"And with all the other Fian chieftains there. Conn could do nothing else but acknowledge you," Caoilte added with a grin. "It's a brilliant notion, Crimall."
"It will be, if Finn is ready to prove himself worthy to be a Fian warrior and a chieftain by Samhain."
"What do you mean, Crimall?" Finn asked him in surprise. "You said that I had learned the Fian knowledge well. I'm ready now!"
"No you're not, Finn," his uncle replied gravely. "It's true that you have the strength and courage needed. And you know the Fian skills and lore as well as any of
us. But theres one other part of the training that youVe lacking yet."
"I'm ready for it," Finn said with his usual determination. "Tell me. Show me. Til do whatever I have to do."
"He's telling the truth there, you know," Caoilte said with a laugh. "He can't be stopped. He has the vigor of a hundred men. It's very wearying sometimes."
"I beheve he has the spirit," Crimall said. "I'm just afraid he hasn't the time. You see, he's yet to learn the bardic skills to be accepted by the Fianna."
"Bardic skills?" Finn repeated, not understanding.
"Aye, Finn. It's the high bards of Ireland who keep the knowledge of our past and spin out the songs that record our present. What we are lies with them, all our wisdom and our great deeds, and our mistakes too. You see, a man of the Fian is more than a fighter and a hunter. He's a man who also honors wisdom above all else. To be accepted, he must have the bard's skills for shaping songs, and he must know the twelve books of poetry."
"It sounds a great deal to be learned," Finn admitted.
"It is. Most lads who wish to join the Fianna study under a bardic teacher for many years to learn it all. You have less than a quarter of a single year to do the same."
'There must be some way it can be done," Finn said. "I mean to go to Tara at Samhain."
"If you're bound to try, then you must go to Finnegas. He was the greatest teacher of the bardic ways in all of Ireland when your father and I were boys. He was our own teacher. If you could have his help, and if you were swift enough of mind, you might succeed. But he must be old now, and I've no idea as to where he might be found."
"I would," piped up the Little Nut. "I've heard of this Finnegas myself. The other bards I've met here and there in my travelings speak of him. But they say he's given up the bardic calling, oh some seven years ago that was. '
"Given it up?" said Crimall. "What for?"
"To fish, they say. He's set himself down on the
bank of the river Boinne to fish, and nothing else. No
one knows why. Some think that he's gone mad. He
might not help you, Finn."
"ril make him help me," declared the irrepressible
young warrior. "Somehow I have to make him help
me!
Finn tied the shield upon his saddle and turned to the others of the clan gathered about him.
"Well, Tm ready. There's no delay for me now. I'll need every day."
"Finn, are you certain we shouldn't go with you?*' asked Crimall. "The Brugh na Boinne is very near to Tara. It will be very dangerous for you there."
"That's why I'll not risk my clansmen in this," Finn replied firmly. "This is something that I must do alone. Besides, I'll attract less notice by myself than with a score of men. Believe me, Crimall, it is the safest way."
"You are the one who leads now," his uncle said. "We will stay here. But at Samhain time, we mean to go to Tara with you."
**That you will do," Finn promised. He looked around at the other men. "We will all go to prove that the Clan na Baiscne is not yet dead."
The Fian warriors greeted this with shouts of enthusiasm, but a high and strident voice cut across it.
"Wait now, Finn MacCumhal!"
They looked about to see the Little Nut and Caoilte approaching them, their own horses saddled and ready for traveling.
"Don't think that youll be leaving me behind here!** the harper said as he reached the group. "You've no knowledge of that part of Ireland. You'll never find this bard alone."
"But my fiiend, I don't want you to be hurt!" Finn reasoned.
"You know well enough I can't be hurt by a mortal so long as I have my harp or my whistle. And it would
I
be a real danger to me if the King-of-the-Hill knows I'm not with you." He folded his arms and fixed an unwavering stare on Finn. "So Tm going, and that's all there is to it!"
Finn laughed. "I can see there's no moving you in this. And I'll welcome the company, as always." He looked at Caoilte, who had stood quietly through this exchange, his expression wooden. "And what about you, Caoilte? What are you meaning to do?"
