Finn stepped up close beside him and stood quietly, waiting for the bard to acknowledge him. But the bard seemed not to notice, all his attention fixed on the water running close beneath his nose.
Finn cleared his throat and then, somewhat hesitantly, ventured a greeting: "Ah . . . hello," he said, as pleasantly as he could.
There was no response. Finn tried again.
"Have you had good fortune fishing here?"
Still no reply. He might have been a bird chirping in a tree for all the interest the crouching man was showing. Finn scanned the riverbank with the practiced eye of a fisherman, gauging the water's depth and the play of currents.
"You might find more fish if you'd try over there by that rock," he suggested helpfully.
This, finally, brought results, but only minor ones. The scrawny body tensed, almost vibrating. The eyes narrowed with irritation.
"iVe come a long way to see you," Finn said with more insistence. "It's very important that I speak to you."
The lips moved behind the screen of beard. The voice came like the sound of a hinge grown rusty from long disuse.
"Go away!"
"Go away?" Finn echoed, his own voice growing sharper with rising anger. "Look here, Til not go away until you talk to me. I need your help!"
"Well, I don't need you bothering me!" the bard rasped back. "Can't you see I'm fishing? Go away!"
Finn remembered the Little Nut's suggestions. Swallowing his anger, he dropped down beside the man, forcing a pleading note into his tones.
"Please, Great Ollamh, I must learn from you. I must have the wisdom that a chieftain of the Fianna of Ireland must have. Please teach me as you taught my father. I am the son of Cumhal MacTredhOm. "
"I don't care who you are!" the man snapped, tearing his gaze from the water with an obvious efibrt to glare at the young warrior. "I am fishing. It is all that I care about. I've no time or interest in the likes of you!"
"Why?" demanded Finn. "You can at least tell me that."
The man sighed deeply. "All right, if it will make you go away the faster." The gaze swung back to the water, taking up its intense search again. "There is a salmon here. For seven years now I have been waiting to catch it. Nothing else is of any importance to me until that has been done."
"A salmon?" Finn said. He looked at the water and then back to Finnegas. The man was indeed mad, he reflected sadly. "But, Great Ollamh, no fish can be that valuable."
"This one can," the old bard said impatiently. "It's
not just a fish. It is a fish of great powers, and it is meant only for me!" He glanced at Finn, saw the openly skeptical look in the young man's eye, and his temper flared. "I know. You think Tm mad. Well, I am not! Seven years ago I was given the prophecy that I would catch and eat a salmon that would come to me here. From that salmon I would gain knowledge greater than that of any man. Think of it, boy! It's a prize worth waiting for all these years, isn't it? Now, will you go away and let . . . me . . . be!"
On these last words the bard's voice had risen to a shout, the sound echoing away across the wide river. Realizing what he had done, the old man quickly lowered his voice to a whisper, adding threateningly: "The gods help you if you've made me frighten it away!" Then he dropped back into his crouching position, becoming silent and motionless once more.
"Wait!" Finn whispered back in desperation. "You can't do this. I can't reclaim my father's place without you. Don't you understand?"
There was no answer. It was again as if the man had been turned to rock.
"I won't leave here!" Finn said stubbornly. "I'll stay until you help me!"
"Not . . . until ... I catch . . . this fish!" came the response through clenched teeth.
Finn felt defeated. He wanted to pick up the wretched man and shake him. But he knew that force would not make the bard help. There was nothing he could do. He climbed slowly to his feet and started to turn away. But then he paused, staring down at the water.
Just beneath the surface, close to the bank where he stood, something was moving. That it was large he could tell by the high ripples it created as it shot toward the crouching Finnegas like an arrow fi-om a bow.
The bard saw it, saw the huge, dark shape beneath the water. With an exultant hoot he leapt forward, spreading the net out between his hands. He splashed down atop the moving thing, disappearing beneath the
waves, rising again almost immediately, arms clasped about something that struggled within the net.
"I have it! I have it!" he cried out happily, battling the creature thrashing wildly to escape.
"Let me help you," Finn volunteered.
