Magic and Myth Page 7

  The old man had stared deep into a cup of clear water and then slowly nodded. “I see the monster with heads of five. It has come.”

  “But what should we do?” Conn’s father asked the druid.

  “You must send for a warrior,” the old man said softly, and then he would say no more.

  And so, later on that night, just as the moon was beginning to rise over the mountains, a black-winged hawk flew from their fort and headed away toward the north and east. It was a messenger bird, asking for help from some of Erin’s greatest warriors.

  * * *

  —

  Five days later, a small, thin man came to the fort and asked to see Conn’s father. He was out in the fields checking his cattle and sheep with his herdsmen, counting each animal, trying to work out just how many the giant had stolen so far.

  Conn’s father looked up as the stranger approached, moving easily across the soft, boggy ground. “Who are you?” he demanded as soon as the man came close, “and what are you doing on my land?”

  “One of the guards told me I would find you here,” the thin man said. “I am Caoilte, the warrior you sent for.”

  The larger man’s eyes clouded as he looked beyond the thin man. “But where are the rest of you?”

  Caoilte smiled shyly. “There is only me,” he said softly. He was a small, young man—indeed, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen summers, but already his hair and eyebrows were silver-gray, the same color as his eyes. He was wearing a simple, short robe with a broad leather belt around the middle. He wore a short sword strapped across his back and carried a long hunting spear in his left hand.

  “Just you?” Conn’s father asked in amazement.

  Caoilte nodded. “Just me, I’m afraid.”

  The larger man began to grow angry. “I sent for help—and when I asked for help, I meant something like an army. There is a giant, a five-headed monster, destroying my crops and killing my animals—and I am sent a single man. Is this a joke?”

  Caoilte shrugged and smiled. “But it’s only one giant,” he said. “Even I should be able to manage one giant.”

  “A five-headed giant?” the chieftain asked.

  Caoilte nodded. “Even a five-headed giant. Your son has seen this creature, then?”

  The man nodded. “Aye, he was the first to see the monster—and it very nearly killed him.”

  “Well then, I’ll want your son to take me to the spot where he first saw the giant,” Caoilte said.

  “You are either very brave, or else very mad,” Conn’s father said, turning away. “Stay here. I’ll send my son to you.”

  A little while later Conn came running out across the field, very excited at finally meeting a real warrior. He stopped in front of the small, rather plain man, his dismay clearly written on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Caoilte asked, laughing.

  The boy shrugged and shook his head. “Nothing…it’s just…it’s just I expected…”

  “Someone different?” Caoilte asked.

  Conn nodded.

  “Perhaps you were expecting a tall, proud warrior in gleaming bronze armor and leathers, a huge sword by his side and a tall spear in his hand. Perhaps you were even expecting a chariot?”

  Conn nodded again. “Something like that,” he confessed.

  Caoilte laughed. “But not all warriors look like heroes. Some look just like ordinary men. Some are fat, others thin, some are bald. The sort of men you might find in your father’s fort. Ordinary men.” He shrugged. “A lot like me.”

  “But you are all special; you can all do special things,” the boy insisted. “I’ve heard stories about all of you!”

  “Everyone can do special things,” Caoilte said. “It’s only a matter of finding out what your own special gift is, and then training that gift.”

  “And what’s your gift?” Conn asked.

  “I run,” Caoilte said.

  Conn didn’t look very impressed. “Come on,” he said at last. “I’ll take you to the place where I first saw the creature.”

  As they hurried across the fields and through the woods, Conn told the warrior about the five-headed giant. Most of the time Caoilte listened in silence, but sometimes he asked the boy a question about the creature, how it had moved and what it had said—and so, by the time they reached the mountainside, Caoilte knew everything he needed to know about this monster.

  * * *

  —

  When they approached, the giant was sleeping—Dubh’s head lying on Dibh and Dobh’s lying on Domh. Damh’s head was slumped onto his chest. The five heads were snoring slightly, and each one was making a different sound—a snort, a gasp, a buzz, a sniffle, and a grunt. From the distance it sounded like a herd of pigs rooting in the mud, or a gaggle of geese squabbling together.

  Suddenly Damh raised his huge head. He had heard something. He looked down over the mountainside, but there seemed to be no movement.

  There was a sudden flash, and then a small human appeared, standing downhill by a large boulder. The figure moved and disappeared behind the stone—and then reappeared, only nearer this time.

  Damh roared, awakening the other heads.

  “What?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s happened?”

  “There!” Damh shouted, pointing toward the man—but there was no one there. He looked around in amazement; where had the man gone?

  “Is this your idea of a joke?” Dibh asked sharply.

  “I don’t think it’s very funny,” Dubh said.

  “There was someone down there,” Damh insisted angrily. He was getting very tired of Dibh and Dubh. If they weren’t his own heads, he would certainly have knocked them together.

  “Who—or what—was down there?” Dobh asked patiently.

  “And where has it gone?” Domh asked.

  “There was a man,” Damh said. “A small human.”

  “He must be very stupid to spy on us…” Dibh began, and then he too stopped. He had seen something moving. “There is something down there,” he said softly.