The warrior shrugged. "It looks as if my task is finally over. I've fulfilled my oath to you. I'm my own man again. It's time for me to be moving on."
"But you're still an outlaw," Finn reminded him. "You'll not be safe."
"You could stay here with us," Crimall suggested.
Caoilte shook his head. "I've never been much for staying. I might make my way back down to Corca Dhuibhne and take up service again. It's the proper place for the likes of me."
Finn felt a sorrow in him at that. It had not occurred to him before that the dark warrior might not be staying with him. Still, he knew he couldn't hold a spirit as free as Caoilte's. He tried to put on a cheerfiil front.
"Well, there's nothing left: to hold you," he agreed. "You've done more than was needed. You've given me a warrior's skills and seen me here. " He put a hand on the other's shoulder. "I owe much to you, Caoilte. Wherever you go and whatever you do, you'll be my fi-iend."
"I had better be!" the dark warrior told him, smiling. He clasped Finn's arm, meeting his gaze for an instant in silent fellowship. Then he abruptly turned away, climbing onto his horse. He took up the reins and looked down at Finn.
"Good fortune to you," he said. "You'll make a fine chieft:ain, I think, if you don't manage to get yourself killed first." His eyes went to the harper. "Good-bye, Little Nut. See to our young friend. And to yourself."
He turned the horse and urged it away. Finn and the others watched him ride off. It seemed to the young
warrior that there was much he still needed to say, but he had no words. When Caoilte had disappeared from sight, he shook oflP the regret and turned briskly to his clansmen.
"Well, we'll be starting now ourselves. Ready, Cnu Deireoil?"
The harper nodded, and they both mounted. Finn looked down at his uncle.
"Farewell for now," he said. "If all goes well, well meet at the Brugh na Boinne and go on to Tara."
Crimall lifted a hand in a final salute and the pair rode away. They angled to the north to skirt Lough Dearg before turning toward the east. They rode on in silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. But finally Finn spoke: "It seems as if my life's becoming nothing but departings lately."
Pulled from his reverie by these words, the Little Nut nodded. "True enough, lad. Believe me, I know the leaving's hard."
This sympathy raised a question in Finn's mind. "Tell me, what brought you to leave your own home?"
"Boredom," the harper said flatly. "The life of a Sidhe is beautiftil enough, peaceful, comfortable, safe. Ah, it was like death to me. The mortals' world may be quite harsh and cold, but it's exciting too." He sighed and added, "Though, mind you, there's times I'd not mind visiting home for a bit."
A fluttering above drew Finn's attention then. He glanced up to see a black bird soaring above, sweeping across, then turning lazily to sweep back.
Finn continued to note the bird as they rode on. It was very curious, he thought, that the creature stayed above them, flying in wide circles, but never disappearing fi*om sight.
"Do you see that raven?" he at last said to the harper.
"How could I not?" Cnu Deireoil replied. "It's a very large one. Like a hawk it looks."
"It's very curious about us," Finn said musingly. "It's been above us since we left the camp."
'That is a bit odd," the Httle man agreed, giving the ghding bird a harder look.
"More than that. I think I've seen that bird about before."
"Before? What do you mean?"
"In our travehng. I've noticed great blackbirds flying close above us many times. I saw one above us when we left the bruidhean. I saw one above us on our last hunt. A great raven, just hke this one."
"And both times we ran afoul of the Others soon after," Cnu Deireoil added.
Finn met his eyes. "You're thinking what I am then."
"That those of the Sidhe could be in this? Of course I am. Your Tadg may have them tracing our every move."
"How can we be sure?" Finn asked.
"I've an idea," the harper told him. "Let's just look for a thicker place in the woods. "
Soon they came upon an area where the foliage of the trees formed a canopy so dense that it concealed them completely from observation from above. They rode through it quickly to its far side, where the trees gave way to a small open glen. Here they dismounted, well within cover, and peered cautiously out. The raven swept by above them, flew ahead, then wheeled about to pass above the thick area again.
As soon as it had flashed by and was momentarily out of sight, the harper moved from the trees and threw himself down on the open ground, assuming a sprawled attitude that impressed Finn by its impression of life-lessness. He crouched back in the shelter of the trees, tense and waiting.
