The journey of two hundred leagues took three days. The horses were amazing animals, capable of running all day. However, they never did. The people of Esclarmonde respected horses and treated them well, so they mainly walked unless the horses desired to trot or gallop. Tuatha himself valued horses and he was growing to love this one. Their names were embroidered on their saddles; they were Cethern, Fintan, Factna and Sencad.
Tuatha rode Sencad and he rubbed the magnificent beast’s muscular neck. Sencad snorted with pleasure and shook his head.
“These horses are beautiful, an amazing gift. You must be important for her to loan you these,” said Ainnle.
“I’m not important, I am weak, and I failed to stand before the Dark Lord.” replied Tuatha dolefully.
“Come again?” exclaimed Ainnle. “Findabair, no one stands before the Dark Lord. It is amazing you survived it. For that we hold you in awe, my friend.”
“Please do not,” said Tuatha. “It does not feel right.”
The brothers shook their heads at his self-doubt and patted him on the back encouragingly.
“You are the chosen one, you have me at your side. No Dark Lord can stand up to two men - one with looks, the other with wit!” Ardan said.
Tuatha laughed. “Which do you think you are? I am trying to work it out and another description springs to mind.”
“What?” asked Ardan.
“I can’t think of it, but let’s just say the Dark Lord will probably die laughing.”
Ardan sat back on his horse feigning hurt. His two brothers were rolling in their saddles with laughter.
“Why did the queen look so grim?” asked Naoise.
“She foresees the future, it is ominous. The world as we know it is going to change. It will no longer be the paradise it is today!” said Tuatha. “She feels responsible, on behalf of her Amerghin.”
They rode on in silence, each with their own thoughts.
As they rode over a rise, Port Usnach came into view.
They left the horses grazing in a forest clearing, walking on foot toward the city. “What are here for? What is it you seek?” asked Ainnle.
“In the vision I saw a blacksmith shop in the city. There is something there I now I must find, I’m going there because I saw it.”
“That’s the logical thing to do” said Ardan. “It is time to become anonymous.” The four of them put on cloaks, with deep hoods darkening their faces.
Two figures appeared on the road ahead of them. As they drew closer, they saw it was two men and they made to pass by, turning their faces to the side. But the men stopped and held their staffs wide, preventing the party from going any further.
Tuatha placed his hand on Salchah and pulled it out slightly, revealing the glinting metal.
“Why do you prevent us sirs?” said Tuatha loudly.
The two men stood their ground. Their eyes were now on the sword, as though transfixed by the glinting Scatach metal.
Suddenly they were bowing, on one knee, in the manner of the people of Esclarmonde.
Ainnle leaned over Tuatha’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, “It is Buadach and Cuchulain, they are wizards, able to access elemental power. Not to be trusted. They are the ones who seized power in the city and summoned those soldiers.”
One of the men spoke. “On the contrary, Ainnle. We are here to help you on this part of your search” said the bearded one.
“How can I be sure?” asked Tuatha.
“We can say but one name to reassure you, and the name is Geirgind. He contacted us to tell us of your coming. It seems you have friends in high places, and rumours speak of the destiny of this world being linked inexplicably to you.”
Tuatha started, feeling surprised.
Ardan was watching Tuatha and saw that he was surprised. He stepped forward drawing his sword. Tuatha gripped the hilt of Salchah.
“I have no idea what you mean, sir. My name is Findabair, State your business!”
“I am Cuchulain and this is my brother Buadach. We are keepers of the Chronicle Prophetica, purveyors of secrets, all knowing. We were there when your great, great grandfather received the prophecy.”
Tuatha listened and replied, “My friend here says not to trust you, that you speak in riddles. Do we take it as to mean you are trying to deceive me?”
“Oh, and he would. It is no secret that we have never been friends of the people of Esclarmonde, for they are superstitious.” Cuchulain turned to Ardan, “they do not believe in the things of Sennol and the power of the elements.”
“Neither do I,” replied Tuatha. “From a young age we have been taught it is the way of evil, the Dark Lord himself uses it, and rarely is it used in ways of good. I believe in the Chronicle, and I was warned of your kind, deceiving the weak minded. You are the Dark Lord’s messenger and so you are my adversary. Ardan you were right, they are not to be trusted.”
Tuatha drew his sword. The Scatach steel rang and shone brightly in the afternoon sun. Three more swords appeared, and the two men stepped back, faced with steel blades which pointed at them menacingly.
