The Courier & Advertiser (Fife Edition)
Rian turned and was looking at Manigan as if he had struck her. “What did you call him? The funny one?”
Manigan continued: “Now these people held many secrets. They might have been wild but they were clever too and they found treasure in the mountains. “They protected the little people who mined gems and who sifted gold out of the water flowing in streams, and the little people paid them for that protection.
“So the bear people were wealthy as well as powerful.
“They kept hoards of riches in caves watched over by dragons. No one had ever been rich like that before.
“For many generations, as well as gold and silver, the cleverest of the bear people worked with copper and tin, and fostered their children with dwarves in the mountains to learn their skills in weapon-making and bronze-working.
“These smiths were a mighty tribe within the clan and the kings always made sure to be fair to them, granting them the land they needed to mine their minerals and providing woods sufficient to fire their forges.
“They encouraged the charcoal burners to work with them and they always rewarded them for their crafty skills with feast and gifts of cattle.
“So the smiths were content with the bear kings and accepted them as patrons and protectors.
Alliance
“It was a grand alliance of hunters, herders, fishers, foresters, miners and smiths that the bear kings ruled over, and there was peace in the land. Everyone shared in the plenty.
“Now, the greatest of the kings was Ban, and that sounds like it must be a good thing, to be the greatest.
“But the thing about greatness is that it has a tendency to try to increase itself. It’s in its nature.
“The great want to be greater. Every tree wants to grow, but one day a storm comes to every great tree and blows it down.
“That’s what happened to Ban,” said Manigan. “Put another stick on the fire.”
Rian did so and put over it the two ends of one of the bigger sticks that had burned through in the middle, so once again a triad of wood was burning.
She sat back and he passed her the wine. She took a swig and passed it back.
“You tend the fire just like my Aunt Fraoch used to do. Three sticks at a time.”
“That’s the only way I know. That’s how the fire spirit likes it.”
“What happens if you give it four? Or two?” “Two leaves it hungry and grumpy and four makes it work too hard and get upset.”
“Is that so?”
The rain was getting heavier, spitting in the fire, and the sea outside the geo was roaring, but in their sheltered spot only a breeze tugged at the smoke and swirled it about, sometimes in their faces, sometimes away.
Badger stirred in his sleep.
Rian asked: “Did what happened to Ban have something to do with the stone?”
Manigan chuckled. “Sorry. My stories take a while sometimes. I’ll get to the stone eventually.
“Where were we? Oh aye, Ban and the troubles. Do you not know all about this?”
“No. I’ve never heard of Ban.”
“I’m surprised. I thought all the old women told that legend. I’d expect your granny, what was her name?”
“Danuta.”
“Aye, I’d have thought she’d tell it.”
“Is it just a story then? I thought you were telling something about your great-grandfather, the Merlin, not just an old legend.”
Annoying
“What do you mean, just an old legend?” He elbowed her in the side in mock outrage.
“Anyway, this happens to be what my old granddad Mutterer called a true legend. If you still want to hear it, of course.”
He pouted.
“I’m sorry. Put me out of my misery. What happened to Ban?”
“Is it annoying you that it goes on so long?” “No. I like it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s like being with the women at a ceremony. I love long stories.”
“Oh, I remember the women’s ceremonies. When I was a boy I sat by the fire with the Keepers.
“I loved it. Then they said I had to stop being there and go with the druids, but they never told such good tales, I didn’t think.”
“The druids are supposed to be full of good stories.” “Aye, well. Some of them, maybe.
“Aye, right enough. There was the old Merlin, they called him Riabach, he could yarn all night long, and there’s Uill Tabar, only one arm and hairy as a horse, but he tells a tale well, and he makes me laugh, he makes us all laugh, and he rhymes.
“It’s the rhymes that are the funniest, to be honest. Are you all right?”
Rian turned and was looking at him as if he had struck her.
“What did you call him? The funny one?”
“Uill Tabar. Why?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. You look like I’ve offended you.” “No. No, you haven’t.”
“You’re sure?”
She struggled inside herself, wanting to tell him. She felt instinctively she could trust him with her life, that there would never be anyone whom she could trust more deeply, but this was the one big secret she possessed.
The name Danuta had told her was like a secret talisman, an unspoken mantra.
If she said it, would she unwittingly destroy its magic? But if she never shared it with anyone, how could she use its power?
And Manigan knew the man whose name it was. Until now Uill Tabar had been a fiction, no more than a label.
It could have been no more than the name of a character in a made-up story, but Manigan knew him as a man, hairy and one-armed and funny.
He was vivid to her and she knew suddenly it might be possible to meet him, to talk to him, to listen to him, to find out her own story, to discover who she really was, where she had come from.
It seemed a possible end to the horror of slavery and the fear of endless running away.
“Are you all right?” He nudged her arm.
“I want to meet him.”
“Who, Uill Tabar? Why?”
She turned and stared at him. “He knows who I am.”
He returned her wide-eyed gaze. “Fancy you knowing him.”
“I don’t. He’s just a name. I wasn’t really sure if he was real, to be honest.”
“Oh, he’s very real.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“You can trust me.” He patted her thigh. “Thank you for sharing your secret.”
More tomorrow.