After failing to slay the old, bloodthirsty god of the Selkies, Eachann and Connor return to the village to prevent it from taking any more lives. Though it seems un-killable, the secret to its doom may rest in the hands of the dead.
Read the previous chapter here!
Eachann and Connor drove themselves hard along the path of the Vuadd. Llewis, though fervent to keep in pace with the lads, did not possess the same warrior constitution as them. He lagged behind Eachann, who struggled against the wounds on his shoulders, and even farther behind Connor whose inherent, boundless endurance carried him deep through the dimming plains and hills.
The Vuadd’s shape had merged with the night, but its hunger no doubt drew it to the Selkies’ village. And its cry carried on the wind as a wolf’s calling to its pack—this old god, however, hunted alone, and its pack was likely one of ancient ghosts and unseen demons who returned its call from the lonely, dim corners of earth and sky.
Fiachu’s broch rose from the murky expanse of the nighted land, black against the stubborn blue in the west. Several motes of flickering orange light drifted beneath it; no life otherwise made itself known from within the village. Eachann, Connor, and Llewis crested the hill before the settlement and sprinted as far as their tiring limbs allowed to the gates. One part of the entrance swung inward on the muddy thoroughfare between the little huts. A salty wind rolled over the palisades, moaning as it wound its way through the alleys and sod walls. The three entered the village; Eachann and Connor advanced alongside each other while Llewis remained behind them, mouthing his composition through scant breath. Connor paused several paces in and held his club towards the ground, revealing a clawed footprint sunk into the mud. Several more followed it down the main path, then turned into a row of huts. Eachann nodded to his friend and the lads dashed forth again. Llewis broke from his chanting to spit a silent oath, then followed them.
They turned onto the row as the spiked tail of the Vuadd slithered into a hut in the middle of the aisle. Dread seized the lads’ hearts and skulls, for it was Talorc and Cacht’s home it entered. They raised a shout to fill the whole village and charged into the hut. Inside, the Vuadd loomed over Cacht as she lay in her bed, frozen against the wall with furs bundled up to her chin. Embers from the hearth provided the only light, but they were bright enough to glint off Cacht’s eyes, wide and glistening. The monster turned from its quaking victim as the lads set upon it. Again, it shrugged off each blow, yet retreated away from Cacht, enough for her to scramble out of bed and far from the mêlée. She pressed herself beside the threshold, her gaze locked upon the combatants whirling within the shadows.
Llewis threw open the wool over the entrance, giving the woman of the house a start. She pointed at the Vuadd. “I thought the Gwadell could kill the devil,” she said.
“Its hide is impenetrable,” Llewis replied, shaking his head. “The lads’ fight is futile.”
“Not so,” Cacht glanced out the threshold, “their struggle may give us time to bring out the only thing that may destroy it.”
“From your Father’s grave?”
Cacht nodded. “It is not far from here. It would be right for you to come, as his ghost may require a reason why we disturb his bones so.”
Llewis afforded a glance at Eachann and Connor before nodding assent. “I will come.” He held open the wool for Cacht to slip out. “Lads, keep this beast at bay until our return.”
“You mean to have us fight it all night?” cried Eachann as he retreated from the Vuadd’s claws.
“If that is what it will take,” Llewis confirmed before following Cacht.
Connor slammed the Vuadd in the belly and sent it reeling backwards before it cut Eachann again. “Gather your wind,” he bade the Gael. “I will let you know when I need rest.”
Sighing, Eachann fixed his eyes on the embers as they slowly succumbed to the night.
***
Cacht brought Llewis out of the village and they ran northeastward to a grouping of mounds and standing stones amid the tall grass of the plain. Many were overgrown with moss and scaly lichen; the more recent cairns held stones carved with the cross set at the top. The pair moved through the narrow rows until they reached one grave atop a low mound. A sign of the cross was etched into the primary marker, and offerings of flowers were threaded through the other, smaller stones. It was mostly untouched by the creeping seed and cover of the world around it. Cacht shuddered as she approached it, falling to her knees and bowing her head.
“Father,” she said, voice sinking to a whisper, “I come to ask a favor; I must disturb your rest for the good of the tribe.”
The wind shifted, stirring the flowers and shucking their wilting petals off to float into the void of mere memory. Above, the clouds parted and shafts of bluish silver from the halfmoon speared onto the lazy, rumbling waves surrounded in a corona of stars. The beams glinted off the crests of the sea and fell upon a shape over the cairn. In a form of air clad in the cold illumination of the night’s dome, the ghost of a man loomed over Cacht and Llewis.