“Do not fear their deceit,” shouted Ardan. “They will try to use their power to deceive you.”
Suddenly there were two old men before them, frail and weak. Their swords fell. Who were these old men? What were they there for? Tuatha asked himself. Tiredness washed over him and Tuatha felt a weight in his hand. He looked down and saw the sword lay in his hand. In the reflection he could see Ardan, Ainnle and Naoise. They looked bewildered. Memories of fighting Ruad flashed though his head. Tuatha could sense Ruad’s sweat and heat, he could picture the boy’s figure, and he was blindfolded.
“Turn around Tuatha,” a voice said in his mind. “Trust these men. They have power beyond what is already promised to you. Go with them to Sennol, your reward will be great.”
Tuatha felt a sense of relief rise from off his shoulders. If he did this, there would not be cycles of struggle ahead. He could take Laegaire and live in Sennol as a lord.
He felt not weakness now, but power and strength. He was invincible.
But there was pain. His hand began to sting and then burn. He looked down at the hilt of Salchah and smoke was rising from between his fingers. He cried out and the vision and feelings died. Tuatha gathered his thoughts, and things became clear once more. He saw the two robed figures clearly again and leaped forward, Salchah swinging. It struck the staff of Cuchulain as he defended himself from the surprise attack. The sword would have cut through a staff made of wood, but this was no ordinary staff. There was a dark flash and Salchah ricocheted and flashed with a bright light followed by the crackle of electricity. When Tuatha attacked again,
the sword felt sure in his hand. It was the first time he had not used a blindfold. It felt strange, but it gave him a feeling of confidence. He stepped forward.
There was another flash of light, and he had them retreating under his sword point.
“Release them, now!” Tuatha shouted. “Move and you die!”
His three friends got up off their knees, where moments before they had been under the spell of the powerful Sub-Lords of Sennol.
“The Dark Lord’s arm is long; he knows more than I,” thought Tuatha sadly.
Ainnle, Ardan and Naoise rose and grabbed Buadach and Cuchulain’s staves.
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“What you think is true,” growled Cuchulain. “The Dark Lord will stop you. He knows where you go before you get there. Just like I know your thoughts.”
“Silence,” growled Tuatha. “I have a good mind to send your head to the Dark Lord myself. I’m sure when you go crawling back to him, he will do it anyway. Now leave and do not come back to this city.”
The two men cursed and slowly walked away to the south. No doubt to report to Amerghin what they had seen.
“Why did you not kill them?” asked Ardan, watching them disappear down the road. “They are more powerful than you know,” said Tuatha. “If they wanted to, we would all be dead. I think they have been told to leave me alone. The Dark Lord wants to try and turn me to him.”
Tuatha would never see these two men again, but they were linked to his family’s destiny in the far future.
They threw the staves into the bushes nearby and made their way quickly to the safety of Port Usnach, city of Esclarmonde.
They soon arrived in the city. It was quiet and dark; few people were walking on the street. Occasionally a figure would scurry quickly around the corner or hurry past keeping to the shadows.
“Something is not right” said Naoise, “I feel a general presence of fear.”
Tuatha stopped a man who tried vainly to pull free.
“Leave me be” he whispered, “don’t you know of the curfew?”
“What curfew? Who authorised it?”
“The two Lords of Sennol. You are new around here, aren’t you?”
“We are and we have it on good authority that these men are no longer in power. For a while, at least.”
The man relaxed, then stiffened. “You are deceiving me, stand aside.”
“On the contrary, my friend,” replied Tuatha. Go and tell the city they are free from the rule of the Dark Lord’s minions.”
The man stared at Tuatha incredulously. The man smiled and laughed unbelievingly.
Ardan stepped forward pushing back his hood.
“I am Ardan of Esclarmonde, heir of the throne. What this man tells you is true.”
The man looked at him for a few moments, his face paled, and he fell down to his knees.
“Thank you, my Lords. How can I help you?”
“You can help us find a certain blacksmith shop that specialises in horseshoeing.”
“There is only one now in town. The other one was under the Usnach Bridge, but it is no longer in business. It has been closed for many cycles, since the old farrier died.”
Tuatha thanked the man, and he left to spread the good news. Ardan instructed him to take a hastily written message to the council, to rally the army, to prevent Buadach and Cuchulain from coming back.
Tuatha could not help but feel that letting the two sub-lords go would unleash more problems in the future.
