Challenge of the clans (17 page)

"I—I don't know," Finn said shakily. "What about the battle?"

"It's ended," the dark warrior said. "WeVe won!"

Finn managed to lift his head and look about. The field was littered with corpses, drenched in blood. The few enemy wounded were being dispatched with ruthless efficiency. The survivors were retreating to their fortress, leaving their herd to its new owners.

The enemy dead were being systematically deprived of their heads by their victors, the grotesque objects piled neatly in a great cairn, their open eyes staring out in various directions, their jaws hanging open.

Finn felt his gorge rising again, but after some shuddering and gagging, managed to control it.

"The—the heads!" he managed to choke out. And

then a darkness he couldn't overcome swept through him, flooding over his mind. He struggled to stay above its surface, but its waves poured over him and he sank into the depths.

He was aware of being carried and being dumped down upon a soft surface. His eyes were open, squinting against the Hght. He was looking up at the thatched framework of a ceiling. Then two heads came into view close above him, peering down. Not severed heads, but those of two living beings he knew well: Caoilte and Cnu Deireoil.

The little harper, who had wisely decided not to accompany the raiders, looked distressed at the condition of his young friend.

"By Danu!" he exclaimed. "Is the lad badly hurt?"

"He's not hurt at all," the dark warrior assured him. "Just had a bit too much to drink is all. Fell down in the middle of a fight and nearly got himself killed."

"Drunk?" said Cnu Deireoil. "But how—" He stopped, then laughed in realization. "It couldn't be that in this strange land you come from you never did any drinking before, could it now?" he asked Finn.

Finn managed a shake of the head, though it caused a hard pounding in his brain, as if his heart were beating within his skull.

"It's my own fault," said Caoilte. "I should have seen the way he was. But I didn't think of it. Lad, why did you do it?"

"The others were doing it," Finn managed to get out, though his tongue felt as if it had sprouted fur. "So I thought . . . well, it seemed so easy. Like drinking water for them. Caoilte, how can they do it?"

"They have been drinking since they were old enough to hold a cup. Don't feel too badly. You'll learn to do it, too, with practice."

At that moment, Finn was sure that it was something he would never do again. He moaned softly, then realized that there were other moans coming from around him, and there was the sound of crying as well. With an

effort he turned his head. Around him, on pallets of straw like his own, lay a dozen other men. But their agony was the result of wounds.

He had not considered the aftermath of a fight before. Now he saw clearly the effiect of weapons whose purpose was to puncture, tear, or cut, weapons that maimed an enemy more often than they killed outright. The women and the healer of the tribe now worked feverishly to bind gashes, tie off" bleeding stumps, plug gaping holes. Other women sat on their heels by dead or dying men, rocking and keening softly, sorrowfully.

"Caoilte, it*s terrible!" Finn said, a^ast. "All these men! Just for a few cows!"

"It's the honor of the tribe they were fighting for," the warrior told him. "Without that, they would have no life at all."

Finn recalled how eagerly they, and himself as well, had gone off on their raid, seeking revenge. Could he ever become accustomed to battle, with such images of the carnage it created?

The chieftain of the tribe approached them, beaming at his victory, so jolly and high-spirited that Finn felt a resentment for him.

"A good fight that was!" the man announced heartily. 'They 11 not be seeking to raid us again." He beamed at Finn. "And you were a help in it, lad, so you were! You took two of their best warriors alone, and it was a good bit of sword work for a whelp. iVe got your trophies for you!"

He raised his hands. From each a dripping, leering head hung by its long hair.

Finn looked away and gulped. "No ... no! I don't want them!"

The chieftain looked hurt. "But they're yours, lad, fair and proper!"

"It's the custom, Finn," Caoilte told him, puzzled by his reaction. "Your first trophies. Don't you want them?"

"I ..." Finn began weakly. Then he pulled himself together. He couldn't insult his hosts no matter what his feelings. "I'm honored to have them," he said,

"but Tm not one of your tribe. I think that these . . . trophies belong with the rest."

The chief was molhfied. "A good idea, lad," he agreed. "Maybe they should go with the lot. But if you change your mind, you just let me know."