“Father!” cried Cacht, lifting her eyes.
In a voice that moaned as a distant wind on a plain, the ghost inquired, “For what would you wake me, dear child?”
“The old god yet hungers and claims lives of the tribe,” answered Cacht. “I have tried to bring them here to beseech you and know what you did to keep the Vuadd at bay for so long.”
The ghost shifted, its eyes—composed of twinkling, distant stars—looked down at the stones sheltering its earthly form. “In life I bore a spear with a point of cold iron, shaped by the single hand of a crone. The Vuadd feared it enough to never pass around me while I held the tip over its black heart.”
“Yet you did not slay it?”
“Though we have a new God, the tabu that would keep us as cattle to our ancient devil could never be broken. How can anyone now in the tribe hope to wield my spear against it?”
“Two outsiders do battle with it as we speak,” said Llewis, stepping onto the mound.
The ghost raised its head towards the bard, misty wisps of hair jostled in the breeze. “Do they serve our God?”
“They have not yet submitted to Christ and His teachings, but their hearts are nonetheless good.”
“Tell me of them.”
“Not difficult—they are Eachann MacLeod and Connor Ua Sreng. They are lads from far corners of the world, Selma and Éirinn, yet joined by fosterage in battle and adventure. Together, they have ridden upon the Ninth Wave to the shores of Mag Mell and returned from there with a hunger for even greater glories. Tonight, they will try without respite against the Vuadd until it is fled or slain, for they have sworn to before King Fiachu.”
“Their struggle is an echo of mine—so many nights without sleep against it.” The ghost loosed a sigh that washed over Cacht and Llewis in an icy gust. “They may have the spear.” It bowed its head and all sign of the wraith faded.
Cacht swallowed as she reached out and took hold of the grave marker upon the cairn. “Thank you, Father,” she breathed.
***
Eachann and Connor’s fight with the Vuadd spilled out into the silent aisles of the village. Any other Selkie about merely patrolled the perimeter of Fiachu’s broch. However, soon shapes began to emerge from the huts and peer out at the lads while they harried the old god. No one dared approach, but the Vuadd’s hunger drew to towards the bystanders. Eachann and Connor responded to its distractions with more violence, showering it with a storm of strokes and blows that shook it upon its webbed feet. It followed them to the center of the village where the huts cleared away to a wide ring of earth.
The lads fought in turns, one rested while the other harried the Vuadd. Although the course of the night wore upon their skulls, limbs, and hearts the words of their oath to the King and his people resounded through their memories. Their fight raged as the clashing of wrathful wind against unrelenting waves; their voices boomed over the whole of the village until every soul within dared to look out and witness the horror their forefathers pledged themselves and their children to beaten and battered by the outsiders. The Selkies stirred with joy and shouted praises to their God, their Savior, and to the unlikely pair fighting for their salvation.
In the midst of his turn, Eachann backed away from the Vuadd and met Connor, leaning on his shield. The Fer Bolg drew deep breaths into his bull-chest as he rose, shaking. Eachann swayed on his feet, his wounds drawing the vigor out of him.
“Your time to fight,” Eachann said, crouching.
“I weary,” Connor admitted, lifting his shield.
Eachann frowned. “So do I, but we must press on.”
“Llewis and Cacht are not returned.”
“Mayhap they will not.”
“What then?”
Sighing, Eachann stood upright again. “Then I cannot let you die alone if you are so keen for a longer respite.”
Connor replied with a laugh that hissed through his teeth. He lifted his club and rushed forth. Eachann followed in spite of the burning in his lungs and rent shoulders. The lads resumed their clash against the Vuadd, which also seemed to tire in contrast to its invulnerability. It lashed out and snapped at them, its shrieks gurgling feebly out of its throat. Even in its growing enervation, the old god’s strikes yet rattled through the lads’ bones as they parried.
“Eachann! Connor!” Llewis’ voice cut through the cries of the crowd. He and Cacht rushed to the edge of the ring, now churned and gouged from the combat. Cacht held up a long spear with a slender tip that glistened dully in the dim moonlight.
The Vuadd froze as it caught sight of the weapon. Its fanged mouth gaped and it mustered a fearful shriek.
Cacht levelled the tip towards its scaly breast and advanced. “You remember this!” she shouted. “The spear of Ru the Mariner, he who kept you starving for years. This spear has been starved as well. O demon-slayer!” She tossed the spear towards Eachann, who caught and secured it under one arm.
