trees stand unguarded. “Run like the wind, Little One,” he says. “And for Neit’s sake, don’t stop or look back!”
Then, before I can draw his attention to the floating demon, he barks an order and we’re breaking for freedom, heads down, feet kicking up clouds of dust. In the heat of the moment all thoughts, except those of escape, slip from my head and blow away on the cool morning breeze.
The Crannog
R UN Fast joins us nearly an hour later. I thought he’d be quicker than that, and was worrying, thinking about going back for him. When he appears, I see why he was so long — he stopped to pick flowers and weave a necklace out of them. “Turnips!” he shouts happily, waving the necklace at us.
There’s a big group cheer and we surround him, laughing, hugging, exclaiming at the same time —
“That was amazing!”
“I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“You must be a son of the gods!”
“The demons thought they had us dead but they didn’t count on Run Fast!”
Run Fast smiles hazily, unsure of what all the fuss is about. In his head, I don’t think leading demons on a merry chase counts for much. He’s far prouder of the necklace of flowers.
When we’re through congratulating Run Fast, we set off again, anxious to cover as much ground as we can before nightfall. It’s a showery day and we’re soon soaked. But that’s a minor inconvenience. We’ll take any amount of soakings after our unexpected escape from the demons.
Early afternoon. I’ve been discussing the ring of stones with Fiachna, wondering how old it was, who built it, what its original purpose might have been.
“A pity they didn’t have ogham stones back then,” Fiachna says. “They could have told us who they were and lived on through their writing.”
“Can you read ogham?” I ask.
“A bit. I learned it from a bard who couldn’t pay me for my work. Can you?”
“No. Banba didn’t like ogham. She said magic shouldn’t be recorded, that history should be kept alive by word of mouth.”
“Perhaps,” Fiachna says. “But many stories are lost forever that way. I think . . .” He stops, eyes narrowing. “Connla!” he calls — the young would-be king has been leading for the last couple of hours. When Connla looks back, Fiachna points to a spot off to the right. “A large, strange hut. I think it’s a church.”
Everyone gathers around us. I can see the tip of the building now that Fiachna’s pointed it out. It’s not like any I’ve seen before but I’ve heard of its type. A Christian church. I didn’t know they’d built any this close to our tuath.
We advance on the church. My insides are tight. It’s a feeling I always get when I hear of the upstart religion. Christians are new to our land, but already it’s hard to imagine a time when they weren’t here. They’ve spread as fast as rabbits, bringing their churches and unnatural ways into tuath after tuath, converting everyone they encounter. I’ve never met a Christian, but from what I’ve heard they’re powerful and persuasive, with no tolerance for other ways of thinking. They believe all people should follow their faith, that no gods are real except their own.
The threat of Christians was a major worry for us before the Fomorii came. Even though we were far removed from any of the infected tuatha, we knew we couldn’t hope to avoid them forever. From what we heard, they’d converted all of the north and east. It was only a matter of time before their priests came — maybe their high priest, Padraig, would come himself — and then...
Would they convert us too? Would Conn grant them his backing, as so many other kings had, and order us to follow their ways, abandon our gods, adopt their customs? It didn’t seem possible. Our religion is old. Our gods are sacred, as real to us as our ancestors. We lead our lives based on ancient, just laws, handed down from father to son, mother to daughter. How could we turn away from all that
Then, before I can draw his attention to the floating demon, he barks an order and we’re breaking for freedom, heads down, feet kicking up clouds of dust. In the heat of the moment all thoughts, except those of escape, slip from my head and blow away on the cool morning breeze.
The Crannog
R UN Fast joins us nearly an hour later. I thought he’d be quicker than that, and was worrying, thinking about going back for him. When he appears, I see why he was so long — he stopped to pick flowers and weave a necklace out of them. “Turnips!” he shouts happily, waving the necklace at us.
There’s a big group cheer and we surround him, laughing, hugging, exclaiming at the same time —
“That was amazing!”
“I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“You must be a son of the gods!”
“The demons thought they had us dead but they didn’t count on Run Fast!”
Run Fast smiles hazily, unsure of what all the fuss is about. In his head, I don’t think leading demons on a merry chase counts for much. He’s far prouder of the necklace of flowers.
When we’re through congratulating Run Fast, we set off again, anxious to cover as much ground as we can before nightfall. It’s a showery day and we’re soon soaked. But that’s a minor inconvenience. We’ll take any amount of soakings after our unexpected escape from the demons.
Early afternoon. I’ve been discussing the ring of stones with Fiachna, wondering how old it was, who built it, what its original purpose might have been.
“A pity they didn’t have ogham stones back then,” Fiachna says. “They could have told us who they were and lived on through their writing.”
“Can you read ogham?” I ask.
“A bit. I learned it from a bard who couldn’t pay me for my work. Can you?”
“No. Banba didn’t like ogham. She said magic shouldn’t be recorded, that history should be kept alive by word of mouth.”
“Perhaps,” Fiachna says. “But many stories are lost forever that way. I think . . .” He stops, eyes narrowing. “Connla!” he calls — the young would-be king has been leading for the last couple of hours. When Connla looks back, Fiachna points to a spot off to the right. “A large, strange hut. I think it’s a church.”
Everyone gathers around us. I can see the tip of the building now that Fiachna’s pointed it out. It’s not like any I’ve seen before but I’ve heard of its type. A Christian church. I didn’t know they’d built any this close to our tuath.
We advance on the church. My insides are tight. It’s a feeling I always get when I hear of the upstart religion. Christians are new to our land, but already it’s hard to imagine a time when they weren’t here. They’ve spread as fast as rabbits, bringing their churches and unnatural ways into tuath after tuath, converting everyone they encounter. I’ve never met a Christian, but from what I’ve heard they’re powerful and persuasive, with no tolerance for other ways of thinking. They believe all people should follow their faith, that no gods are real except their own.
The threat of Christians was a major worry for us before the Fomorii came. Even though we were far removed from any of the infected tuatha, we knew we couldn’t hope to avoid them forever. From what we heard, they’d converted all of the north and east. It was only a matter of time before their priests came — maybe their high priest, Padraig, would come himself — and then...
Would they convert us too? Would Conn grant them his backing, as so many other kings had, and order us to follow their ways, abandon our gods, adopt their customs? It didn’t seem possible. Our religion is old. Our gods are sacred, as real to us as our ancestors. We lead our lives based on ancient, just laws, handed down from father to son, mother to daughter. How could we turn away from all that
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