To Tuatha it was now obvious, they would find this bridge and the old shop.
As they moved through the city it slowly came alive, lights came on and people appeared on the streets as the darkness fell.
“Ah, this is more how it was. If we had stayed, we would have never let this happen.” said Ainnle.
“Do not fool yourselves,” replied Tuatha. “Only those trained in the ways of Riangbra are not easily deceived by the Dark Lord’s power.”
“You mentioned that this power can be used in good ways,” asked Ardan. “We know it corrupts, so what makes Geirgind different?”
“The same reason. Geirgind was trained in Riangbra, and he has great control. Control the Dark Lord fears and covets. He is one of the Elders of Riangbra, who some call the old ones. There is Edras of Muinremar, Rhiannon of Athlethan and Geirgind of Esclarmonde. There were five, but I don’t know who the other two are.”
“Then why doesn’t Geirgind destroy the Dark Lord?”
Tuatha grimaced. “You never destroy the Dark Lord. Geirgind was in the last great battle, when Sennol was locked up deep under Mt. Triune and peace was in the Deep Lands for a time, but it has only seemed to make him stronger. It suggests Geirgind just drove the Dark Lord deeper into Sennol Uathach, giving him time to accrue more power on top of what he already had. There is actually a way to destroy him but it is impossible to do.”
“How?” asked Ardan, frustratedly?
“We will be of the few who might see it, my friends,” said Tuatha cryptically. “Now follow me.”
After asking the way they finally came to the bridge. It was dark and foreboding. A huge structure of stone built by the men of the past with their ancient friends the giants. Under it, on each side of the river, were buildings. They crossed the bridge and went down to the river edge. Tuatha saw the blacksmith’s first. “There it is, follow me.”
The shop was nestled between other shops. It looked neglected and the shutters were broken. The door was ajar, a cobweb blew outwards in a concave shape from a draft coming through from inside, the air was freezing cold.
“There’s no one here,” said Ardan. “It’s been empty for many cycles by the look of it.”
Tuatha pushed aside the door. It groaned and scraped along the wooden floorboards. Something fell inwards, no doubt left propped against the door.
The room was dark except for small pools of moon-light coming through holes in the shingles above.
“This is most unusual,” said Tuatha, lifting a large piece of cloth. “This is a flag of Athlethan.”
It had been burned, cut and torn. It looked incredibly old and fell to pieces in his hand.
“Why, it’s a coffin,” said Tuatha. It lay under the flag he was holding. Gently Ardan laid the rags carefully to the side. On the side were three clasps holding down the lid.
Tuatha released one of them.
“Should you be doing this?” asked Ainnle.
“I can’t seem to stop,” replied Tuatha.
There was a flash of light and Tuatha, Ardan, Naoise and Ainnle stood in the ruins of a huge hall. The sun was at its zenith in the sky above and it shone down on the coffin, blinding them momentarily. Through the windows he could see bright snow-capped mountains and green forests.
A voice behind them said, “Do you have the right to open it?”
Tuatha turned, pulling the sword from under his cloak in one swift movement, as taught him by his Riangbra master.
There was no longer anyone behind him, but the voice had come from there. He turned again to look at the coffin. An old man was leaning over the coffin, brushing dust off its surface. The man was incredibly old; his beard was to the floor, his skin grey and wrinkled.
The man looked up at Tuatha and smiled. “Well?” he asked again. “Who are you? Only one with the correct name can open this, one who is chosen. Do you have the right?
“I have never felt good enough to pursue my destiny,” Tuatha said, “But, I was told to come here, by Riangbra.”
Tuatha did not feel nervous or worried, he felt completely at ease with this man.
But the others with Tuatha, were anxious and clutched the hilt of their swords.
“What is this sorcery?” cried Ardan, his face grey with fear, having recovered from the shock of the sudden transportation to this place. “This is dark power. We have been captured by the Dark Lord himself!”
“Quite the opposite of that,” chuckled the old man. “This is the power that comes from light, it protects what lies in that coffin. I am here to protect it till the time comes when it can be released, and it looks like that time has finally come,” he said, looking at Tuatha’s sword knowingly and with some excitement flashing in his old eyes. “Behold the first Scatach sword.”
The three brothers were confused. After the old man had told them of the sword, they could no longer hear the conversation that was happening in front of them, yet they could hear themselves speak.
