evil from coming to the island of Tir Isarnagiri. The third was the dance of fruitfulness. Everyone danced it once, around the relit fires, that the crops and the beasts should be fruitful in the next year. Then, after the children were sent to bed, it was danced again by men and women. Conal had heard that nobody ever asked where anyone had slept on the Feast of Bel. It was a time when the gods came into the world in disguise looking for willing partners, a time when women whose husbands had not given them enough children could seek a more fruitful coupling, and a time when many married couples would try to kindle children in the fields who had not come to the marriage bed. So many children were conceived at the Feast of Bel that the Feast of Mother Breda came exactly nine months later.
"Nobody asks where anyone sleeps on the Feast of Bel, and we are adults now," Emer said, smiling in a way that made Conal want to hold her again.
"You are not done growing, you are too young to bear children yet," Conal said. His voice came out almost as a growl. "Besides, if we go to war with the Isles this summer, you won't want to be feeling sick as the chariot lurches."
Emer frowned. "But I'm not married, and unmarried women don't have babies."
"They do after the Feast of Bel," Conal assured her. "If the gods want them to. That's what it's all about."
"My mother never explains things properly," Emer said crossly.
Conal had heard tales of what Maga did on the Feast of Bel. He didn't like to think what she might have told
Emer. "There will be plenty of other chances," he said, stooping to pick up the wooden swords.
"But not yet."
He tossed a sword to Emer. She caught it left-handed; she still had the cup in her right hand.
"Not here," she said, looking at the smithy and setting the cup down. "Not in the dun, not anywhere in the dun."
Page 25
"No, there's no privacy there unless you have your own house," Conal agreed. "If we get married, we could have our own house. Next year, maybe."
"You could sleep in the king's hall now if you wanted," Emer said, picking up her shield and getting into position.
"I'm not ready to fight that battle with my father," Conal said. "I need to do it from a position of strength. He isn't ready to see me as a man yet."
"Anyway, apart from the poetic side of it, it wouldn't do any good. I sleep with Elenn and Nid."
"What poem do you mean?" Conal asked, taking his stance.
"Really, for someone whose father is a poet anyone would think you never heard any," Emer said. "Cian's poem Spring. He's in love with a woman and they both sleep in the king's hall.
'How can I sleep when your soft breathing fills the air of the hall, echoes through the whole island'."
Conal laughed. "Sounds to me as if she snores."
Emer looked horrified for an instant, then began to laugh so hard she dropped sword and shield and sat down abruptly.
"I'm not very poetic," Conal said apologetically.
"Oh, that's all right," Emer said when she could speak again. "It's Elenn who wants poetic. I just want you."
Conal put out his hand and pulled her to her feet. "And I, you know Imdash" Words had always come easily to Conal, but now there didn't seem to be enough of them to say what he meant. "I want you, too," he said clumsily, and angry with himself for being clumsy. "Now pick your sword up and let's get back to it."
"With the wooden blades?"
"Yes. Now I really understand why it's not good to learn to stop, or to gut your friends in training. We can use the real swords for practicing alone. Or maybe we could use them with ap Carbad, if he keeps coming down to morning practices the way he has been these last few days.
You wouldn't mind if you gutted him."
"Not in the slightest," Emer said, sounding entirely as if she meant it. "No more than I would an enemy. But he's going to be very surprised tomorrow when he sees how much better I am."
They practiced until hunger drove them back to the dun.
6
(ELENN)
When Finca shouted
"Nobody asks where anyone sleeps on the Feast of Bel, and we are adults now," Emer said, smiling in a way that made Conal want to hold her again.
"You are not done growing, you are too young to bear children yet," Conal said. His voice came out almost as a growl. "Besides, if we go to war with the Isles this summer, you won't want to be feeling sick as the chariot lurches."
Emer frowned. "But I'm not married, and unmarried women don't have babies."
"They do after the Feast of Bel," Conal assured her. "If the gods want them to. That's what it's all about."
"My mother never explains things properly," Emer said crossly.
Conal had heard tales of what Maga did on the Feast of Bel. He didn't like to think what she might have told
Emer. "There will be plenty of other chances," he said, stooping to pick up the wooden swords.
"But not yet."
He tossed a sword to Emer. She caught it left-handed; she still had the cup in her right hand.
"Not here," she said, looking at the smithy and setting the cup down. "Not in the dun, not anywhere in the dun."
Page 25
"No, there's no privacy there unless you have your own house," Conal agreed. "If we get married, we could have our own house. Next year, maybe."
"You could sleep in the king's hall now if you wanted," Emer said, picking up her shield and getting into position.
"I'm not ready to fight that battle with my father," Conal said. "I need to do it from a position of strength. He isn't ready to see me as a man yet."
"Anyway, apart from the poetic side of it, it wouldn't do any good. I sleep with Elenn and Nid."
"What poem do you mean?" Conal asked, taking his stance.
"Really, for someone whose father is a poet anyone would think you never heard any," Emer said. "Cian's poem Spring. He's in love with a woman and they both sleep in the king's hall.
'How can I sleep when your soft breathing fills the air of the hall, echoes through the whole island'."
Conal laughed. "Sounds to me as if she snores."
Emer looked horrified for an instant, then began to laugh so hard she dropped sword and shield and sat down abruptly.
"I'm not very poetic," Conal said apologetically.
"Oh, that's all right," Emer said when she could speak again. "It's Elenn who wants poetic. I just want you."
Conal put out his hand and pulled her to her feet. "And I, you know Imdash" Words had always come easily to Conal, but now there didn't seem to be enough of them to say what he meant. "I want you, too," he said clumsily, and angry with himself for being clumsy. "Now pick your sword up and let's get back to it."
"With the wooden blades?"
"Yes. Now I really understand why it's not good to learn to stop, or to gut your friends in training. We can use the real swords for practicing alone. Or maybe we could use them with ap Carbad, if he keeps coming down to morning practices the way he has been these last few days.
You wouldn't mind if you gutted him."
"Not in the slightest," Emer said, sounding entirely as if she meant it. "No more than I would an enemy. But he's going to be very surprised tomorrow when he sees how much better I am."
They practiced until hunger drove them back to the dun.
6
(ELENN)
When Finca shouted
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