Withstanding Trials: Day 20

Word Total: 120,011

Year to Date: 300,136

Summary of Events:

Saraid helped with cleaning up the burnt-out huts, removing the ashes to a heap and sorting through anything that had survived, although plans to rebuild were to be delayed until the promised second attack, which hadn't yet come. Aodhán and Conchobhar spent the nights in the church belfry waiting for the attack to come, but instead of an attack, as they were heading home in a thick fog on the fourth day since the first attack, a messenger from the Lord of the isle came, declaring that Uncle Séaghdha had ordered a search for Aodhán, presuming him to have been lost in a storm or to have crashed in a fog. Considering the alarm that had been caused, Aodhán immediately declared that he was going to participate in the search while, at the same time, returning to his family to inform them that he'd found a job…

Excerpt of the Day:

Out in the open water, Aodhán manoeuvred the Athchóirigh toward the beach, where Conchobhar hopped off before making his way over to a smaller vessel in which Úna and Caitríona were waiting. Other such small boats holding members of the settlement were already out on the water searching for something Aodhán alone knew they wouldn’t find.

It had taken a day for the fog to lift, which assuredly forecast a very rainy day somewhere in the early part of February, but Aodhán had been glad to be able to spend his birthday in fellowship with such wonderful people, and had been incredibly touched by the fact that they’d made a special meal for his birthday, and had even expressed regret that they’d had no presents to give him for the occasion.

Now, however, it was time for Aodhán to set his course for Inis Neamhaí in order to assure Uncle Séaghdha and Aunt Caoilfhionn — and the rest of the Taoiseach, evidently — that he was still alive, and hopefully before word got back to Father that he might be anything less than alive, as even if he wasn’t terribly loved by Father for his choice of faith, he was sure Father would be deeply troubled to receive word that a fifth out of his six sons might be dead.

Aodhán felt sad to be leaving everyone behind, but considering the gift that Conchobhar had given him, he had every intention of returning — besides, the more time he could spend here instead of at Finscéalta would be preferred.

Bundled in sealskin bags in the storage compartments beneath the little deck were fifteen of Conchobhar’s finest-quality rabbit skins, which Conchobhar had given Aodhán as a wage for his work.

Considering he was, in fact, the High Prince of the realm, and thus had no want for money, Aodhán hadn’t wanted to take them, but since he wasn’t known as the High Prince to the people of the settlement, but was known as a commoner who needed a job to help provide for his family, Aodhán had taken the skins, but already he was coming up with a plan in his mind.

A good rabbit skin, owing to its luxuriant texture and good insulating qualities, was worth at least ten bearta. These rabbit skins were of top-grade quality, however, which made them worth a good twenty bearta apiece, meaning that Aodhán had some three hundred bearta’s worth of rabbit skins.

Three hundred bearta was a handsome wage for his labour, rather more than Aodhán had expected to receive, but he suspected was so generous because of the fact that Conchobhar believed him to be in need.

As a result, Aodhán meant to send the skins to Grandfather, instructing him to sell them for whatever he could get — which, even if only ten bearta apiece, would still yield one hundred fifty bearta — and to use that money to not only buy some new songbooks for the settlement to replace the fire-damaged ones they currently used, but to also get some Bibles for the people, as the only Bible in the settlement was the one that Tighearnán had inherited from his father, who’d received it from his father, who’d paid a lot of money to get it all the way from Aifos.

Next Post: 2 April

Withstanding Trials: Day 19

Word Count: 114,194

Summary of Events:

Aodhán and Conchobhar were out in the hunting blind watching the distant fire of the festival glow when Aodhán noticed the glow was larger, and part of it was growing brighter. Conchobhar informed him that it was the torches of the attackers and Aodhán slipped away discreetly to hide in the church's belfry, where he shot arrows to try and scare the attackers without wounding them, prompting them to try and climb the church to get at him, but without much success, forcing them to retreat once the fires they'd set and the torches they'd brought burnt out, although they declared they'd be back the following night. Aodhán, wearied from having shot off so many arrows and stayed up so late, slept most of the day before waking in the late afternoon when Conchobhar came into his room to talk with him about what he'd done, including revealing to Aodhán that a widow whose hiding place was near the church had heard Aodhán challenge the attackers about their gods, to which the attackers hadn't had an answer…

Excerpt of the Day:

“But why does that matter?” Aodhán asked. “They were resistant.”

“Nevertheless, they were forced to retreat,” Conchobhar replied. “If I were still among them, I would’ve considered that a sign that God was at least as powerful as the sum of the gods.”

“So you think they’re now inclined to be a little worried about what might happen to them if they pit themselves against God again?” Aodhán asked.

“If I were among them, I’d be,” Conchobhar replied. “I’d be worried that maybe the gods aren’t so superior as I’ve always been led to believe.”

“But won’t the druid persuade them otherwise?” Aodhán asked.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Conchobhar replied. “He’ll even threaten curses on them if they don’t want to go, and will terrify them into coming against us again, but I can assure you that most people are terrified of the druid even more than they fear the gods.”

“I’m not surprised,” Aodhán said.

“You saw him on the hill?” Conchobhar asked.

Aodhán nodded, quickly shaking his head to dispel the image.

“Pure evil,” Conchobhar said. “Oftentimes I find myself imagining the devil in druid’s garb. Makes him more terrifying that way.”

“But I still don’t understand,” Aodhán said. “How will it not be worse?”

“Because even if the druid terrifies them and gives them intoxicants to energise them in their attacks against those who are considered enemies, he never gives them assurance,” Conchobhar replied. “They are always motivated out of fear, which breeds hate in them toward those like us, who do know. We know truth, we know life, we know peace, we know where we’re going, and most of all, we know the One who holds the future. They have no confidence or hope of anything, but last night, what you did, I believe, will cause them to know that the gods they worship out of fear are not greater than the God you worship out of love and confidence, and the fact that you were so bold toward them with your words will have shaken them, even if they would never admit it to a soul.”

“So… you think I did the right thing?” Aodhán asked.

“I don’t know that I could define it as right or wrong,” Conchobhar replied. “But I can at least say that you did a brave thing, and your courage, as one man alone, to withstand them, and possessing what probably seemed a miraculously large supply of arrows, considering how many we found lying around, even if most of them were broken, that intimidated them. I can assure you of that.”

