Hall of the Huntsman
'When last we saw Beannaithe she were dancin' in a Fairy Ring,' I reminded me grandkids.
'What happened next?' Darowva excitedly asked.
'Did she die?' wondered Daibhidh.
'She should've set out some báirín breac for the fairies,' suggested Dooli.
'Or mince pie!' added Diolun.
'May I continue me story?' I asked the lot.
'Aye, sorry, Granda,' said Dooli.
'Sorry,' said the others.
'One moment Beannaithe were dancin' in the Fairy Ring,' I said, 'and the next she found herself standing in a circle of tall standin' stones amidst a forest of dead and dyin' beech trees.'
As I looked at their shinin' faces I could see questions arisin' in their minds, but they had the good sense to hold their questions.
'Havin' no idea where she were, Beannaithe thought she'd better find a high place where she could survey the landscape. To the west of where Beannaithe stood the land climbed steadily upward. She decided to walk in that direction to find a better vantage point. She walked slowly yet steadily toward the top of the steep hill. There she found yet another stone circle.
Knackered from her hike, Beannaithe sat upon the stone table that lie within the stone circle. When she had sat she immediately heard a strange hum behind her. When she turned to see its source she discovered an open portal through a dolmen. She stood then walked through the portal.
On the other side of the portal Beannaithe found herself in a grassy hall bound by tall stone walls on three sides. Amidst the hall were two ponds amidst some willow trees, one to her left and another to her right.
Three very tall and beautiful women, river-maidens they were, standin' near the pools. Two of the women were so occupied with what that they were doin' that they didn't seem to notice Beannaithe enterin' the hall. The third stood and faced Beannaithe but said nothin'. At the far end of the courtyard were a stone dais. As Beannaithe drew near it she saw that at its base and to the left stood a fourth river-maiden.
At the top center of the dais were a man of giant proportions. He were two or three times the height of the tall river-maidens, and many times taller than Beannaithe.
Strange he were and grim. Protruding from the top of his head were the antlers of a stag, although he may have been wearin' a cap to which the antlers were attached. He were too tall for Beannaithe to see the top of his head.
His body sparkled as if he were covered with a thousand stars. His piercing gaze flickered with a peculiar glow. It seemed to Beannaithe that he were the source of the strange hummin' sound she'd heard near the stone table outside the portal.
The river-maiden at the foot of the dais spoke as Beannaithe approached. "This is the Hall of the Huntsman. Remember your courtesy!"
The voice startled Beannaithe so much that she, who were afeared of practically nothin', cowered and quavered in fear. When Beannaithe realised that no harm would befall her, she stood upright and curtsied politely to the antlered giant.'
Again I could see more questions arise in me grandkids' faces, but still they held their tongues.
'The Huntsman began to speak, slowly and in a deep rumblin' voice...
"Beannaithe, daughter of Aengus, you have been called for a special purpose: to aid the Tuatha Dé Danann in their conflict with the Fomhóraigh."
Beannaithe's mind began to race with questions and doubt.
"More will be revealed when you visit Bean an Tí na Locha ('The Lady of the Lake'). Seek her for the answers to your questions."'
'Lady of the Lake, is it?' asked me daughter Fódla. 'I don't know about these silly tales.'
'They're not silly!' said Darowva.
'Don't sass your aunty, lass!' said her mother Ériu.
'Sorry, aunty,' said Darowva apologetically.
'That's all right, love, I know you're mighty fond of your granda's stories,' Fódla replied. 'That's why we have allowed them to continue. Just know that they're just that, stories, no more and no less.'
'Yes, aunty,' said me grandkids in unison.
Fódla's own daughter Beacha could not reply because she were, as usual, already sleepin'.
'Off to bed with ye!' I said.
'Good night, Granda,' they quietly replied.
After the wee ones were put to bed I thanked me daughters for allowin' me to tell me stories in me own way.
'It's we who should be thankin' ye, Daidí,' said Banba. 'The kids greatly enjoy your stories.'
'We can be a protective lot, overprotective some might say, but it's our wee lads and lasses we're lookin' after,' Ériu explained. 'They mean the world to us.'
'Aye, daughter, and they mean the world to me as well,' I said.
We four hugged and kissed before partin' for our own beds.
'Oíche mhaith, iníonacha!' I said.