"No!" the bard shouted back. "I'll do this myselfl"
And he did. With a great eflFort the scrawny man fought his way to the shore, carrying and dragging the writhing bundle. Putting all his strength into a great heave, he managed to get the netted fish out of the water. Then the drenched, dripping, exhausted man dragged himself out after it.
Panting for breath, he looked down at his prize. It was indeed a salmon that lay within the tangled net, its blue-green scales and white belly glittering as it flopped madly to free itself. Finnegas gazed at it with the pride of a man seeing his first son. Then his eyes lifted to the young warrior standing over him, and a curious light came into them.
"Seven years iVe been sitting here, waiting for this salmon," he said thoughtfully. "Seven years, and not a sign of it. Then you come here, and within a moment's time, the fish is all but throwing himself from the water at my feet!"
"It was your good fortune," Finn said.
"Maybe. Maybe. Who was it you said you were agam.f^
"My name is Demna, son of Cumhal," Finn told him, reverting to his true given name for this formal purpose.
"Well, Demna, it seems youVe brought me luck. Maybe I can be of help to you after all—if you're willing to serve me."
"I'll be most happy to do that. Great Ollamh," Finn said eagerly, his hopes renewed. "Anything you wish."
"Can you cook well?" the bard asked.
"I've been well taught," Finn answered.
"They're not necessarily the same thing. But it will have to do. My own cooking is something only barely eatable, and I want no chances taken with this. " He
climbed to his feet slowly, greatly wearied by his battle. He lifted the loaded net with a grunt and held out the still squirming catch to Finn. "I want you to take this salmon and cook it for me. Can you do that?**
Finn took the fish, looking at it and then at Finnegas uncertainly. "Are you sure you want me to do this?**
"I do,*' the bard said firmly. "Come with me.**
He led his new pupil away fi*om the riverbank to a nearby clearing. There sat a small and badly weathered hut of wattle and daub. With its bony fi-ame poking out here and there through holes in the daub, and the wind-tattered condition of its gray thatched roof, it looked rather like the bard himself.
"There, lad,*' the still dripping man said, pointing to a tumbled pile of rocks near to the hut. "You can build a fire and cook the salmon there.'* He pulled himself erect and said with pride, "I mean to go and make myself ready for this occasion." He looked down at himself. "I've let myself get a bit shabby these last seven years."
"Yes, Great Ollamh," Finn said, holding back a smile as he looked at the bedraggled figure. "Just a bit."
The bard shot him a glare at that, and Finn sobered quickly, asking: "And how would you like the salmon cooked?"
"Broil it, lad,*' he ordered. "You*ll find a spit there." He stepped forward, lifting an admonishing finger as he went on. "And listen to me, boy: prepare it carefully! Eat none of it yourself If you want my help as badly as you say, you*ll give me your word. The salmon is for me and me alone!"
"Ill eat none of it. Great Ollamh!" Finn promised. But he was wondering just how much he did still want the bards help. His madness seemed to have abated little since making the catch.
Finnegas stared searchingly into the young man's eyes for a long moment, then he snorted. "Well, I suppose I can trust you,** he said grudgingly. "Get on about it, boy. Ive waited long enough for this!'*
He turned and shuffled into his little hut. Finn
went to the stone fireplace and kindled a small fire, feeding it from a meager pile of sticks. He set up a rusting and badly bent iron rotisserie, then took the salmon from the net.
It truly was a magnificent fish, plump and as long as his arm. He cleaned it carefully, exposing the fresh pink flesh of its insides. He slipped it onto the skewer, fixed it into the supporting frame, and began slowly to rotate the fish over the flames.
While he was cooking, he heard a sharp whistle from the trees close by. He looked around to see the face of the Little Nut peering out cautiously from the cover.
"How is it going?" Gnu Deireoil called softly.
Finn looked around quickly to be certain Finnegas was still inside his hut. Then he called back. "Fine! Fine! At least, I think so. But get away. I don't want him to see you."
"All right, ni make camp a short way upriver, in case you need me. How's the old man?"
Finn lifted a hand and tapped his temple in reply.
"Good luck, then," the harper said, and withdrew into the shelter of the trees again.
Only moments later, the bard reappeared. He had dried and neatly combed out his hair and beard. They now formed a single bush of gray about the small patch of exposed face. Even the thick eyebrows had been brushed, and now flared upward dramatically.
