Tuatha fought hard in the training combat. The steel blades were sharp and could maim or even kill. Ruad, his sparring partner, was older, wiser and had learned the use of the Lann well.

The Lann was a medium length battle sword, the well-made steel blade of a warrior of Athlethan.

Ten cycles his senior, Ruad was also stronger, and he was not wearing a blindfold. Ruad was too impatient for that method of fighting.

The blindfold was part of the Riangbra-guided defensive art of battle. To be able to sense a blade unseen would make it almost impossible for an assailant to do damage to the one with this skill.

Tuatha never fought without the blindfold. He never saw with his own eyes the moves of his opponent, only felt them. This put him at a disadvantage in training, as he was always behind in speed. Yet all knew that when the blindfold came off, the warriors of Athlethan were by far the most skilled and feared warriors in the deep lands.

Ruad was in a different class of blade, and while he shunned the blindfold, his skills with the Lann were the best in the school.

Ruad smiled and moved into attack. He knew Tuatha was becoming more skilled with each battle, but he also was improving and relished the thought of getting through Tuatha’s defences. Ruad feinted left, lifted his blade high, and struck with force.

Tuatha twisted left and down, feeling the vibration as the blades met and jarred his hand. He followed through and slid the blade deftly over his shoulder around his back. Sensing Ruad’s sweat and warmth, he could picture the older boy’s figure and hear the angry growl in his voice. Tuatha twisted the blade in his hand as he bent double, hearing the still ringing blade whistle above his back, where his head had been a moment before. He flicked the tip of the blade, so it swung without his arm moving. A move his master had taught him well, a move only one with skill could achieve. He felt the Lann shudder, it had connected with the rare Scatach armour of Ruad’s thigh. The strength developed in his wrist would have sliced through a common metal and taken Ruad’s leg clean off, but the Scatach was a valuable armour due to its strength. Ruad grunted and stepped back. It was a painful blow. Furiously, Ruad leaped forward and swung the sword in a wide arc as fast as he could. Tuatha heard it coming and stepped back, the tip of the blade passed within a hair’s breadth of his torso. Ruad was unbalanced by the hasty move and stumbled toward Tuatha, his sword flailing. Tuatha flicked his blade upwards and Ruad’s sword flew from his hand. Ruad fell forwards and landed painfully on his knees.

Tuatha pulled up the blindfold, panting as he did so.

“A lucky strike, O’ Tuatha son of Findabair,” said a voice.

“Cathabad,” he exclaimed, turning from the scowling Ruad, “when did you arrive?” Tuatha ran over and pushed his fist into the tall man’s chest.

But Cathabad was no longer looking at him.

“Have not I taught you to control your anger, Ruad? The way you go is the way of Sennol Uathach.” Ruad glanced at Tuatha. With shock, Tuatha saw into the wells of his eyes and only saw hatred. Tuatha then knew that Ruad was turning away from Riangbra. Tuatha had not won the last fight because of luck. He realised it was due to the weakness of one unworthy of being a Riangbra warrior.

When Ruad had left, grumbling under his breath and giving Tuatha an angry stare, Cathabad turned and looked at Tuatha. Knowing Tuatha disliked the time wasted discussing frivolous activities, Cathabad got straight to the point. “My studies of the Chronicle Prophetica have revealed to me that you are indeed to be the next Riangbra warrior lord. But it is hard for me to see the detail of the future. Whether you will bring in end of Sennol Uathach is uncertain. Sennol must rise again, but we don’t know when. Whether you will bring the deep lands into a time of peace, or your own children will do it is unclear.”

“Tell me more of the beginning of Athlethan, please master,” asked Tuatha. His question came from trying to understand his purpose.

Cathabad smiled inside as he crouched before the dying embers of the fireplace. ‘This boy is so willing to learn and so loving of this kingdom,’ he thought, ‘the Prophetica must be wrong. How could things begin to go bad now?’

He cleared his throat and told Tuatha the records and prophecies of the Chronicles.