Withstanding Trials: Day 18

Word Count: 108,563

Summary of Events:

Aodhán was woken by Conchobhar, who took him outside to a hunting blind, from which they could see the glow of firelight over the hill, indicating that the festival had begun. Saraid was fetching water from the well in a heavy fog and was startled by Aodhán, causing her to let go of the handle for cranking the bucket, which hit her in the face. She was taken by Aodhán to the blacksmith's hut, where Aodhán was told to stay put, while Saraid was taken by the blacksmith to the cave his family had moved into for the duration of the festival to be tended to by his wife. Aodhán disobeyed the blacksmith and went to do what he'd come to do, but it ended up taking longer than he'd expected, and he injured himself in his hurry back to the blacksmith's hut, which he entered expecting to find the blacksmith's family, but instead found nothing and no one…

Excerpt of the Day:

Aodhán felt unnerved until he remembered someone having mentioned to him that the reason nobody died in the attacks anymore was because they’d developed hiding places, which it would make sense for them to have retreated to, considering the festival had begun, and even if the attacks usually happened on the peak night in a couple days’ time, it wasn’t always guaranteed, meaning that it was best to retreat to the hiding places early. That also explained why Amhlaoibh had headed away from the hut with Saraid.

“I told you not to move,” Amhlaoibh’s voice said, low and ominous.

Startling, Aodhán turned around to see Amhlaoibh standing beside the door, his thick arms crossed over his powerful chest, displeasure creasing his face.

“I’m sorry sir,” Aodhán replied, his jaw quivering.

“Explain yourself boy,” Amhlaoibh ordered, his voice becoming slightly louder and more stern.

“I was just… wanting… to…” Aodhán was groping desperately for some excuse, he’d not thought to have one at the ready. “Go… and look… over the hill… because… I’d… been able to… see their fire, last night… so… I wanted… to see… how close… how close it was.”

The scowl that came over Amhlaoibh’s face told Aodhán he’d not chosen a good excuse.

Aodhán didn’t know what to say. He hoped the door into the forge wasn’t locked and that he’d be able to escape through the forge too, as he doubted he’d be able to get out the door Amhlaoibh was standing beside.

“There’s no way you got to the hill and back, from here, in the fog, in the time since I left you with those water buckets,” Amhlaoibh said. “Where did you go?”

“I… went to check that I’d replaced the pin at the well,” Aodhán replied.

“That shouldn’t have taken long,” Amhlaoibh replied.

“I thought I heard something in the woods while I was there,” Aodhán replied. “So I went to investigate it, then I realised I was tarrying and hurried back.”

“What happened to make your leg bleed?” Amhlaoibh asked.

“I must be growing,” Aodhán replied. “I went to jump over a log and caught my foot on it, and there was a rock on the other side that I struck my leg on.”

“I expect you to actually not move this time, boy,” Amhlaoibh warned.

Aodhán watched with surprise as Amhlaoibh turned to the door and exited the hut, leaving him alone. He surveyed his surroundings and sat down on the floor in the hope that not standing on his aching leg would make it feel better.

He felt uneasy and sick to have lied to Amhlaoibh, but even Conchobhar didn’t know the truth. He hated lying, but he was sure the truth would make everyone distrust him, and Amhlaoibh more than anyone.

That was actually the whole reason Aodhán had hoped that he’d gone early enough to be completely unnoticed, as he wouldn’t have had to lie then, not that lying was really justified at any time.

Withstanding Trials: Day 17

Word Count: 102,711

Summary of Events:

Aodhán got up in the middle of the night to discreetly make some arrows, as he didn't want anyone to know and suspect that he wasn't an Aloneist like he said he was, quitting only when he got tired. Saraid came up to Conchobhar's house to get some more fish and ended up chatting somewhat shyly and awkwardly with Aodhán, becoming convinced that an unconscious part of her had become excessively infatuated with him. Aodhán and Conchobhar went out to see what they could find for game, stopping by a little cemetery in which Conchobhar revealed that Tighearnán's father was buried, before going on to recount that it was Tighearnán's father who'd started proclaiming Aloneism on the isle, as well as how his death came to pass…

Excerpt of the Day:

“It was around this time of year, about five years ago,” Conchobhar said. “Tighearnán, having been called to follow in his father’s footsteps, had just arrived to start aiding his father in the ministry, and we came over the hill to give trouble. I was part of a group that found and directly went after Tighearnán’s father. I was at the back of the group, so I wasn’t able to strike any blows, but the men ahead of me were in a frenzy and quickly knocked him down. I ended up noticing young Tighearnán and I felt smug within myself to see him seeing his father suffer. I wanted to see what kind of a man he was, and I expected him to try to defend his father, but he didn’t, he just watched as the frenzied men before me beat the life out of his father, who called in a loud voice to his late wife that he was coming before expiring.”
Aodhán grasped the neck of his shirt and dabbed at his eyes, which had become moist as his imagination composed a possible rendition of how it had transpired.

“Eventually the men determined that beating a lifeless body was no fun, so we headed back over the hill,” Conchobhar continued. “But I was disturbed by Tighearnán having watched silently and not even cried out in agony at his father’s expiration, so I went into the woods and monitored the settlement from afar, watching funeral preparations, as well as the funeral itself. Sad though everyone was, they weren’t hopeless. There was no anxiety in any of it like there was for us. We always feared that the boat would come back, or that it might never make it, but even though they buried the bodies of their dead in the ground, they had no lack of confidence regarding the destination of the dead.”

“But the traditionalists believe in an eternal life,” Aodhán said.

“Only if the boat makes it, but we never know if it does,” Conchobhar replied. “We have no way of knowing if it ever does, even with the ones that aren’t driven back when the wind turns and have to be sent off again, sometimes multiple times over.”

“And they’re always sent back out?” Aodhán asked.

“Always,” Conchobhar replied. “Even when the bodies have broken down horribly, they’re still sent back out to sea, but we have no way of knowing if they make it, yet these people were burying the bodies of their dead in the dirt and yet sang openly of seeing them again, and not in the ground, but in a glorious place. I couldn’t believe my ears to hear their songs, and I wanted to be enraged, but I couldn’t be. I actually broke down and cried when I finally headed for home because I wanted what they had. I wanted to know that I would see people I loved again, and not to be fraught with the anxiety that death always brought.”

