Then the chief judge spoke. “That matter is beyond the competence of this court,” he said. “Guard MacCarthy, I have a question for you. Could these weapons, found with the accused, cause the wounds seen on those four bodies?”
“Yes,” Sean replied. “Those wounds are typical of this kind of weapon.”
The judge on the left looked doubtful. “Could you demonstrate this to the court?” he asked.
“Certainly,” Sean said nervously. “But what would you have me shoot?” He had a real worry that they would ask him to demonstrate on Charlie Bruin. It proved to be unfounded. A freshly killed stag was brought from the kitchens and suspended by magic near the door of the hall. After instructing all those standing directly behind the stag to get clear, he took aim with one of the assault rifles and fired. The shot echoed through the hall which filled with the acrid smell of cordite while blood and flesh from the stag sprayed across the doorway. The court was silent as the sound of the shot died away. The body of the stag was brought up to the judges and the nature of the wound was clear for all to see.
It was the High King himself who broke the silence. “Well I only hope that we have another stag for the feast tonight,” he said. “That one’s ruined and will someone please clean that mess off my front door!” The judges looked at the damage done to the stag and then went over to a private corner to discuss the matter among themselves. When they returned, the chief judge stood and called for the interested parties to come forward.
Charlie Bruin was brought before the judges and two women who, apart from Finola, were the only women in the hall, also stepped forward.
“Gentle ladies,” the chief judge said. “This man has been found guilty of the murder of your husbands and their mother. His life is yours. Do you want him killed?”
The taller of the two women spoke up. “No, my lord. We have been deprived of our husbands to work our land and watch out cattle. We have decided to keep him as a bonded servant until his strength fails and he is no longer of any use.”
The High King nodded. “So be it,” he said. “Take him away and give him into the service of these widows.” Charlie Bruin was taken, still struggling ineffectually against his bonds, from the hall and the assembled crowd began to break up.
Declan came over to Sean. “Time for us to go,” he said. “Come, we need to get you back before you’re missed.”
Chapter Twelve - The return
A short time later, and for the second time that day, Sean found himself sitting in the bottom of Declan’s boat. Declan was again standing near the prow as the boat moved swiftly down the river.
“How long will it take to get back? Sean asked. At the sound of Sean’s voice, Declan turned around and smiled. “We are just approaching the mouth of the river and the Atlantic Ocean. From there we will track directly to the northern coast of the Dingle Peninsula. It will not take us long. See there. That is the monastery of Brendan’s monks.” He pointed to a hill off to the right. At the top of the hill was a high gabled Romanesque church with a tall round tower. There were small, stone huts gathered around it and the monks could be seen working in the fields on the hill’s southern slopes.
By this time the boat was moving through the surf with a casual grace and they were soon out on the open ocean. Soon after, they were approaching the Irish coast through a choppy sea. This didn’t worry the boat at all. Nor did the surf nearer to the coast and it glided easily up onto the sand and was still. Declan jumped gracefully from the boat. Sean followed him somewhat more awkwardly and found himself on the same beach near Brandon Point that they had left from earlier.
“How long have I been gone?” Sean asked.
“In your time, you have only been gone about fifteen minutes. As you may remember from your childhood stories, time is different in Tyr na nOg.” Declan paused and then held out his hand. “Well done, Sean MacCarthy of the Garda Síochána na hÉireann. Today you’ve earned the gratitude of the Tuatha de Dannan and that is no small thing.” Sean shook his hand and then, without another word and with the same unnatural grace he always had, Declan climbed into his boat and passed swiftly through the surf and off into the west.
There would be rain later but for now the sun was shining and it was a fine, soft afternoon with the wind coming in from the west - yet as he watched the small boat disappear, Sean couldn’t help but feel that he was losing something precious and even the gentle day now seemed flat.
Returning to his patrol car, Sean radioed back his status. “Sean here sergeant, that boat was a waste of time. Turns out there was nothing strange about it at all.” Sean’s hand went up to feel his right shoulder.
“That’s good then,” came the reply. “Could you head over to Harry O’Kealy’s place? He claims someone has kidnapped ten of his pigs. The man’s daft! Who would to steal those ugly brutes?”
Sean smiled. “I’m right on to it,” he said. He sat quietly in the car for a moment and remembered the feeling of power reaching up through his arms. His hand went back to his right shoulder. He shook his head to dismiss the feeling. There was nothing there. So why did he feel as if something heavy was hanging across his back?
Thank you for reading my story. If you liked it, why not post a review with your favourite retailer? If you would like to read more about Declan and Sean, watch for the sequel to this story, Return of the Answerer, which will be published in 2016.
Declan MhicOisin is also a character in my fantasy series, Myfanwy’s People. Check it out.
Best regards,
Joseph H.J. Liaigh
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