No one knew what Riangbra was. It remained a mystery to those who had never experienced it. Even those who had experienced it could not describe it. It was a deity, a guide, the ground they stood upon, and it represented all that is good and eternal. Riangbra had guided the great Emain, warrior king, to smelt the indestructible metal from which the legendary Scatach blade was made. This blade was once used by Emain in the first great battle. Only he knew how to make it, with the fire of the great beast, the Leviathan, and the energy of a star close to them, called Salchah. It was from a time so far in the past that some things written were no longer fact but myth. The sword was kept, still in the great throne room of Athlethan, set into the throne as a symbol of power and authority.

Scatach metal was able to cut all other metals; it could slice into the earth and not be dulled. Grindstones would wear out before they could burr the surface. Once made, Scatach blades never needed to be sharpened. Cloth dropped over the exposed blade would part in two, so fine was the edge.

Riangbra had instructed the prophet Eoghan of Dun Emain to write the Chronicle Prophetica, a revelation in part of the future history of the deep lands. The Chronicle gave records too of men who were the ancestors, back in the time after the creation of the deep lands.

To be part of Riangbra was to be the one who knew many of its secrets, and Riangbra would only reveal those secrets to the one of its choosing. When Riangbra had chosen, the one was protected by it. Tuatha was prophesied to be the next Riangbra warrior, and this made him eligible for the position of king. The final Prophecy of Part One in the Chronicle Prophetica was that the next king was to discover Dun Emain.

Dun Emain was a place of myth and legend. It had existed since time began. Some say it is a fallacy and that the myth was added into the Chronicle Prophetica by King Rechrainn the dreamer, of Muinremar. Others say that it was a place of peace and perfect harmony. People imagined the day when Sennol Uathach would exist no more, and all the deep lands would be like this place of lore.

The Outer world was a place rarely travelled by men from the deep lands. Only students of the Chronicle Prophetica, like Cathabad, had been there. Things still lay there, undiscovered, and unknown. Dun Emain was said to be in the Outer World, but people who tried to go there never returned.

Sennol Uathach was the dark place in men’s hearts and minds; and it was a real place where evil men dwelled. It had become everything bad that men’s hearts could think, and so did. Evil! Stagnant and grim, cold torture in dark recesses. Pain and constant depression in the souls of those who had nowhere else to go because kindness and peace also gave them pain and torment.

Tuatha was in deep meditation, listening to Cathabad. He saw Sennol Uathach and then a vision of deep inside Ruad’s mind. Ruad’s desire was to be a lord of Sennol Uathach. Ruad’s soul had already felt the early pains of hatred and jealousy. Ruad had reached out and gone to his old master, Amerghin, who now resided in Sennol Uathach. Tuatha cried out and awoke from his meditation. He did not tell his master what he had seen.

***

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Ruad still had some light in his soul. It was not his own light, but was shone by the dark-haired beauty, Morann, sister of Caer Omaith. Morann loved Ruad and was seemingly blind to his ruthlessness. Unaffected by his dark ways and growing dislike of all that is good, she knew what he had been, that he could be kind and good, and was constantly trying to change him with her love.

But there is a power stronger than love if one lets it into their heart. One of envy and greed. Ruad envied Tuatha and the rumour that he would marry Caer Omaith of Miurthemne. Ruad eventually neglected Morann and instead desired Caer Omaith, Morann’s cousin, because of the path she offered to the throne of Miurthemne.

The time of peace was beginning to end. Ruad was seduced by a desire for power and Amerghin had come to see him, sensing his craving and his anger.

***

In Muirthemne, the fair city of Enna Aignech, lived Caer Omaith. Tall, fair, beautiful sword maiden and daughter of King Magach. As a princess of Muirthemne, it was said that she was destined to be the bride of a king.

She was born to King Magach and Queen Niamh, her brothers and sister came soon after.

They loved her, but not each other, because when the Queen died, Magach resigned in his grief. The brothers had the kingdom to fight over. Fernmaige, Uthecar and Dubthach. All tall and fair-haired. Often Caer Omaith felt desolate and lonely because she was so different to her brothers and her sister Morann was younger than her and so very different. She did not understand her.

She had a stepsister also, adopted by The King and Queen, after her father, one of the Lords of Athlethan and her mother, a decorated warrior died in battle. Her name was Devorgill, with dark complexion and hair. Devorgill was a more reserved beauty than her stepsister and often overlooked by people, which she liked, being shy in nature. She did not want the limelight and was quite happy for Caer Omaith to have it. They loved each other deeply and often Caer Omaith would go to Devorgill for the calming influence she had over her racing and troubled mind.