Withstanding Trials: Day 16

Word Count: 96,021

Summary of Events:

After dressing the rabbits they'd found in Conchobhar's snares and hanging them to be smoked, Aodhán was led by Conchobhar down to the shore west of the little settlement and over to a cave that looked nearly invisible in a tall cliff face, before Conchobhar suggested that they go to the larger settlement and fetch Aodhán's vessel to store there so that it didn't get torn to pieces. Saraid was trying to find a bucket one of the elderly widows had dropped down the hill when she spied a fishing vessel near to the shore, which prompted her to hide and fear that the boat might find the cave in the cliff, although as the vessel neared, she realised that she recognised the voice of one of the two people aboard it…

Excerpt of the Day:

Close to the shore, she leaned against a thick old tree and watched the vessel near, recognising the two figures on it as Conchobhar and Brendán*, with the former calling directions to the latter from the prow, which she could now see bore the name Athchóirigh.

Although small for a fishing vessel, Sara had to admit that the vessel looked a bit large to make it into the inlet cave, but she watched silently as the vessel eased into the inlet and neared the gap that was the very discreet mouth of the cave.

Sara stepped to adjust her position, wanting to watch around the other side of the tree, but her feet shot from under her. She screamed, startled, sliding down the slope before she somehow was flipped over and tumbled down the remaining slope before she landed in the frigid water.

Immediately Sara flailed for the surface, but she couldn’t tell which way was up. She squeezed her eyes shut against the burn of the saltwater, even though she wished she could open them and be able to discern the direction she needed to head in.

Suddenly a strong arm seized about her and pulled her powerfully in the direction she’d been feeling like she ought to go in, she finally felt the water break over her head and opened her mouth to gasp in a big breath of air.

She stroked as much of the water as she could from her eyes, but some still got in and burned a little bit, preventing her from being able to see her rescuer, whose grip had loosened for a moment before tightening about her again and towing her across the water.

“Here Saraid!” Conchobhar called.

Her vision still blurry from tears seeking to wash the burning saltwater out, Sara struggled to make out a rope, but once she did, she grabbed it and started climbing until her hands brushed wood just as a strong hand grabbed her arm.

With her free hand she was able to find a rail and pulled herself up, letting the hand guide her over the side and onto a deck. She drew moisture from her eyes carefully to try and clear her vision. She could hear sounds of her rescuer clambering over the side.

“Here, use this,” Conchobhar said, handing Sara something dry.

She dabbed at her eyes and was able to clear them and see that she was sitting on the fishing vessel, and that a shirtless and soaked Brendán was using vigorous hands through his hair to shake excess moisture out of what now looked to be auburn locks.

Looking down at the dry material in her hands, Sara realised that Conchobhar had given her Brendán’s shirt to dry her eyes with. 

Brendán strode over to her and used his shirt for the same purpose before springing onto the low, flat deck she was sitting on the edge of with a bound. Conchobhar had retaken his place at the prow, the small cargo of fish lay mostly still and gathered about the mast.

Pronunciation:

Brendán: brehnduhn

*to disguise his identity, Aodhán is using the alias of Brendán.

Withstanding Trials: Day 15

Word Count: 90,681

Summary of Events:

Aodhán accompanied Conchobhar in the checking of his rabbit snares, finding one that had been sprung by an unsuspecting deer who, because its mouth got caught, was able to escape. Saraid talked with one of Conchobhar's daughters about Aodhán, whom the whole family quite liked. Aodhán rose before dawn to harvest some branches from a bush whose wood made the best arrows, as he wanted to make some arrows of his own. He and Conchobhar checked some more snares later that morning, as well as spying a mother deer and her fawn, whose tracks they followed down a steep slope until Conchobhar slipped and fell on the slick leaves, disappearing over a drop as Aodhán pursued him carefully…

Excerpt of the Day:

Aodhán slipped to a knee in his acceleration, but managed to keep from sliding down the slope, which ended abruptly where a line of trees stretching for several metres in both directions had dropped about a metre or so, leaving exposed soil, clay, roots, and stone in a short, craggy cliff face.

Conchobhar was laying on the ground with a grimace on his face. Aodhán managed to hop over the ledge and Conchobhar’s form. The soil felt particularly soft beneath his feet, and dampness seeped immediately into his knees when he knelt down.

“Are you alright?” Aodhán asked.

“I just feel stupid,” Conchobhar replied. “Even if I’m short an arm, I still have all the rest of my limbs, and I should’ve known a leafy slope could make a man look like a fool in a matter of seconds.”

“Will you be able to get back up?” Aodhán asked.

Conchobhar pulled himself up with only the muscles of his torso before placing his right hand on the ground to support himself with a sigh.

“It’ll probably be better if you follow behind me to catch me if I lose my footing or my balance,” Conchobhar replied. “But I should be fine.”

Aodhán nodded. “So long as you’re alright.”

“I’m quite fine,” Conchobhar replied.

Lifting his knees off the soft ground, Aodhán helped Conchobhar to his feet and felt suddenly uneasy.

“Did you feel it shift?” Conchobhar asked.

Aodhán nodded.

Conchobhar looked toward the water. “This north shore is mostly cliff, we’d best get back up onto what’s still holding.”

Nodding again, Aodhán leaned forward and grasped a tree that looked to have a fifteen-centimetre diameter, which was growing above where the soil had already dropped, while he waited for Conchobhar to get up onto the higher level before following after as calmly as he could.

They picked their way back up the steep slope several metres before Aodhán heard a rushing behind him and looked over his shoulder to see the trunks of the trees that had been in the lower soil drop rapidly.

“It’s gone,” Aodhán said.

“Hopefully it’ll take another twenty years before the waves take another section,” Conchobhar said, continuing to forge ahead. “Even if it only makes this place smaller.”

“Is erosion a bad problem?” Aodhán asked.

“On the north coast here, yes, but that’s partially because the north coast is so steep, the south coast is far more gradual and gentle,” Conchobhar replied.

Aodhán nodded, feeling a lot better once they started ascending the tree trunk, but best when they reached the trail again.

“How much do you think is at risk of washing away?” Aodhán asked.

“Mostly just the soil,” Conchobhar replied. “The stone’s been here for thousands of years, and it doesn’t erode as quickly, so there’s no concerns here. It just means that someday this is going to be a cliffside trail, not a tree-flanked one, but that’s not even guaranteed to happen in my lifetime, there’s a lot of soil still there.”