  “Perhaps the humans are laying a trap for us,” Dubh suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Dibh said. He swiveled around on his long neck and looked in at Damh. “Well, you’re the big head. What should we do?”

  Damh looked uncomfortable. He was really a quiet gentle person who disliked fights and trouble, despite his brother heads, and would much rather have preferred living quietly by himself. He sighed. “We’d better go down and see where—there! Ouch!” A small human darted right in front of the giants and jabbed them in the big toe with his spear. Five mouths opened and ten eyes squeezed shut in pain. There was another jab, and then another, and then another. The small human seemed to be everywhere at once, darting faster than any human possibly could, stabbing with his spear, jabbing their toes, their ankles, their shins.

  Damh managed to gain control of the hands for a few moments and made a quick grab for the running man. He missed by a fraction and stubbed his little finger on a rock. The rock toppled over onto the giant’s finger. “Get him,” he screamed.

  Suddenly the man was running straight for them. Ten eyes opened wide, wondering what the tiny creature was attempting to do—and then the man ran straight in between their legs. Five heads bumped together as they bent to follow him, and then the giant’s body fell over as they attempted to turn as quickly as possible to follow the man.

  Huge hands pounded the dirt, making the ground quiver and tremble, but the man continued running, darting, twisting, turning, slipping in and stabbing at the giant with his spear. Damh began to pull up boulders from the ground. Each of them was bigger than the tiny running man. Then Domh took over; he was the best stone thrower.

  Domh waited until the man was just about to begin running in again, and then h
e threw. The stone plowed into the ground right where the running man had been standing only a few moments earlier. Again and again, Domh threw the stones, and again and again, they missed, always just by a fraction.

  The five heads began to fight then. Each one wanted to take over the body and stop the running man. It was like a huge elephant being annoyed by a fly.

  “Let me.”

  “No, let me.”

  “It’s my turn.”

  “No, it’s mine.”

  “I’ll stop him.”

  And then Damh shouted above the noise: “There he is—after him!”

  The giant was pointing toward the small figure of the man as he ran across the field toward a long line of bushes. He seemed to be running a little slower. “We have him now,” Damh shouted. “He’s getting tired!”

  The giant lumbered after the man. Although the giant was not usually a fast runner, it soon began to pick up speed. Soon the giant was half running and half sliding—and catching up to the man.

  The man stopped before a line of bushes and faced the creature. He bent over, gasping for breath.

  “We have him now,” Dibh, Dubh, Damh, Dobh, and Domh roared together as they pounded toward the man.

  Just as the giant reached him, the man straightened up and darted right through the giant’s moving legs. The giant tried to stop, but it was moving too fast—much too fast. The five-headed creature crashed through the bushes—and sailed out over the edge of a cliff!

  The last sound Caoilte heard before the enormous splash was a voice shouting, “This is all your fault…”

  Caoilte was the Running Man; the swiftest runner in all Erin, and one of its greatest, although now almost forgotten, heroes. He used his speed to trick dragons and outrun wild boars, and it was said that he could even race the wind.

  The five-headed giant never came back to Erin. But it didn’t drown; a creature like that couldn’t drown. More than likely it was swept away on the waves, and is now marooned on some tiny island, where Dibh, Dubh, Damh, Dobh, and Domh are still arguing.

  Revenge of the Sidhe

  The fairy-folk are strange people. They can be nice and kind one day, and then mean and spiteful the next. If you are good to them, they will give you anything you desire, and yet, if you anger one of them, they will make your life miserable. But if you do happen to know one of the Sidhe, you must remember never to lie about them.

  A boy named Rory Dearg—or Red Rory, as he was called, because of his bright red hair—knew some of the sea-fairies. He was always good and kind to them, and in return they helped him in many ways. But one day Rory told a lie about them. And everything changed…

  One evening in late September, twelve-year-old Rory Dearg and a few of his friends were sitting on the long pebbled beach, tossing stones into the foaming waves and talking about the fairy-folk. The Sidhe.

  “They live in those caves over there,” Rory said, pointing out across the sea toward a small rocky island. Rory was a short, stout boy, with a head of bright red hair and waggling eyebrows.

  “How do you know?” a boy named Thomas asked.

  “Because I’m friends with the fairy-folk,” Rory said proudly. He took a deep breath and smiled. “They often come over here and visit their relatives that live in the fairy-mounds.”

  “And how do they get over here?” another boy, named Aidan, asked.

  Rory stood and pointed down into the sea. “There’s a secret path, made of white sand and coral that runs along the sea bed from the island to the mainland,” he said.

  “How do you know?” Aidan asked.

  Rory smiled again, his face lighting up like a lantern. “Because I’ve walked along that road with them.”

  “You! What would the Sidhe-folk want Red Rory for?”

  “Why, to help carry their sacks of gold and silver across the sea to their relatives. They make the coins on the island, but because the bags are so heavy, they usually ask me to help carry them.”

  “And do they pay you?” Thomas asked.

  “Of course they do,” Rory said.

  “Well, let’s see some fairy-gold or fairy-silver, then,” Thomas said.