Devorgill had one close friend who understood her, it was Morann, her stepsister. Morann and Ruad had been childhood sweethearts and since Ruad had left, she felt an empty hole in her heart. Morann was part of the kings guard. She was tall and formidable as a warrior. Rather than be attracted to these traits, boys her age admired and feared her. Even Ruad feared her fierceness at times, but he knew her and loved her, until desire for power overwhelmed his love and he disappeared from her life.

Devorgill’s peaceful spirit had been constantly battered by the bitter feuds between her stepbrothers, and her stepsister’s anguish. The brothers had split the kingdom of Muirthemne into three parts, much to her sorrow, whose borders were places of bloodshed and war. Devorgill felt helpless to stop them from fighting and could only run away and cry, unable to reason with them.

Yet, the brothers listened to their sister, Caer Omaith.

It was Caer Omaith who eventually taught their brothers of love and kindness, and to trust in each other. When Caer Omaith and Devorgill were with them, it was as if the kindness transferred to the brothers until eventually, the country was no longer at civil war with itself, so great was their love for her. Caer Omaith was the glue in this family that bought peace.

Unlike Devorgill, Caer Omaith was the regular subject of suitor’s attentions from the far reaches of the deep lands, and even the occasional Lord from the Outer World. Despite the attentions of many warriors and men worthy of her, she had dreamed of only one. Vivid dreams invoked unknowingly by the Riangbra, showed her a faceless man that was a prince. She knew of Tuatha, that he was a prince of Athlethan, but did not yet know him. She wanted to meet him, and she had told this only to her close friend Fiall. Only Riangbra knew her destiny. It was the dream of many princesses, but soon her mind would be taken away from these thoughts because of the events that would soon come to pass.

Fiall, daughter of King Ferbaide Furbend of Muinremar and Queen Celthair, had been Caer Omaith’s friend for all her life. As a child she was sent to her father’s friend King Magach for her education as a princess with Caer Omaith and Devorgill. Fiall was beautiful in nature and had her mother’s looks. Despite this she was reserved and self-effacing. Fearing that she would not be able to be to her people what her parents were. They were strong and resilient in the face of adversity, she was not.

Fiall left Caer Omaith for the evening and the darkness and heaviness of another night filled her thoughts. Hope rose and fell in her heart, as her mind went from homesickness for her parents, to her friend, and then to the weight of her own destiny. Her own mother was a force of magnificence. Queen Celthair’s control and bearing were unmatched by all queens in the deep lands. Fiall felt overwhelmed and incapable of being even remotely like her, she felt insignificant.

Fearsome and unnatural cries in the night had put the guards on high alert, strange cries on the air and fell sounds that made people shudder with fear.

Caer Omaith was unwell and feverish, she called out in her unsettled sleep, attracting the attention of a passing servant. Fiall was summoned back and found Devorgill was already there, weeping and fussing over her sister.

“What is wrong my love?” cried Fiall.

“Check the windows,” Caer Omaith said weakly, “evil has been here, it feels as if I have been poisoned. Call Edras the healer for me.”

Caer Omaith was fast growing pale and weak. Till she replied no more to Fiall’s questions.

Edras awoke with a rough hand shaking him. He had already woken earlier in the night to the strange sounds. He had shivered at the sounds; he had heard them once, long ago, while travelling the wastes of the outer world. Made by creatures that existed where the air was stagnant, and the men were evil.

“Caer Omaith is sick and in the last words she uttered she called for you!”

Edras left hurriedly. Caer Omaith’s health and safety had been entrusted to him at her birth. His love for her parents caused his love for her to exceed all other personal needs.

***

Back in Athlethan, Ruad had taken Amerghin’s invitation and left, travelling to Sennol, a week’s journey on horseback. Through the great stone gates and to the uppermost cave where the ancient Dark Lord Mac Roth sat. Amerghin accompanied him.

Ruad was terrified, he had grown up with stories about the Dark Lords, designed to scare children. But his desire for power overcame his terror and he took a deep breath and confidently stepped through an entrance. His confidence was short lived, the malice and grimness of the room seemed to suck all that was good from even the most stalwart soul.

Mac Roth did not lift his head to look at Ruad.