Withstanding Trials: Day 14

Word Count: 84,013

Summary of Events:

Aodhán had breakfast with his hosts, whom he learned were the settlement's blacksmith and his family, continuing to make small-talk with the blacksmith's wife before going with the blacksmith's son to the forge to watch him work. Saraid and her cousin were called on by Niamh, the blacksmith's wife, who apologised to Saraid for her accidentally having been left behind the day before, as well as filling Saraid and her cousin in on what she'd learned about Aodhán. Aodhán, meanwhile, was taken up to Conchobhar's home and introduced as a potential assistant to Conchobhar as he healed, prompting Conchobhar to give Aodhán a bow in order to test his skills outside…

Excerpt of the Day:

“You’ve already strung it,” the man said.

Aodhán startled, looking at the man, and then at the bow in his hands, whose string was enhancing the curve of the wood because Aodhán had set the other end in its place without even thinking.

“Unstring it, and do it again,” the man said.

Quickly, Aodhán did as he was told, unstringing the bow, releasing the tension, and restringing it.

The man nodded, then held out the quiver to Aodhán, who took an arrow from it and nocked it to the bowstring. Even though his fingers were still bandaged to protect his scraped knuckles, Niamh had done such a fine job that Aodhán felt like he was simply wearing gloves.

“I have a target set up over there,” the man said, gesturing with his free hand. “Fire where you wish.”

Aodhán identified the target easily and stood in the proper target-shooting stance before taking his aim at the exact centre of the wood and firing. The arrow shot through the air and landed squarely where he’d aimed.

“That is an impressive first shot,” the man said.

Taking a second arrow, Aodhán nocked it and fired, embedding it just above the first arrow he’d fired. Two more arrows beneath the first made a straight line, then he shot two arrows so that one was just to the right of the first arrow he’d fired, and the second to the left, forming the cross of the Aloneists — as he couldn’t create or hang a dying figure on it such as the Truists and Universalists had.

“That is a good show of precision,” the man said. “You are certainly capable with this weapon, and even with bandaged hands.”

Aodhán looked down at his hands. “It honestly feels like I’m simply wearing gloves.”

“What did you do to your hands?” the man asked.

“I used them to punch a young man who had used the most abominable language against his wife’s cousin, as well as taking her goods from her,” Aodhán replied, indicating the pastor, who’d joined them outside.

The pastor nodded.

“And you did not get beaten yourself?” the man asked.

“The young man put up a good fight, but there was no one else on the road aside from the two of us, and her,” Aodhán replied.

The man nodded. “Hopefully your actions won’t incite anything.”

“You don’t mean to say that you just stand by and let women get insulted with appalling language that should not even exist, do you?” Aodhán asked. “Sir?”

“I haven’t,” the man replied. “But at this time of year one should be ready for anything.”

“With the festival upcoming?” Aodhán asked.

“Yes,” the man replied.

“You think they might attack early because I incited them?” Aodhán asked, feeling a little worried.

“It can’t be said for sure,” the man replied. “They might simply be more violent when they come. It’s not like they won’t be coming soon anyways.”

Aodhán nodded, feeling badly. “I didn’t… mean to cause hardship. I just… I couldn’t stand by–”

“And I couldn’t have either,” the man interrupted. “It is better to suffer for having done what was right than to get simply deserved comeuppance.”

Withstanding Trials: Day 13

Word Count: 78,039

Summary of Events:

Saraid walked to the settlement with Aodhán, coming to feel like she could trust him as they walked,  especially since he reprimanded a boy for calling her names along the way, although she didn't let him see where the entrance was to the cave her cousin's family dwelt in. Since a severe storm was breaking, Aodhán took shelter in the church, which he discovered, to his extreme surprise, was an Aloneist church, which he'd not expected to find in the area. After being questioned by a man he suspected was the husband of Saraid's cousin, Aodhán was taken to the home of a powerfully built man, whose wife tended to his knuckles, bloodied by his beating of the young man, and made friendly small talk with him about his family, whom Aodhán described truthfully, but without disclosing their high societal rankings…

Excerpt of the Day:

“I’m sure you wish your sister to come to the truth,” she said. “But do you have confidence that she will?”

“I wasn’t initially very confident,” Aodhán replied. “But she’s been sent to the care of my mother’s parents, which increases my confidence. I am worried for my other sister, however, as she’s been sent to Truist relatives, potentially in an effort to turn her, just as I believe was the reason for my being sent out here. My father is not pleased with our choice of faith, and even if he’s striven to be discreet about his efforts to turn us, they’ve not been as discreet as they could’ve been.”

“Oh,” she said. “Why has your family been scattered?”

“My father hopes to not have his line destroyed all at once,” Aodhán replied.

The woman nodded, washing the salve off her fingers before producing some narrow linen bandages that she started wrapping about his fingers.

“My father probably wouldn’t be pleased to hear about this settlement,” Aodhán said. “Not that he probably would’ve guessed any more than I that such a place was here.”

“Barely,” she said. “But we’re here.”

Aodhán had to admit as he watched the woman bandage his hands that she was clearly someone who’d tended to a lot of wounds, he wondered if she was the doctor of the settlement, seeing as Aodhán had any doubts an officially trained and educated doctor would be present in a settlement this small and remote, and especially on an isle which undoubtedly had a significant traditionally believing population, as the traditional believers didn’t believe in the science of medicine, instead believing that diseases were direct acts of the gods against those with whom they were displeased, and that rituals and sacrifices to appease the gods would cure the ill, despite the acute lack of success in their efforts.

“Have you had anything to eat?” the woman asked.

“Not since the fish I had for lunch,” Aodhán replied.

“Well, go to the table then and have something,” the woman instructed.

She got up from her seat and went over to the hulking man. Aodhán got up somewhat reluctantly from being by the warmth of the fire to go over to the table, where a young woman who looked about the age of the young woman he’d followed to the settlement served him a juicy and delectable-looking leg of rabbit, along with mashed potatoes, fresh carrots, and savoury gravy.

Aodhán nodded his thanks to her before bowing his head, praying over his food silently, and, once he was finished praying, starting to eat the tasty food, doing his best to ignore the prevailing sensation that he was being watched by not merely the hulking man, but probably everyone else in the room — whose number, he was sure, was greater than he’d been so far able to observe.

