.
“All of that, brave lad. Even worse—for now, having grown fat by eating what I did not, she held profundity of flesh a virtue, said the body was a reflection of the soul, and that my soul must need be pinched and mean to produce such emaciation.”
“Never have I heard such wicked reasoning,” said Finn. “Did you kill her then?”
“Oh no, I loved her. I stayed on listening to her abuse, trying to be friendly with her lover—a stout man without much to say for himself—until she found that irksome too and bade me leave. So I found a horse to suit me, and must ride its whistling bones up and down the land until I find a man whose wife is a bigger bitch than mine. Then we two must fight a fight that is very pure, being only for rage and amusement and honor, you know, because it will be Winner Take Nothing. Are you the one, lad? Is your wife as fair and foul as mine?”
“I am a bachelor, sir.”
“Then curse you! Ride on!”
“I am walking, as you see.”
“Don’t be wasting my time, bachelor. Walk on—before I smite you from sheer spite.”
Some miles farther on, as they were climbing a low hill they saw a huge snowball rolling down the slope toward them, growing as it came. They gave it room to pass, but were amazed to see it pause on the slope, something very difficult for a snowball to do. A voice sounded:
“A question, young traveler.”
“Ask away,” said Finn. “I’ve never held converse with a snowball before, but I see nothing against it.”
“You are a sweet cautious lad. But I’m getting quite chilled despite the warmth of my temperament. Won’t you dig me out?”
Finn drew his sword and hacked away the snow.
“Gently now. I cut easily.”
He plied his sword with care, scraping away the snow, until he came to the core of the matter. It was a woman, so fat that she rolled instead of walked, and, upon such a day, had gathered snow. She was red-faced and red-haired with a gurgling laugh.
“Thank you, young sir. Have you seen a man on a horse which is the very match of him, both being but skin and bone?”
“Nothing but bone, madame. I saw no skin.”
“Ah, poor fellow, he does not prosper without my care. Which way did he go?”
“He wasn’t going. He was staying. Waiting until another husband might pass whom he would challenge to prove who was Champion of Misfortune.”
“He said harsh things about me, no doubt?”
“He did that. But I know there are two sides to every quarrel.”
“Two? There are ten! Twenty perhaps. In fact, a real quarrel between husband and wife has no sides at all; it’s perfectly round, just like me. Tell me, what is your own preference? Do you care only for those meager little sparrow-girls, or might you fancy perhaps a woman of substance?”
“I have had slight experience of women, fat or thin. I grew up with a girl named Murtha whom I simply cannot describe. I don’t know what I like.”
“Then roll along with me, lad. We’ll gather snow enough to hide us from prying eyes, and I shall teach you what to like.”
“Dear lady,” said Finn. “I am enchanted by every degree of your luscious rotundity. Lucky the man who can play radius to your circumference. Unfortunately, I am on a mission and may not tarry.”
“Pity,” said the lady. “Then I must go looking for my husband, I suppose.”
“Just follow the road, and you will find him.”
Now upon this winter so weirdly cold that the sea froze, fur-hatted men swarmed down from the Land of the Long Night, swooping across the ice on narrow sleds that bore mast and sail, and out-raced the north wind. Seagulls spotted these invaders while they were still far north of Eire, and screamed the news from flock to flock. The falcon heard the tale as it was striking a heron, and flew back to tell the cat.
“That is a large bird you bring, brother,” said the tom. “Is it tough as it looks?”
“It is meat, brother, and hard to find these frosty days. Have you killed?”
“Only a limping hare. Everything one can eat seems to be hiding in its hole waiting for the thaw. There will be much hunger this winter.”
“Worse than famine is abroad,” said the falcon. “The Seal-clad Ones of the Place Beyond the Mist are coming over the frozen seas. In sheeted sleds they come, and the smell of blood comes with them. Yea, I smell battle, brother, and much slaughter. Let us welcome it. We hawks deem it shameful to eat what we do not kill, but it is sometimes necessary. I do not relish man-flesh, except for their eyeballs, which are sweet when fresh. In this weather they should keep for days.”
“You have disgusting habits,” hissed the cat. “Were we not under magic bonds of friendship, I should seek to express my disapproval more sharply.”
“Dear little caterpillar,” cooed the falcon. “You are too furry and earthbound to threaten me. Let us put aside our friendship for a bit and debate my habits with tooth and claw.”
“It cannot be,” said the cat. “We are on a hero’s venture—we are Companions of the Doom. We must not indulge in private quarrels. Accept my apologies.”
“Accepted,” said the falcon.
“Go on with your tale. Are they such fearsome warriors, these Seal-clad Ones?”
“They carry fish-spears that can pierce the leather armor of that behemoth they call the whale, also walrus-tusk swords. And the
y are very hungry. Also they come so swiftly that they will attack before anyone knows they are here. But what if they fail? Then they will be dead, and their eyeballs will be eaten.”
“We must hold fast to our master and protect him in the time of fighting,” said the cat. “I wish him alive. He saved me from the Hag, and I am grateful.”
“I am a war falcon, as you know. Trained by Goll McMorna to stoop upon warriors as well as game. And, as I say, I prefer to eat only what I kill. So I am yours to command, O hag-free and spell-spitting tom.”
Finn, who was plucking the heron for their supper, heard the cackles and mewing of this conversation, and was amazed to find himself understanding it. But the hawk’s tale was so strange that he thought it might be happening in his own head.
“Do I understand them?” he asked the harp.
“You do.”
“But how?”
“Through me. I am the Harp of Dagda, who was the most potent bard of the Tuatha da Danaan, and, as you see, I am strung with catgut instead of wire. And at that time, you must know, cats were big as cows—which was as well, for rats were big as rams. You understand the tom then through me, and through him the speech of other beasts and birds, but only so long as you carry me and touch my strings.”
“Then it is true that sailing sleds speed toward these shores?”
“Too true. And there will be great slaughter when they come. They used to strike these coasts long ago, in the days when Dagda was first learning his scales, and he lived two thousand years, did my sweet master, before he was cut down in his prime. The seas were always frozen then, and the Seal-clad Ones would strike by night in their winged sleds, and kill and kill and kill. But then the sea gods fought. Lyr and Tyre fought their deep duel and left each other wounded on the floor of the sea. And the blood from their huge bodies, always flowing and always warm—for gods cannot die, only bleed—heated the seas and kept them from freezing, melting the ice plains and forming an impassable gulf of waters for the Seal-clad ones. Until now … until now.”
The Green Hero Page 6