Before he could drive it into the Vuadd, the old god dropped on all fours and made to run into the growing crowd. Connor threw down his club and shield, rushing towards his quarry in a burst of speed like a hawk sighting a mouse. He seized its spiked tail and dragged it screaming and clawing the ground back to Eachann.
“The spike of the only man,” Llewis began composing from the top of his head—
“To stand before it,
Hungered in the hands
Of the lad who slew Tethra…”
Eachann grinned and laughed as the Vuadd squealed and gouged deep tracks through the dirt. He set both hands on his spear, eschewing his sword, then held it skyward. “Land it on the point, Connor,” he bade.
“Just stab it now,” Connor grunted, “cursèd thing is too heavy.”
Eachann nodded towards Llewis. “It will make for a better story.”
The Greatest Grandson of Sreng sighed, then swallowed a hard draught of wind. His muscles bulged from his shoulders down to his wrists; he squatted deep, his feet driving into the earth. A below exploded from the iron cauldron of his gut as he pulled the Vuadd off the ground and swung it over his head as a sack of soil. It loosed one final scream as it arced through a scant moonbeam gracing the village. The pitiful cry ended along with the terror of the old god at the end of the spear—it fell upon the cold iron point, its flesh bruising and tearing as the terrible head punched through and through. Viscous black blood and bile gushed from the wound and its mouth, soaking the Knife of Tethra. He held it upright for the Selkies to see what became of their ancient terror under the silver-blue rain of moon and star.
The Vuadd twitched and gurgled for a few moments more before it fell silent and still as the stone it had crawled from. Eachann let it fall once it did, and the Selkies gathered around it. Their voices lifted in a collective sob; they thanked God for their deliverance and embraced the lads.
“And so the lads towered over the evil,” Llewis continued as he made his way through the crowd. Eachann and Connor sat slouching on the ground beside the Vuadd’s corpse. “The winds of the dawn would carry forth a song of freedom…”
Connor waved a hand at the bard. “The story is over, Llewis.”
Llewis looked over to Cacht as she stood outside the crowd, gazing at the ground with sadness filling her eyes. “Not yet for everyone,” he said.
***
Talorc’s cairn was raised near Ru’s the next morning. Cacht remained by the stones covering her husband after his soul had been sent off with a prayer. The mourners had all left, but Eachann, Connor, and Llewis remained some paces behind her. Not one of them spoke, for they felt their words could not give comfort to her for such a loss.
At last, she rose and turned to the three. “I cannot put hate upon you for not saving him,” she said. “He knew he could fall and he did so protecting the tribe.”
Eachann and Connor bowed their heads.
“He said he will wait for you in the Kingdom,” said Llewis.
Cacht laughed and placed a hand on her belly. “He will be waiting a while, for his child will need to be raised right.”
Llewis smiled. “When it comes of age, I am certain Eachann may be ready to foster it.”
Eachann loosed a strangled gasp. “I could not! And what if it is a girl? I could not train her then!”
Cacht laughed though her eyes were still dark and heavy with sorrow. “And if it is a boy, I suppose that would be easier.”
Eachann shrugged. “I cannot swear I can foster you child, but I can swear to show it a few tricks—if it is a boy—when he is of age.”
Connor scoffed. “Well, I can at least say you have our arms should you ever need them.”
Cacht nodded. “You are kind, but I hope we will not need weapons for a while.” She turned towards the east, were the waves shimmered gold and the gulls soared on salty eddies. “I hope we will have peace.”
FINIT.
Thanks for reading this week’s story! Be sure to like and comment, and share this with friends and family who enjoy these types of stories!
Refer your friends to Senchas Claideb to receive access to special rewards, including a personalized Gaelic phrase and a free, original short story exclusive to top referees!
Shoot me a message!
If you like what I do, consider leaving a tip!
“Ru’s Cairn” © Ethan Sabatella 2025 – Current Year, All Rights Reserved. Reprinting or replication of this work in its entirety in any form (written, audiovisual, etc.) without express permission of the author is prohibited. Excerpts may be used for review or promotional purposes with credit and acknowledgement of the author. This piece cannot be used for training of Artificial Intelligence programs.
Though some are not followers of God, He often uses them to great effect. I enjoyed this adventure.
Excellent work. I really enjoy tales of the exploits of these two characters. I see greater development of their character in each story. Keep up the good work.