Withstanding Trials: Day 12

Word Count: 72,035

Summary of Events:

Aodhán set out in the Athchóirigh for his tour around the Taoiseach, starting with the three small isles southeast of Neamhaí. A man on the shores of the first one he reached told him not to land, though, as there was an outbreak of the spots, so Aodhán carried on. Saraid and a bunch of the women, led by the blacksmith who'd come along to protect them, went to a large grove of nut bushes, where Saraid ended up not noticing the others pack up and leave, leaving her alone in unfamiliar woods with the best route back being on the main road where she could end up getting accosted. Owing to signs of bad weather nearing, Aodhán docked at the third isle and made his way to the nearest settlement; he saw a young woman walking ahead of him, and so meant to catch up with her and maybe befriend her, but a young man headed the opposite way accosted her and stole her fruit basket, prompting Aodhán to confront the young man, whom he managed to give a beating, before warning the young man about doing that sort of thing again…

Excerpt of the Day:

With a pained grimace, the young man scrambled to his feet and hobbled away as quickly as his sore leg would let him. Aodhán waited until he made it a hundred metres or so before he turned around to look back toward the settlement, as well as the young woman who was standing, looking at him.

Unsurprisingly, she looked even fairer from the front than from behind, with some hairs that were too short to be caught up in her long, auburn braid framing her face attractively.

Her eyes were a pretty shade of green that the deep auburn of her hair seemed to make stand out, and her whole face was a beautiful contrast, looking on one hand beautifully delicate and feminine, just like Mama’s, but on the other looking resilient and strong.

Aodhán also observed that she looked a bit younger from the front than he’d initially thought she was, suspecting she was more than the one year younger than him he’d initially been inclined to think that she was.

She was staring at him with rather wide eyes, looking nervous and unsure. Aodhán wished he could stare at her forever, but his mind was pricking him about the nuts, so he lowered his gaze to the discarded basket, its contents scattered across the roadway.

Moving toward them, Aodhán righted the basket and started collecting the fruits that had stayed close into the basket. The young woman soon appeared and joined him in putting the fruit into the basket until all of them had been recovered.

Aodhán gave her the basket.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, not looking him in the eye.

Turning, she started away from him quickly. Aodhán hurried after her.

“Please,” Aodhán said. “Are you alright?”

“It’s not the first time,” she replied, not looking at him, and keeping up her brisk pace.

Aodhán wanted to stop and stand in appall, but he also didn’t want to let this young woman get away from him, so he matched her brisk pace instead.

“Why would any young man dare to treat a young woman as beautiful as you so horribly?” Aodhán asked.

He stopped abruptly, his face flaming with warmth. He’d said that out loud. He hurried after the young woman, who hadn’t stopped or hesitated at his words.

“It’s only consistent with what they believe,” she replied, her tone suggesting that she’d not even really heard what he’d said.

Aodhán nodded. It’d been his immediate supposition upon seeing the young man accost the young woman that the young man was a traditional believer, as the traditional believers considered women to be about equal with livestock — if the women were fortunate, some were regarded as even lesser than livestock — with their sole purpose being to please the man and bear him many sons, and so men would beat their wives liberally when they were displeased with conduct or daughter numbers.

At the same time, Aodhán couldn’t say he’d seen a traditional believer quite so appalling as the young man had seemed to him, as usually traditionally believing men didn’t quite accost women that directly, and with no apparent reason. If a woman wasn’t their wife, or they weren’t desiring her to be their wife, they usually left them alone, even if they weren’t traditional believing women.

Withstanding Trials: Day 11

Word Count: 66,085

Summary of Events:

Aodhán took Ceallach out in the Athchóirigh because Ceallach wanted to go out in it, but he refused to linger as long on the water as Ceallach wanted, heading in with the fishermen in the face of approaching storm clouds before a fiercer storm than Aodhán had seen since he'd arrived broke over the isle. Sara and some of the women of the community harvested autumn nuts in the forest, the last food there was to harvest before winter officially set in. Having borrowed one of Uncle Séaghdha's sea charts, Aodhán created a meticulous copy of it in order to be able to navigate the open water when he set out on his trip, which he surveyed with satisfaction upon completion…

Excerpt of the Day:

There was the compass rose neatly in the bottom-right corner, the lines indicating the depth of the water in hundred-metre intervals for one kilometre’s distance around each isle, as well as the isles themselves, lines indicating elevations, major roadways, and significant settlements.

If it weren’t for the clean newness of the paper, compared to the chart he’d copied it from, which was discoloured with age, and also the victim of many a stab from the pointed ends of different charting tools, even Aodhán could’ve believed it’d been a mapmaker’s work.

Aodhán flexed his hand, which was still a bit sore from the tension he’d felt while copying the work so meticulously, as he’d not wanted to get a line wrong, lest that error in his line drawing possibly cause him to damage the Athchóirigh on something he’d not expected to encounter.

He had his own copy of the entire Taoiseach of Finscéalta, which included not merely Inis Neamhaí, but one of the largest number of surrounding isles to form any Taoiseach, as many of the isles in the area were quite small, some being little more than bare rocks where seabirds flocked, while others had a summer hut and enough space to pasture twenty head of sheep that were usually hauled across by boat from a larger isle where they spent the winter, as sheep weren’t known for their swimming abilities, especially with a full coat of wool, such as they would have in the autumn when they were returned to winter pastures.

A portion of Oileán Oirthear’s coast, including almost three quarters of Scaradh Cuan, were in the southwestern part of the chart as well, even though that land was in the Taoiseach of Scaradh Cuan, which was the only Taoiseach whose Chief was a devout traditional believer, just like Grandfather was the only Chief who was Aloneist, while the remaining thirteen Chiefs were split between Truism and Universalism, which had seven and six, respectively.

Aodhán surveyed his copied chart with a bit of a twinge, as he knew tens of thousands of people, maybe even hundreds of thousands, he wasn’t sure, lived on the isles he’d copied, but to his knowledge, not one of them was Aloneist; indeed, few of the people who lived on the isles he’d copied were even Truist, although there was at least one Truist church on each isle, according to what he’d been told, anyways, as he’d not yet found Inis Neamhaí’s and he was currently staying effectively at the largest settlement on the isle, and the only church he’d seen so far was the Universalist cathedral that Uncle Séaghdha, Aunt Caoilfhionn, and their family paraded to every Sunday without fail.

Carefully checking that the last of the ink — most of which was filling in the details of Oileán Oirthear — was dry, Aodhán carefully rolled up his copied chart, tying it carefully with a string he’d cut from the spool in his trunk and stowed the copied chart in the trunk for the time being.

