The Middle-land
This is the story I tells to me grandkids durin' our next story time together...
'Beannaithe, after receivin' a dream message from Áine, her sióg mhaith (fairy godmother), whilst soakin' in a hot spring, removed her bathin' gown in favour of her snail-inspired armour. Damaged or no, she reasoned, some armour were better than none at all.
She mounted the pony Mac Énbarr who knew just where to take her: the Middle-land. Where is the Middle-land ye ask? As its name suggests, it is situated between the North-land, which had once been the land of the High-king of the Big Folk from the Sea, and the South-land, which the Big Folk from the Sea call Stone-land.
Many clans of Men live in the Middle-land. These folk are not related or, if so, only very distantly to the ancestors of the Big Folk of the Sea who live both to the north and to the south of them.
The people of the clans are a rustic folk, sometimes herdin' goats or sheep or, especially, cattle, but doin' little in the way of farmin'. They prefer the old ways of huntin' and gatherin'. Cattle are so prevalent in the Middle-land that one of the larger clans, the Ox-clan or, in their tongue, Uch-lûth, took the ox as its symbol.
The sworn enemy of the Uch-lûth were the Draig-lûth, which is Dragon-clan in the Common Tongue. Much of the activities of the Draig-lûth involve raidin' other clans for their cattle, goods, and sometimes even their people. They give the most difficult and dangerous labour, like minin' for copper and tin, to those unfortunates from other clans that they've enslaved.
Mac followed the North-South Road, of which the Greenway mentioned durin' a previous story time were only a small portion, from the North-land to the Middle-land. Mac travelled the great distance very swiftly with Beannaithe holdin' on very tightly with her head tucked into his neck. Mac slowed and finally came to a stop a ways west of the lair of Dragún Dearg (Red Dragon).
"So this is it?" Beannaithe said in thought to the pony. "This land seems pleasant enough, if a bit windy."
'Aye, pleasant in daylight, perhaps,' I continued, 'but after nightfall the Middle-land becomes a much different place. In some places it's haunted by gúla (wights), taibhsi (spirits), diabhal gabhra (goat-devils) and cúnna sídhe (hounds of the otherworld), which the Big Folk of the region name in their tongue diafol geifr and cŵn annwn, respectively.
Even in daylight the land isn't so pleasant as it first seemed to Beannaithe. Packs of wolves viciously attack herds of cattle. Warriors of the Draig-lûth harry those what stand on two legs.
As Beannaithe travelled east towards foot of the mountain and the lair of Dragún Dearg she observed gwiberod (drakes) and their hatchlin's. She and Mac steered clear of all hostile Men and beasts.
"'Tis no time to be fightin', Mac," Beannaithe told her pony in thought, "especially with me armour damaged as it is." Mac whinnied in agreement as he sped past potential assailants.
As Beannaithe drew closer to the mountainside she observed a curious ridge. She directed Mac to head in that direction. She dismounted at the base of the mountain, leadin' Mac towards the narrow ridge that she'd observed. As she got closer she saw that the ridge formed a causeway leadin' to a Man-size cave openin'. "Surely this weren't the dragon's door?" she thought. Beannaithe bid Mac to stay outside near the cave openin' while she entered.
Very shortly after enterin' the cave Beannaithe were very nearly overcome by the horrible stench that were almost certainly emanatin' from the dragon. He were here!
The lass stepped outside again, soaked a handkerchief with water from her waterskin, removed her helm, wrapped the damp handkerchief around her head so that it covered her nose and mouth, then placed the helm back on her head. It were dark inside the cave, so she lit a torch with flint and steel. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then entered again.
In the light of the torch Beannaithe could see the charred remains of a thief who were fool enough to attempt to nick a bit of treasure from the dragon's hoard. It appears that he were close to escapin' before meetin' his demise. Gold coins and other precious items lie where the thief must've dropped 'em when he fell. Beannaithe could feel her heart poundin' in her chest. Yet again she paused a moment to calm herself before proceedin'.
It were not long 'til the gleamin' gold began to poison poor Beannaithe's mind. She began to covet it, not for herself, but for what it would do for her family. They could live comfortably and not have to labour so greatly. Her grandfather could increase the size of his herd, and hire more farmhands to tend them. Then she considered how happy her family were already without great wealth. She overcame the dragon-sickness and returned to the task at hand.
Beannaithe continued through the tunnel, searchin' left, right and all around for the Armour of the Aes Sídhe but were unsuccessful. She began to doubt her cause.
"This is hopeless!" she thought. "I'll never find the Armour of the Aes Sídhe amidst all this treasure. The dragon will surely find and eat me first."
The dragon! While the lass were searchin' for the armour she could hear the deep breaths of Dragún Dearg. This she took that as a sign that the dragon were sleepin'. All of a sudden the breathin' stopped. Beannaithe stopped what she were doin', too. Any sound she made might give her away and spell her doom.
Áine's words came back to the lass. Somethin' about a chicken. What were it? Ah, yes...
"Even if you were able to don the armour before the dragon attacked, an impossible feat in itself, it would avail you not. Consider a chicken in a pot. The flame of the fire touches neither the skin nor the flesh of the chicken, yet the heat of the fire cooks the chicken."
Beannaithe hid the light of the torch among some debris on the cave floor and remained as silent as she possibly could. She waited and waited and waited. Finally, when she'd just about given up hope, the dragon's deep breathin' resumed.'
'The dragon must sleep and so must all of ye,' interjected me daughter Ériu who'd just finished her chores in the kitchen.
'Aye, or ye won't be havin' any chicken for your supper tomorrow,' added Fódla.
'And if ye don't have your chicken their will certainly be no pióg úll (apple pie),' teased Banba.
'Story time is over me wee darlin's,' I said. 'Now off to bed with ye!'
'Good night, Granda!' their little voices rang out as me grandkids were escorted away by their mothers.
'Do ye think Beannaithe will be eaten by the dragon?' asked Daibhidh.
'You're thick!' said Darowva.
Daibhidh merely laughed.