He moved ofiF to place the two heads in the gruesome collection.

"What do they do that for?" Finn asked Caoilte.

"A very old belief," the warrior explained. "The head is the seat of man's power. Taking a head proves a victor's greater skill. Some collect the heads of rival chieftains and champions. Some keep the brains, too, mixing them with mud to make a hard stone ball."

"Enough," Finn groaned, his stomach near rebel-hon again.

A girl pushed Caoilte aside then and came up to the bed. Her expression was stern and her voice scolding.

"What are you doing keeping this poor lad in talk when he must be tended to? Now move aside and let me see to him."

She knelt down by the pallet to examine him. But as she saw his face closely for the first time, her expression changed. The sternness melted away and a light of interest filled her eyes.

"Oh!" she said with pleased surprise. "You're very . . . young!"

"He's not really hurt, you know," Caoilte pointed out.

"I'll be the one to tell that," she snapped back at him. "Just you two get away!" She looked back at Finn, her tone softening again. "I'll see to him myself."

Caoilte looked at Cnu Deireoil. The little man gave a broad wink and they exchanged a knowing grin.

"Well, then, I suppose it's safe to leave him in your hands," Caoilte said dryly. He patted Finn's shoulder. "Good luck on your recovery, lad. Enjoy it."

As his comrades moved away, Finn looked up into the girl's face, so close to his. Even in his state, he was aware of her pleasant look. She was quite as young and as comely of feature as Fionnuala, but in a much differ-

ent way. She was darker, with large hazel eyes, a wide, sensuous mouth, and curling waves of unbound raven hair. And there was a look in those eyes that he found familiar.

She laid a hand lightly upon his breast. She placed the other upon his brow and began to stroke it gently.

"Now," she said gently, "you try to relax. Well see what we can do to make you feel better."

He wasn*t sure just how much he was going to be able to relax, but he was certain that he was already feeling much better.

Chapter Sixteen

INTO CARRAIGHE

"Finn!"

The small leather-sided boat drifted across the placid surface of the lake, apparently empty. But at the shout, the fair-haired head of the young man appeared, popping up above the side.

He peered about him, finally noting Caoilte Mac-Ronan on the edge of the crannog, waving to him.

"Caoilte!" he called back, sounding a little disconcerted. "What is it you want?"

"iVe got to speak to you, Finn," he answered. Then with some curiosity, he added, "Just what is it youVe doing out there?"

A second head now popped up by the first, this one distinguished by a billowing mass of shining black hair.

"I—^ah—" Finn stammered, his pale face growing flushed.

"Never mind explaining," Caoilte said heavily. "Just get yourself in here, and quickly!"

Finn obeyed with great alacrity. He sat up—almost throwing the girl out of the boat—and took up the paddle. With powerful strokes he propelled the little craft toward the fort while his companion busily readjusted her clothes.

As the curragh grounded beside the fort's wall, Finn leaped out and then lifted the girl onto the shore. She looked flushed, too, Caoilte noted, though not from embarrassment. And both appeared to be out of breath.

"I think it's time you were getting back to your home," he told the girl in a lightly scolding way. "Likely you're needed there, and iVe got to talk to Finn. So get along with you."

"All right," she said. She flashed the young man a brilliant smile. "But Til see you again later!"

With that promise, she scampered away across the rocky shore, Finn watching her appreciatively until she disappeared around the crannog wall.

"There's a fine girl," he said sincerely.

"She is that. She is also my cousin," Caoilte said soberly.

"I don't understand you, Caoilte," Finn said in puzzlement. Then he noted an unusual grimness in his friend's expression. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Finn, we have to leave here," the dark warrior told him bluntly.

"Leave here?" Finn said, not believing he had heard rightly. "Why?"

"One of my uncle's sons has just returned. He was at a fair in Luminech only a few days ago. He heard there that Conn, the high king himself, has declared you, me, and our little harper as outlaws. Every man of Ireland has been charged to look for us."

"Outlaws!" exclaimed Finn. "How could he do that?"