“Welcome Ruad, Amerghin speaks highly of you. Tell me of your family.” His voice was deep and resonant, almost pleasant to the ear.

Ruad was speechless with terror for a moment, and he glanced at Amerghin as if looking for support. Amerghin gestured for him to answer, a look of annoyance on his face.

“I am the son of Lord Usnach of Athlethan. My Father is a friend of King Aillel.”

“Usurper,” said Amerghin with disdain.

With this Ruad agreed and he felt some confidence returning. With it he sensed power and authority, and he liked the feeling it gave him.

Ruad raised his eyes momentarily wanting to see what this mysterious figure looked like under the dark hood he wore, “What is the purpose of me being here?” he asked.

“What is Sennol Uathach to you, Ruad?” inquired Mac Roth.

“In my childhood stories, I have been told it is evil, a curse on man, that all those who enter it cannot return and those with Sennol Uathach in their hearts cannot know Riangbra.”

Mac Roth suddenly clutched his head with both hands.

“Say not that word; say it not,” he hissed, his voice ending in a croak. There was silence for a minute. Amerghin caught Ruad’s eye and shook his head fiercely at Ruad.

It was a few moments before Mac Roth began to speak again.

“All you have been told is a lie. Sennol Uathach is a place where men’s minds can be free, free to express their power. That power I will show to you. But we must first cleanse your mind of the ways of those who you have been with. It requires pain and enlightening your eyes to the true way. What has the fool Cathabad told you? Has he told you that you are weak?”

Ruad nodded.

“Believe it not. That way is the weak way, Tuatha’s useless cavorting with blindfolds and Scatach blades hold no part to the way I will show you. You will gain skill with the sword that goes beyond their ability.”

He continued, “Your destiny has been predicted in the secret writings of the first Lord of Sennol Uathach, Sencha. Have you heard of her?”

Ruad nodded, recalling what he had been told from the Chronicle Prophetica.

“Another will rise,” continued Mac Roth. “I have prepared your way; it will be easy. I have discovered the dreams of one princess, Caer Omaith, destined to be queen, but she does not yet know it. I see your eyes look up and a change to come over your features at the name Tuatha. Feed on that hate you have for this man. He will be your enemy; it is him you will destroy in the end. Then nothing will stop Sennol Uathach. This princess will be yours; she holds the future of this world. I have placed her under my control. A concoction of my own have I forced her to drink unknowingly. She will not find Tuatha, but she is yours to find with this.”

He held up to the light a vial with a liquid inside, it changed colour slightly as it swirled around, from red to purple.

“This holds our victory. Give Princess Caer Omaith this remedy and she will believe that you are hers.”

Ruad grinned greedily.

“Don’t be hasty Ruad. Your time will come.”

Ruad stepped towards Mac Roth holding out his hand.

Swiftly and suddenly, Ruad collapsed. His mind had become a searing pain. Voices echoed in his head.

Mac Roth spoke, “Never, never treat me with contempt, do not approach or look upon me, or your death will be swift.”

Finally, when he lifted his head, the cloaked, faceless figure was gone. Only Amerghin was there.

Ruad knelt, shaking, but smiled when he opened his hand.

The vial was there, although he could not remember taking from the dark lord.

***

Back in Enna Aignech, Edras stared down at Caer Omaith’s prone form. Her eyes were staring, she was breathing shallowly, and her skin was cool.

“What were her words, Fiall?”

“She told me that evil has been here, that she thought she was poisoned, and then asked me to call you!”

Edras knelt beside the bed, his head sunk on his chest and tears welled in his eyes.

Edras, one of the last of the twelve Lords, knew the time had come. The world was changing, and Evil would now have its way, until the one Riangbra chooses, comes. The Triune had been used, something Mac Roth had used before when Edras was young, and it had claimed its first victim. Caer Omaith would be sick and then eventually die unless she received a remedy. There was no known cure for this poison. He had tried many times to find one. The closest he got was a tonic that masked its effects.

“She will get better for a time,” he said, “but its effects will come and go. Give her this tonic, it will hide the symptoms for short periods.”

Silence, deathly silence. No one dared ask him what this meant. But Edras knew the long period of peace was ending. Sennol was becoming active again. Mac Roth was planning something.