Withstanding Trials: Day 10

Word Count: 60,024

Summary of Events:

Aodhán, having met with the fisherman and his family to explain his motivations to them so that they wouldn't believe that the nonexistent ancient gods or dead saints had motivated his generosity, negotiated with the elderly, hard-of-hearing owner of the larger vessel the fisherman had mentioned to purchase the vessel, as well as all of its equipment, which he immediately gave to the fisherman before taking the fisherman's old craft and getting it repaired for his personal use, putting on the finishing touches, including its name, himself…

Excerpt of the Day:

Her former master, the fisherman, had rechristened his new vessel, which had previously been named after one of the legendary gods to have the name Bronntanas, and had even had a little ceremony where he’d unveiled the new name to Aodhán, his family, friends, and some curious onlookers.

From where he stood, Aodhán could see the Bronntanas out on the water, where the fisherman and his sons had been every day since Aodhán had given them the craft, bringing in good catches of fish to sell in the market, as well as preparing a larger crew to join them in sealing outside of the bay in a short time.

Aodhán carefully measured from the centre front of his vessel to the end of the name he’d painted with a string, then went to the other side of the bow and held the string, using the tip of a knife blade to make a small mark in the corner of the timber marking the length of the name.

He then prepared his brush and worked from the mark toward the centre, painting Athchóirigh on the other side of the bow. Aodhán surveyed the craft with pleasure. It still looked somewhat old and tired, but, at the same time, it looked sturdy and well-cared-for, which was his goal.

Covering the paint pot, he took the brush to where the saltwater lapped softly against the smooth sand at its low-tide zenith and washed the brush in the water until no more clouds of black pigment came from its bristles.

As he walked back to where the Athchóirigh was pulled up onto the sand, Aodhán shook the excess water from the brush and then dried it with a cloth he’d had in case of any paint dribbling, but even if he wasn’t artistically inclined, he had gotten good at not overloading a paintbrush with paint and causing drips, so there were no messy streaks or spatters dripping from the letters, or from anywhere else, for that matter.

Aodhán climbed onto the dock and stepped onto the Athchóirigh, where he put the paint and the brush in one of the compartments beneath the little deck. He surveyed the once-again-seaworthy boat with satisfaction before hopping from her little deck to the dock again.

Now that the Athchóirigh was officially finished and christened it was time to see about borrowing Uncle Séaghdha’s sea charts to take her out on a voyage to test her seaworthiness, and to hopefully get a bit of exploring in before the weather would undoubtedly turn against him, even though probably not so badly as on a place like Oíche, where the Guardians meeting with the North Winds could make winter a very stormy time of year.

In just a couple weeks’ time it would be the end of autumn and the beginning of winter, a change that was celebrated raucously by the traditional believers and Universalists. Aodhán hadn’t actually seen one of their celebrations of the seasonal change for himself, but based on what he’d heard, he didn’t want to see it.

Withstanding Trials: Day 9

Word Count: 54,019

Summary of Events:

Saraid took care of her cousin's youngest child as her cousin gave birth to what turned out to be the third son of the family in an easy birth attended by experienced women. Aodhán, having told Uncle Séaghdha that he was going to be meeting someone on Sunday afternoon, was harangued by Ceallach, who believed the person Aodhán was meeting to be a beautiful maiden, even when Aodhán told him that his presumption was false. After taking care of the house work while her cousin recovered from the birth, Saraid went outside to walk and saw a crowd gathered not far from the settlement's well…

Excerpt of the Day:

Getting closer to the group, Sara recognised Tighearnán in the group, with Pryderi in his arms and his head bowed. She slowed, but didn’t stop advancing until she’d come around the edge of the group to see Niamh, who was the most medically trained person in town, and so was always summoned when someone needed medical attention, kneeling beside Conchobhar, who was laying on the ground looking awfully pale.

His right hand was red with blood, which also stained his clothes mostly on his right side, while Niamh was rapidly wrapping strips of linen tautly around his forearm. 

Sara looked at Tighearnán, whose eyes were closed. He looked to be in silent prayer, rocking slightly on his feet, Bláthnat was leaned against his leg, her auburn hair being caressed gently under his hand.

Cumal stood somewhat behind his father, but as soon as he saw Sara he rushed to her, looking frightened. Sara wrapped an arm gently around him.

“What happened Sara?” Cumal asked.

“I don’t know,” Sara replied. “It looks like he hurt his arm.”

Niamh secured the end of the bandage she’d been wrapping and laid Conchobhar’s arm across his abdomen. He gave her a tired-looking nod of appreciation before she got to her feet and turned around to survey the gathered group.

Sara supposed that Tighearnán had heard her straighten, as his eyes opened and Niamh strode toward him, taking Pryderi from his arms and saying something quietly into Tighearnán’s ear before Tighearnán turned to Bláthnat and directed her to release him and join Cumal.

Anticipating Bláthnat’s arrival, Sara reached out her hand that wasn’t resting around Cumal’s shoulders to draw Bláthnat close to her while Tighearnán walked over to Conchobhar, lowering to his knees, and then bending down to speak to Conchobhar quietly.

Conchobhar whispered something back, gesturing toward the woods. Tighearnán nodded and replied before sliding an arm under Conchobhar’s shoulders and slowly sitting him up.

Sara didn’t mean to make eye contact with Conchobhar, but she ended up doing it anyways and he smiled weakly at her before closing his eyes, grimacing, and mumbling something to Tighearnán while holding his left hand up as if to indicate that he didn’t want Tighearnán to do whatever he’d meant to do next.

Patiently Tighearnán knelt beside Conchobhar for a long moment before he settled his arm around Conchobhar’s shoulders again and helped Conchobhar to his feet, on which he stood with a visible shakiness.

After waiting another long moment, Tighearnán turned Conchobhar toward the nearest house, although they only took a few steps before Tighearnán moved to Conchobhar’s left side so that Conchobhar could put his left arm around Tighearnán’s shoulders as he walked feebly.

Sara guided Cumal and Bláthnat alongside her as she, along with most everyone else who had gathered, followed Tighearnán and Conchobhar to the house, where the elderly widow who called the place home presented a ready-made bed for Conchobhar to lie down on before taking Pryderi from Niamh’s arms so that Niamh could look Conchobhar over again.