"By Brehon Law. We've killed men of the Fianna. Now our own lives are forfeit in exchange. We can't stay here any longer. My people would protect us, but we would be bringing great danger upon them. If we were discovered here—"

"I know, Caoilte," Finn said unhappily. "And it's because of me that all this has happened. Of course we'll leave here."

He regretted leaving the crannog. He had come to know a wonderful sense of home here, of belonging to a family, of having friends. They had taught him much in the past score or so days. He looked at the walls of the secure little island fortress and felt a pain like that when he had parted from Liath and Bodhmall.

"It will be hard to leave here, Caoilte," he said. "I have become very close to your people."

"I noticed that just now," the warrior said in a teasing way. "Very close indeed."

"What do you mean by that?" Finn asked innocently.

"I mean that it's a good thing that we'll be leaving here, or you'd likely have been in several duels before long."

"Duels?" Finn repeated, still not comprehending. "Why?"

"That young maiden—I hope—that you've shown such interest in lately is the object of a frenzied courting dance by several young bucks of my tribe. They've not taken well to your so easily cutting them out. Much more of it, and they would have been making challenges to you. Didn't you notice?"

Finn shrugged, completely at a loss. "I may have noticed some lads being short with me," he answered honestly, "but, Caoilte, I've had nothing Hke this happen before! I didn't know!"

"Your great, galloping ignorance is a constant amazement to me," Caoilte said, shaking his head. "I hope you come to understand women soon, or they'll hkely bring your end someday."

"But what can we do now?" Finn asked, ignoring the sarcasm. "If every man in Ireland might now be seeking us, there's nowhere we can be safe. "

"There may be one place, " the warrior said. "One place where even the power of the mighty Fianna doesn't reach."

"There it is, lad," Caoilte announced, pointing ahead. "Corca Dhuibhne it's called. And in all of Ireland you'll find no place more wild of spirit or so free of will as here."

It looked to Finn as if the mountain they now stood upon had melted, flowing outward from its base, the waves of it hardening when they had reached the sea. From beneath his feet the land swept down in smooth, grass-covered slopes. To the north it rolled up again in a pair of rounded hills. Between them could be seen a wide area of lowland that spread out like a fan into a large bay. The bay's far side was bounded by a line of peaked hills, made blue-gray by distance. At its end, two of the more independent of the hills seemed to have detached themselves and crept out further into the sea, forming tiny islands. To the west of Finn, a long spur—a serpent's head of land with a protruding backbone of rock—thrust sharply out into the water, creating a sharp contrast with the soft lands to the west.

It had been a rugged journey here, far into the west of the territory that Caoilte had said was called Carraighe. But the journey had been an enthralling one for Finn. They had climbed through hills where lakes were set like glistening jewels in a great crown and slopes were vibrant with brightly colored flowers. They had skirted the long mountain range of Slieve Mish and followed the narrow way that led along the coast of the peninsula, then mounted abruptly to the Conair Pass across high Croaghskearda.

It was there, at the top of the pass, that the three travelers stood now, looking upon the scene spread below.

The sea itself was what had fascinated Finn most of all he had seen in his travehng. He was stimulated by the changing nature of its surface, by its clean, sharp scent, and by the tremendous power of its crashing waves. But the seemingly limitless expanse of it was a bit terrifying too. It made him feel uncomfortably small and weak.

"What else is there, beyond?" he asked his companions, staring toward the curve of the western horizon.

"Nothing else, lad," Caoilte said. "It's the last of Ireland and the rim of the world you're seeing now, an^ nothing beyond."

"Except for the Blessed Isles," the little Nut corrected.

Caoilte gave a short, scornful laugh. "Oh, aye. Far Tir-na-nog, if youVe a mind to believe in such. But there's no sanctuary for the likes of us there. Here's the only land of safety we can believe in now. Come along. No reason to be wasting more time."

They urged their mounts ahead, along the road that wove its way down the mountain flank onto the plains below. It took them toward the south, between the two hills, onto the broad shorelands beyond. Ahead of them a harbor came into view. Its triangle of water was enclosed by fingers of land, the access to it from the bay a narrow opening between their tips. At the innermost point of the harbor was a village, its several dozen structures spread along the water's edge.