Finn Mac Cool (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) by Morgan Llywelyn

Author:Morgan Llywelyn [Llywelyn, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

17

“IS HE STILL IN THERE?” DONN ASKED.

“Still in there,” Conan muttered. “And ourselves out here waiting for orders.”

“Does he ever come out?”

“He opened the door yesterday and peered out long enough to ask for more food and drink and to glance at the sky, but before I could say anything to him, he closed the door in my face.”

“Did you pound on it?”

Conan stared at Donn. “Are you mad?” The hairless man settled himself more comfortably on the fasting bench outside Finn’s door. There was no point in standing at attention. Finn was paying no attention to him.

Donn gave the closed door a long look, then walked away.

Before long, Red Ridge took his place. “It’s battle season,” he in formed Conan unnecessarily. “I thought we’d be fighting someplace, or at least hunting.”

Conan picked his teeth with a sliver of fishbone. “You can go hunt if you want to. Or fight, come to that, if you can find someone to fight. But don’t count on him in there.” He indicated the dwelling at his back with a jerk of his thumb.

“What if the king sends for him?”

“Has he done?” Conan asked irritably, suddenly faced with the propspect of action instead of sprawling in the sun.

“Not that I know of, but he might. We’re his army, after all, and peace is a sometime thing.”

“If and when the king sends for him,” Conan drawled, “you can be the one to tell him. I prefer to keep the head down.”

Finn was aware of them outside his door. He was aware of the Fíanna as he was aware of sky above and earth below, but he did not think of them. He thought only of Sive.

Once, with a start, he realized he had not thought of his mother in a very long time. He was relieved.

When they were not sharing each other’s bodies, he shared his thoughts with Sive. At first, thinking to entertain and impress her, he told her the stories he told his Fíanna, the stories of battles fought and triumphs won and relationships that set him apart from other men.

Sive listened. She had the quality of listening, as if her ears could swivel to detect and concentrate upon the slightest sound.

Finn told her of his battle against the Cat-headed men and the Dog-headed men and the White-backed men. He described the taking of Lomna’s head, and the rescue of Manannán’s daughter. He spun stories from the firelight and wove them around her head like a wreath, and she listened and smiled and murmured appreciatively in all the right places.

He was telling her, with great detail and impeccable timing, the story of Meargach of the Green Spears when he began to hear his words as she was hearing them. With a critical ear, he noted implausibility piled upon impossibility, and events stretched out of all shape in order to make room for more colour.

The spate of words slowed. Sive continued to watch his face, her luminous eyes fixed on his.

If she is inside my head, he thought—and she is—then she can see what is real and what is not.

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