Withstanding Trials: Day 8

Word Count: 48,032

Summary of Events:

Aodhán felt improved after a good night's sleep, although he didn't feel fully back to normal come the morning, but he nevertheless went down to Finscéalta to have breakfast before wandering down to the waterfront and looking at the ships, from the large navy gunships to a small, damaged old fishing boat that was beached and unseaworthy. A boy approached him as he was looking at the little boat and explained that the boat was his father's and his father couldn't afford repairs to the vessel, which had been damaged in a storm, especially now that he couldn't use it to bring in money by fishing…

Excerpt of the Day:

Aodhán nodded looking at the vessel, then looking at the boy, whose clothes were definitely well-worn, with patches overtop of patches, as well as looking a bit short for a boy of his height and limb-length.

“Where is your father?” Aodhán asked.

“Over there, sir,” the boy replied a little nervously.

“Could you take me to him please?” Aodhán asked.

“Yes sir,” the boy replied.

Aodhán followed him over the sand and up onto a dock where a man whom Aodhán guessed was at least twenty years his senior was working on mending some crab cages that had undoubtedly had hundreds of thousands of crabs pass through their openings.

The man saw them coming and looked at Aodhán with a measure of suspicion, but he nevertheless nodded politely.

“Good morning sir,” Aodhán said. “Your son tells me that vessel is yours.”

“It is,” the man replied.

“I can see for myself that it isn’t seaworthy,” Aodhán said. “Your son says that you ended up having an accident in a storm, and now you lack the means to repair the vessel.”

“That is true,” the man replied.

“If it is acceptable to you, I would be willing to fund your vessel’s repairs,” Aodhán said.

The man looked surprised and perplexed. “That’s very generous of you, sir, but what I really should have is a new vessel entirely, as I can’t catch enough fish in that vessel to make the profit necessary to care for my family.”

“What size of a vessel would you need?” Aodhán asked.

“I don’t really know specifically,” the man admitted. “But there’s a man up the pier who’s not got any sons or grandsons to man his vessel with him, and he’s getting too old to go out on the seas, so he’s looking to sell the vessel, but he wants two thousand bearta* for it, and even if I were able to sell my vessel I wouldn’t have half that money, not even if she were seaworthy and I got a year’s worth of good catches before I sold her.”

Aodhán nodded. “This vessel, I would presume, is larger?”

“Over twice the size,” the man replied. “And even if two thousand bearta is a lot of money, it’s less than building a new one the same size as the one that I have.”

Nodding again, Aodhán wondered which vessel he’d passed was the one the man was talking about.

“If it is acceptable to you, sir,” Aodhán said. “I would be willing to purchase the vessel for you.”
The man’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Aodhán. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” Aodhán replied. “I have the means to, and I have no desire to see suffering continue that I can bring to an end.”

“How much will I have to pay you?” the man asked.

“Nothing,” Aodhán replied. “Unless you were to consider my taking ownership of your little vessel a payment.”

“But that’s not even half the cost if it were seaworthy!” the man protested.

“I am not seeking recompense,” Aodhán replied. “I would simply like to be of help.”

*beart (pl. bearta) is the currency of O'Enne, divided into 100 píosa (pl. píosaí)

Withstanding Trials: Day 7

Word Count: 42,049

Summary of Events:

Saraid was sent out to pick berries by her cousin, even though she was sure that she wouldn't end up finding anything other than shrivelled and dried berries that the birds would eat in the winter. Aodhán went with Ceallach and many others on a hunt, where he was appalled by the poor aim of everyone including Uncle Séaghdha, and thus had no concerns about his being able to win the hunting competition he and Ceallach had agreed to. Saraid returned without berries only to be surprised with a birthday dinner, having forgotten it was her birthday, and not expecting her cousin to have known, but nevertheless deeply touched. Following the hunt's being cut short by rain — with Aodhán being the only member of the party to hit a stag, which he successfully killed — and a feast comprised of hunted fowl, Aodhán was dragged by Ceallach into a drinking competition despite his dislike for drinking vast quantities of ale…

Excerpt of the Day:

Looking at the fourth mug, Aodhán didn’t know that he could do it, he didn’t want to drink until he fell out of his chair. He felt ill enough as it was, but he didn’t want Ceallach to throw it in his face again, so he started drinking, but more slowly than he’d drunk his previous mugfuls.

As he was working on his mug, he heard the sound of the first competitor falling out of the competition, and by the time he’d managed to get the mugful down about a half-dozen of the group, which had numbered around two dozen, if Aodhán could trust his mind to recall clearly, because his head was starting to feel foggy, had fallen out as well.

Aodhán was presented with another mug and sighed as he stared at it. He didn’t know that he had the ability to drink another litre of ale. He’d already had a little over three, and he felt more ill than he’d ever felt in his life from a genuine sickness.

“Get drinking!” Ceallach slurred. “Here!”

Ceallach grabbed the handle of Aodhán’s mug and lifted it off of the table shakily owing to the fact that he was even more inebriated than Aodhán had ever seen him. He sloshed some of the ale over the sides and onto Aodhán’s lap, prompting Aodhán to take the mug from Ceallach and take a sip of the ale, although his mouth made him spit some of it out despite the fact that he’d not taken that large of a mouthful.

Several more competitors had fallen out of the competition by the time Aodhán had downed a quarter of the mug, including what his mouth had forcibly expelled. Before Aodhán could consume half the mug Ceallach had fallen out of the competition, dropping his still partially-full mug onto himself.

Aodhán pushed his mug away and put his face in his hands. He felt like vomiting, and he wanted to get out of his wet, ale-scented clothes. He had no idea how the others who were still in the competition could keep drinking.

He heard a couple more fall out of the competition as he sat there before he lowered his hands from his face and looked around the table to see that no one else was sitting up.

Looking toward the priest, Aodhán saw a sympathetic look on his face.

“The contest is ended,” the priest said.

“I feel horrible,” Aodhán moaned.

“This young man should be shown to his quarters and helped into bed,” the priest said.

Aodhán struggled to sit up on his own and was grateful to be helped to his feet by a servant, who supported him as he staggered out of the room and all the way to his quarters, by which time he felt horridly nauseous.

Covering his mouth with a hand, he moaned. The servant expertly fished his bedpan out from under the bed with a foot and Aodhán dropped to his knees to empty the contents of his stomach into the receptacle in hopes that forcibly ejecting all the ale from his system would help him feel better at least by the time morning came around.

