Fionn Mac Cumhill and the Witches of Kesh Corran Caves

“See sisters,” one of them said. “The mighty chieftain of the Fianna comes to call upon us.”

“You know who we are?” enquired Fionn.

“All of the people of Sidhe, know of you.” Larnach said, in the softest of tones.

CONAN’S BOOMING voice cut in, “What does your song mean? It speaks of our end.”

The three sisters giggled in response.

“It is no laughing matter,” roared Conan. “I shall have your heads for your impertinence,” he thundered.

“We meant no harm Conan Maol,” Larnach said.

“You know my name?” Conan asked.

“Of course we do,” she replied. “A warrior of your status is well known for his deeds of valour on the field of battle. We are honoured that you chose to join us, mighty warrior.”

Conan, prone to flattery, moved closer. Suddenly, a strange force lifted them both into the cave, where they came to rest, beside the sisters. As their feet touched the soil, the urge to flee, swept over them, as out of the shadows stepped Conaran, King of the Sidhe.

“At last the mighty Fionn Mac Cumhaill and the arrogant Conan Maol are in my power,” he said.

Both men reached for their swords, but their bodies collapsed to the ground. Iarran raised her wand and the men looked upon the true faces of the sisters. Hideously, deformed hags rose up before them. The witches, taller than the warriors, had limbs twice the length of their own.

Their hair burnt like flame and from their mouths protruded fangs, longer than those of the hunting hounds of the Fianna. The witches screamed with delight, as they tied and bound the hapless men, flinging them into a corner of the cave.

“There you shall remain,” spoke Conaran. “My daughter and I leave, to fetch the powerful axe that shall end your lives.”

“I warn you, Conaran. You shall face the wrath of my men,” Fionn said.

“You are in no position to warn me, Fionn Mac Cumhaill. You shall die last, after witnessing the slaughter of your men at the hands of my daughters,” Conaran boasted.

Conan Maol wasted no time berating Fionn, questioning how he ever came to lead the Fianna. His angry insults amused the witches.

“Do not give them any more to rejoice over,” Fionn said. “If this is where we die, then we die with dignity, befitting warriors of the Fianna.”

“Noble words indeed Fionn,” cackled Caevog. “And speaking of the Fianna, look who cometh in our direction, sisters.” Following the yelping hounds, Fionn’s men were making their way up the hill towards the cave.

“Conan, we must shout to warn them,” said Fionn.

“My voice is but a whisper,” Conan replied. “I am powerless.”

THE WITCHES wasted no time. “Place them at the entrance to the cave,” instructed Caevog. “When the Fianna arrive, they shall see three beautiful sisters, entertaining their chieftain and his boastful fool.”

Fionn and Conan watched helpless, as the hunting party drew closer. Only the dogs remained a distance away, howling a warning. The Fianna ignored the strange behaviour of their hounds and seeing no danger, drew closer. As they came within the binding spell they too were pulled into the cave where they collapsed, powerless, to the ground.

“A worthy catch, sisters,” crowed Caevog. But we must be sure we have them all.”

Stepping from the cave, the witches observed a lone warrior. Goll Mac Morna, finding no trace of the hunting party, moved cautiously up the hill. Observing Fionn and his brother Conan sitting strangely, drew his sword. Emerging from hiding, the witches bore down on him.

“Be uplifted,” said Fionn. “Without their binding spell, Goll shall win this battle.” The Fianna, watching lifeless, could only but hope that

Goll, the most unconquerable of the Fianna chiefs, would win the day..

÷ Part 2 Next Week.

“As the warriors approached the entrance to the cave, the beauty of the women was beguiling. Features, sculptured to perfection could only belong to the people of the goddess. Hair, golden yellow, flowed to their waists, like soft clouds.”