  Rory Dearg smiled secretively. “Oh, it’s neither gold nor silver that they pay me with.” He saw the looks of disbelief on their faces. “Well, I’ll tell you, then—but you must swear never to tell, for they wouldn’t like it if they knew I told anyone.” He waited until they had all promised, and then he whispered, “They pay me with magic powers!”

  “What sort of magic powers?” Aidan asked, curious now.

  Rory looked across the waves toward the island. The sun was sinking down behind it, and the water was shining red-gold. If you looked upon the island at this time of day, it was easy to imagine that it might be a fairy-palace in disguise.

  “C’mon now. What sort of magic powers?” Aidan asked again.

  Rory looked at him. “I really shouldn’t say…”

  “But we’ve promised we won’t tell,” Thomas said.

  “Oh, all right, then,” he said. “They’ve given me knowledge.”

  “Knowledge? What sort of knowledge?”

  Rory Dearg shrugged. “All sorts of knowledge. I can never be tricked now, because I’ll be able to see through the trick. No one can ever lie to me, because I’ll know it’s a lie. Why, I even know the fairies’ secrets!” He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded importantly. “Even they can’t trick me!”

  And that was a lie.

  At that very moment, two of the tiny fairy-folk were hiding in a small hollow under a broad flat stone just behind him. But Rory Dearg didn’t know that.

  The small group of friends broke up as night fell and the first stars began to sparkle in the sky. Rory Dearg climbed up the little twisting path that led to his family’s cottage. From the distance he could see the lights in the windows and a shadow moving across them. That would be his mother, preparing supper.

  The path led down across two fields and then out onto a small walkway that led to his door. Rory was just about to cross the first field when he felt a cold wind ruffle his hair. His skin prickled and his eyes stung with dust. He squeezed them shut.

  And when he opened his eyes again, the field was gone. In its place a broad, foaming river rushed past, heading down toward the sea.

  Rory stopped in amazement, his eyes and mouth open wide. What had happened? He looked around, but everything else seemed to be normal. He could still see the lights of his own cottage across the field—the river now, he corrected himself.

  “How am I going to get home?” he asked aloud.

  There was a sudden flapping of wings, and Rory was shaken by a gust of wind. He looked up, just as a golden eagle folded its wings and dropped to the ground beside him. The bird was huge, far bigger than any eagle Rory had ever seen. Its plumage was a rich golden color, shot through with bronze and copper feathers. Its claws were as thick as Rory’s arm, and the bird was so heavy that it sank slightly into the earth. Its great black eyes blinked slowly as they stared at the frightened man. Suddenly it opened its beak and Rory jumped.

  “I can help you,” it said, in a deep rich voice.

  Rory could only stare in astonishment at the creature. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  “I won’t harm you.” The huge eagle took a step closer and raised his head until its eyes were almost level with Rory’s.

  “You can speak!” Rory finally managed.

  The eagle laughed, a deep, chuffing sound. “Of course I can talk. All creatures can speak—but not all humans can hear them speak.”

  Rory took a deep breath. “What has happened to the field?” he said at last.

  The golden eagle’s wings shook. “Fairy-work, that!” he said. “You must have offended them somehow.”

 
“But I haven’t done anything to them,” Rory protested.

  The huge black eyes seemed to grow. “But have you said something about them, or spoken about them, or even told a lie about them?” The creature chuffed in laughter again. “They don’t like people telling lies about them.”

  Rory Dearg suddenly remembered the stories he had told a little earlier. He felt his broad face burning with shame. He stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. “Well…” he began.

  “Well?” the eagle said.

  “Perhaps I did,” he said at last.

  The giant eagle nodded. “Perhaps you did.”

  Rory looked across the river toward his home, and then looked back at the eagle. “Could you help me?” he asked.

  “That’s why I’m here,” the eagle said. “Climb up onto my back and I’ll carry you across.”

  Rory looked at the huge eagle and hesitated. He had often heard stories about eagles—golden eagles especially—carrying human children off to their nests. This eagle was so big he could easily carry a fully grown man. Rory looked at the fast-flowing river again. “I might be able to swim,” he said doubtfully.

  The eagle chuffed again. “You would be swept away to the sea.”

  Rory nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” He walked around behind the huge bird, and, taking a fistful of gleaming feathers, he hoisted himself up onto its broad back and settled behind the wings.

  “Are you ready now?” the eagle asked.

  Rory felt his heart begin to pound hard against his chest. “I’m ready,” he said in a high-pitched squeak.

  The eagle spread his wings and the boy felt the bird’s body tense. Then, with two powerful flaps, the bird leaped straight up into the air. Rory shouted and gripped the eagle’s feathers all the more tightly as the earth fell away beneath him. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Rory Dearg opened his eyes again when the huge bird stopped moving. He expected to see his own small whitewashed cottage, with its two lighted windows and a curl of white smoke rising from the chimney—but instead he saw a barren, rocky mountainside, with nothing but gray stone stretching in all directions. Above the mountain, the sky was a purple-black color, and the stars were hard and sharp and brilliant.