Without having any control over it, Tuatha took the sword from the old worn scabbard and then felt the sword lift to a horizontal position, as if it had an invisible hand grasping it with his. The old man’s eyes shone as he looked at the sword.
“Oh, what glorious relief to see my old sword again. I can only rest once I know who it now owns?” He looked at Tuatha in the eye.
“There were two of the enemy here earlier, Cuchulain and Buadach. They tried everything to find me, but that is granted only to the one who carries the First Scatach sword.”
Tuatha bowed to him, finally feeling like it was time to tell this man who he was. He looked at the three brothers.
“Do not worry, they cannot hear us,” said the man.
“I am Tuatha de Danaan Findabair son of Findabair,” he said.
The old man smiled and nodded, his eyes glinting knowingly. “What is the purpose of this sword, Tuatha?”
“It was named by Queen Dagemar,” he held it aloft, “Salchah, the bane of Sennol Uathach. That is all I know,” replied Tuatha.
“Ah,” said the old man. “That it is, indeed, that it is. I will know you are indeed worthy, if you can tell me what is written on the base of the blade.”
“No man can read it,” said Tuatha. “It is disallowed by the Riangbra.”
The old man smiled and turned, walking slowly around them. “You will know when to read it. Its purpose is linked to you. This sword’s purpose is to bring peace to Athlethan and all nations of the Deep Lands. It gives you authority and respect amongst the nations. When you ask for help, because of this sword you will get the help you need. More of your purpose will be revealed as you travel. You will find out more when you meet my friend Dray.”
“Who is Dray?” inquired Tuatha. But the ancient man just tapped his nose and smiled.
“Where are we?” asked Tuatha, motioning around them.
“Riangbra has bought you to the life realm,” said the old man. “Here we are kept alive by Riangbra. The ancient ones called it Heaven. A power that also exists in the sword and scabbard, in the realm of men, that grants the bearer long life. One day this realm will merge with the other and it will bring about the White eternity. All will know Riangbra. But much must happen before this Tuatha, and I will see you again. Farewell my son.”
The hall faded away and they were left standing in the old hut again. The old man was still with them, but looking a lot older and frailer. The brothers could hear them again.
The coffin, which still lay before them, was opened by the old man. In its centre lay an object, shining in its own brilliance.
The old man leaned over, picked up a scabbard and placed it before the sword Tuatha still held outstretched. Gently and with a ringing almost unbearable, yet beautiful in its note, the First Scatach sword of Emain went into its place, into the legendary scabbard of Athlethan. The air around them pulsated and the earth shook. Far off in Sennol, the mountain rumbled.
Then the old man took the sword, one hand on the hilt and the other on the handle and placed it against Tuatha’s side so Tuatha could strap it in place. The Scabbard began to glow, there was a hum in the air around it. Tuatha pulled the blade from the scabbard slightly. The steel was glowing brightly. The old man looked un-affected. He simply looked at Tuatha and said, “It knows it is home!”
Once done the old man climbed into the coffin, smiled, and said to Tuatha, “Go my son, to Dun-Emain. Find your destiny, it is inextricably linked with this world.” He lay down as if to go to sleep, smiling and closing his eyes. He became still, exhaled his final breath and peacefully passed.
Tuatha looked at the dead old man in wonder, unable to take in all the man had told him. Then it all became clear, and he suddenly realised, it had been hidden from him as the wonder of what he was seeing had prevented him being able to think. This old man had to be his great- great grandfather. Tears sprung in his eyes as he slowly realised the privilege he had to meet this historical figure. Kept alive in the realm of life for so long, for this moment of prophecy to be fulfilled. The coming of the chosen one who would begin the coming of the time of peace. Tuatha took a big breath as the enormity of the situation washed over him. But he focussed his mind and tried to move on.
His friends saw his reverie and stood with him quietly, not understanding the enormity of the moment.
Then Tuatha told them. “My friends, you have just witnessed the passing of the First King of the Deep Lands, King Emain, for whom this sword was forged.”
As he finished the words, the shop faded away and they were standing under a bridge. The coffin was gone, the flag was gone, and all that remained was the sword now hidden by the scabbard of Athlethan. The secret place they had been became the grave of his ancestor. In the middle of Esclarmonde. Port Usnach, second city of Emain the First.
The brothers stood and stared at Tuatha.
“Who are you really?” asked Naoise. “I am nobody,” said Tuatha. “Let’s go!”
They continued to stare at him as he walked off. They suspected something, but they had no idea.