He had exchanged his threadbare robe for one of brilliant white edged with gold. An exquisitely wrought tore of twisted gold bands was about his throat. In his hands he carried a large platter, also of gold.
"You look very fine. Great Ollamh!" Finn complimented as the bard approached.
"Thank you, boy," he answered, clearly pleased. "I've had this robe of mine folded carefully away all these years, awaiting this." He lifted the platter. It had been newly polished and shone softly. Its edge was deeply embossed with curling designs and set with precious stones. "I've kept this, too, knowdng I would have need of it one day. I've cared for it as I would my
child.** He looked down upon it lovingly. "It was given to me by the high king himself, many years ago. It will be suited to such a momentous feast."
"As you say," Finn rephed, trying to sound noncommittal.
The bard fixed an irritated gaze on him. "You still think Tm mad, don't you? Well, never mind. Just see to the cooking and bring the salmon to me when it is done*" He thrust the platter into the young man's hands, wheeled about, and stalked back into his hut.
Finn returned his full attention to the fish, taking great care to keep it turning slowly to cook all sides evenly. It was doing very well, the sldn of it browniing and crisping beautifully. At least he would make the peculiar bard pleased with his cooking, he told himself.
But even as he thought this, he noted one spot that had begun to darken too fast. The moist, hot flesh was boiling, and a great bubble rose up beneath the skin, thre-atening to burst. Fearing that his perfect meal would be blemished, Finn acted instantly. He dirust out a thumb and pushed the bhster down. But the oozing juices burned his fingertip, and in pain, he instinctively shoved the damaged thumb into his mouth to suck on it.
To his amazement, he found that this tiny taste of the salmon was like a mouthful. The warm, rich, meaty flavor of it flooded his senses. It was most peculiar, like a surge of energ\\ like lightning flashing within his mind. He felt suddenly very aware, of himself, of his thoughts, of the world around him. For an instant ev-er\thing seemed to shine with a brilliant clarity^ that made him feel as if he had been only half awake before.
He jerked the thumb from his mouth. The sensation faded instantly. He stared at his thumb in wonder, then looked down at the cooking fish. Was there some power in this salmon, as Finnegas had said?
He reminded himself sharply that this was nothing to do with him, no matter how curious he was. He had made a bond to serve Finnegas, and this he would do faithfiilly. The salmon was thoroughly done now and
I
must be served. It and whatever power it had belonged to the bard and to no one else.
So, with these noble thoughts, Finn carefully eased the broiled fish fi*om the skewer and slipped it, steaming and fi-agrant, onto the golden platter. He carried it with slow, certain steps to the hut door and, raising it before him in a triumphant gesture, stepped inside.
The bard was seated behind a worn and warped plank table, covered now at one end with a dazzling white cloth and set with a silver knife and a candlestick holding a burning taper. It seemed ready for some sacred ritual, and Finnegas sat behind it, proudly upright, face glowing with excitement, Uke a high druid ready for a great sacrifice.
Finn set the platter before him with a flourish and stepped back. The bard examined the salmon critically. He picked up the silver knife and prodded tentatively at the skin. It fell open, the succulent fish done to a flaky perfection. He looked up at Finn.
"It seems cooked well enough," he admitted. "But we will see."
He lifted a large morsel on the knife point, bringing it toward his mouth. Finn could see the trembfing of his hps, the expectation in his eyes. The man could barely stand it.
Then another thought occurred to him. He glanced suspiciously up at the young man again. His voice was demanding.
"Boy, you didn't eat any of it at all now, is that right?"
"No, Great Ollamh!" Finn responded promptly. "You can see that yourself. I had none of it."
That might have been enough, but then Finn's ingrained need for honesty came into play again. Under that searching stare, he had to tell the complete truth. "Of course, I did lick some juice fi-om my thumb after I burned it touching the fish."
"What!" Finnegas sat back as if he*d been struck, "You tasted it! You couldn't have!"
"It—it was an accident!" Finn said haltingly, shocked
by the violence of the man's reaction. "It was just a small touch. iVe eaten none of—"