Withstanding Trials: Day 6

Word Count: 36,001

Summary of Events:

Ceallach continued taking Aodhán on tours of Finscéalta that were more accurately described as outings to go drinking at the various local taverns, where Ceallach always got so drunk he lost his sense of direction and had to be led back to the castle. Come Sunday Saraid attended church with the whole community, while Aodhán deliberately stayed up late the night before in order to be tired, so as not to be forced to attend a Universalist church, much to his aunt's displeasure. Later on in the day he was dragged off by Ceallach to sit and chat in Ceallach's quarters, where Ceallach informed him that there were plans for another hunt in the upcoming week…

Excerpt of the Day:

“I do hope we can get some more good hunts in,” Ceallach said. “Right now I haven’t shot the largest buck yet, so I need to have some more chances to bring down the biggest one, I have the best aim in the family, and not just among my brothers, but my uncles, and cousins, and everything.”

“Is that so?” Aodhán asked.

“You sound like you doubt it,” Ceallach replied.

“I’ve never seen you shoot any more than you’ve seen me,” Aodhán replied. “How can you make such a statement with such confidence?”

“Well, I was specifically talking about Father’s side of the family,” Ceallach replied. “I know I’m better than all of them, but you’re right, I haven’t had a lot of experience against Mother’s side of the family, but when you come with us we’ll see who’s better. We could even have a contest to see who hits more bucks, and whose bucks are bigger and finer, with the winner being the one whose bucks have the greatest total weight and antler-points, especially if they have the larger quantity.”

“So long as we don’t slaughter all the bucks on the isle, otherwise there won’t be any to hunt next year, or even necessarily for the year after that, depending how long it takes for all the little ones to grow up,” Aodhán said.

“Oh, there’s no reason to worry about that,” Ceallach said. “There’s plenty of bucks here, there’s hardly an isle in the realm that could boast more bucks than this one.”

Aodhán nodded, even as he raised his eyebrows sceptically, having his doubts about whether Inis Neamhaí, which was the smallest isle to host a Chiefly Castle in the realm, could really have more bucks — or even deer overall, as surely the numbers of females had to at least be comparable to those of the males — than larger isles, of which there were quite a few, although Aodhán had to admit that he didn’t know exactly, as no one had officially measured the size of all of the isles in the most precise of ways possible.

“You don’t seem to believe me,” Ceallach said. “Just wait until our hunt, then you’ll see that there are thousands of bucks here. I’d estimate as many as ten thousand.”

“That’s a rather significant number,” Aodhán said.

“Yes,” Ceallach said, “But that’s only because you believe everyone who calls this isle small. It truly is actually quite large. Not as large as Oileán Oirthear, I’m sure that it ought to be considered its own continent owing to its vastness, but Neamhaí is a large isle in its own right.”

“But large enough to host ten thousand male deer, in addition to probably about that many females and, one would expect, a comparable amount of young, and sheep?” Aodhán asked.

“Of course,” Ceallach replied. “They’re all fairly small, you know, compared to horses, so they don’t eat as much. An isle like this could probably only host about five thousand horses.”

Withstanding Trials: Day 5

Word Count: 30,188

Summary of Events:

Saraid went out to draw water from the well in the early morning fog and was unnerved by some rustling nearby before being frightened by an arrow that nearly hit her, which came from the bow of the local huntsman, who hadn't realised he was so close to town, and had been trying to hit a deer that ran away unscathed. Aodhán was taken to Finscéalta by Ceallach despite having already been there, and instead of maybe being shown some sights like he expected to be, he was taken directly to the taverns on the waterfront to drink, with Ceallach intending to introduce Aodhán to everyone, which Aodhán didn't want him to…

Excerpt of the Day:

“They can ask me who I am directly,” Aodhán said.

“It’s easier to just tell everyone at once,” Ceallach said.

“They will ask me who I am directly,” Aodhán said sternly. “And that is an order.”
“Excuse me sir?” the keeper asked. “Are you ordering us to ask you directly who you are?”

“No, I am ordering him to not tell everyone who I am, but to let each of you who are interested to ask me directly who I am,” Aodhán replied.

“You can’t order me around,” Ceallach said. “You’re not older than me.”
“Yes I am,” Aodhán replied. “I’ll be eighteen by the end of the year, you’ll only turn next year. Furthermore, even if I was younger than you, I outrank you, therefore I can give you orders and it is your duty to obey them unless someone who outranks me counteracts or voids my orders to you.”

Ceallach furrowed his brow, visibly disgruntled.

“Well, then, sir, if I may ask, who are you?” the keeper asked.

“Aodhán Ó Maolmhuaidh,” Aodhán replied.

The keeper moved his mouth in a silent repetition of the surname before his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

“The prince?” he whispered, looking at Aodhán wonderingly.

“Yes,” Aodhán replied.

The keeper bowed deeply. “My lord, forgive me for being so informal with you.”

“I was comparably informal with you,” Aodhán replied. “But if you feel it needs forgiving, then I forgive you.”

“Who’s the prince?” someone else asked, following which a murmur that sounded to feature the word ‘prince’ several times over rippled through the tavern.

Aodhán turned around to face the crowd of patrons, who were now all looking in his general direction.

“Who enquired?” he asked.

“Are you the prince?” a man asked, stepping forward.

“I am,” Aodhán replied.

Immediately everyone in the tavern went wide-eyed and those who were standing bowed. Clearly proper etiquette when interacting with high-ranking persons was widely practised in Finscéalta.

“What brings you to this place, my lord?” another patron asked.

“My cousin gave it his recommendation,” Aodhán replied, gesturing to Ceallach.

“The best brew in the Taoisceach!” Ceallach proclaimed, raising his mug.

“To the prince’s health!” a man to Aodhán’s left exclaimed, raising his mug.

Everyone in the tavern took up their mug.

“To the prince!” they shouted mostly as one, raising their mugs aloft and striking them together before drinking deeply of the brew within them.

Aodhán hadn’t been toasted before, and he had to admit that he felt it was a little odd, but he wasn’t going to tell people not to toast him if they wanted to. At least if they were toasting him he didn’t have to drink, necessarily.

“Long live the prince!” another patron called, raising his mug.

“Long live the prince!” everyone else shouted before drinking deeply again.

“Thank you,” Aodhán said.

“To the best–”

“Ceallach,” Aodhán interrupted. “Thank you, but I’ve had enough toasts.”

“But it should be three toasts, for good luck,” Ceallach said.

“I don’t need good luck,” Aodhán replied.