The bird swept into view again. It soared by, but then banked into a sharp turn, angling back and down toward the tiny figure. Cnu Deireoil's idea had worked. He had drawn the attention of the raven.
It pulled into a tight spiral above him, clearly giving the situation a careful scrutiny as it dropped down. Finn watched anxiously as it came ever lower. Would the ruse take it in?
At last it fluttered to a landing on the ground some way from the motionless body. It hopped cautiously forward, pausing often, its sleek, glowing blue-black head twisting sharply from side to side as it examined Cnu Deireoil with its glinting eyes. Drawn by its curiosity, it came closer, closer, closer. Only an arm's length away from him, it stopped to stare intently, seeking some sign of life.
This it got. For the harper suddenly jerked his head up and met the raven's black gaze with his own. In the instant their eyes locked together, Cnu Deireoil recognized the power within the bird.
"So, you are a child of the Morrigan," he said triumphantly.
With an angry caw, the raven flapped its wings and began to rise away.
"Quickly, Finn!" the little man called. "It is an agent of the Sidhe! Stop it!"
In two strides Finn was out of cover. The bird was off^ the ground already, stroking powerfully upward with its great wings, puUing itself higher. Finn lifted the hunting spear he had held ready. The raven reached the height of the treetops, turned to soar away into their cover. Finn launched his weapon at the tiny target as it began its gracefril sweep.
The spear flew unerringly to its mark, the head thumping into the raven's body, impaling it, knocking it into a shapeless bundle that plummeted from the sky, smashing to earth.
Finn and Cnu Deireoil moved to stand over the dead raven. The sleek, elegant body looked now like a pile of ragged black wool.
"Now at least we can travel safely without all the Sidhe folk of Ireland knowing where weVe gone," the harper said with satisfaction.
"For how long, I wonder?" Finn asked, his gaze lifting again to scan the sky.
f^
Chapter Twentj-ftoe
THE SALMON OF KNOWLEDGE
The scrawny figure moved down to the bank of the broad, sparkling river. It crept along the shore, its lean head crooked forward on a long neck, searching the ground before it carefully. Finally the proper place was spotted. The being stopped and, pulling its long robe about it in a fussy manner, settled down right at the water's edge. Long arms held out a square net. The head thrust far forward, like that of a turtle, eyes peering fixedly down at the moving surface. The lanky form stiffened. Now it might have been a peculiarly shaped tree stump rooted in the riverbank.
From a safe distance away, two pairs of curious eyes closely observed the strange behavior of this creature, sheltered from its view by a screen of brush.
"Do you see?" Gnu Deireoil told his companion softly. "It's just as I've heard. That's all he does the whole year around. It must be madness."
"It could be that you're right," Finn reluctantly agreed, staring at the motionless form.
"How do you expect to get help from a ragged creature like that?" his companion wondered.
Finn shrugged. "There's no other choice. I have to
All right then, Gnu Deireoil said resignedly. "111 keep a watch on you. But just you be careful how you approach him. Even a sane bard is a touchy sort of creature. I've met enough to know that. It's fike a child speaking to a parent you should be. Gajole. Plead. Ask
him to take pity on you and become your teacher.** He paused, looking out at the bard again, then added. Likely he'll still turn you away."
This rather doubt-filled advice did Httle to bolster Finn. Still, he was determined to have a try. He unstrapped his sword, giving it into the care of Cnu Deireoil. Then he moved out from their cover and up the river's bank toward the man.
He tried to estabHsh clearly in his mind the kind of attitude he must take. Above all, he must show a great respect. The closer he came to the crouching man, however, the more he wondered if he wasn't making a mistake.
The figure had not moved since taking up position. It was still in that awkward, stiff attitude, as if some enchantment had frozen it. The only sign of its life was the eyes, shifting restlessly back and forth across the rippling water. The body was even more gaunt than it had seemed at a distance. Bony elbows and knees thrust out through holes worn in the tattered robe, which Finn realized had once been a splendid garment. The finely textured cloth was worn to filthy rags and the rich, golden fringing had been mostly torn away. The man himself was as unkept as the gown, his graying hair a matted tangle about his shoulders, an untrimmed beard masking all but a sharp nose and bright, thick-browed eyes.