With his friends placed into the sleep of the ages, by Fintan Mac Gabhann, a minion of the mischievous Goban Saor, Gwri is forced to serve them in their plot to strike back at Brarn the Reaver. Set before him was six tasks to gather six items. Completed five of his six tasks, Gwri finally hears the tale of Fin and learns what faces him in his final task.

he two perfectly formed circles floated upon the surface of the bowl into which Gwri had emptied his water pouch, the afternoon light twinkling off of each. So perfectly formed, yet so perfectly useless.

“What are they for, Fin?”

Gwri’s warden looked up from the bowl when he answered, “They’re to help with the phoenix.”

Surprised that, for the first time, Fin offered an answer, Gwri asked, “How?”

“You know, I wasn’t always someone to hide away from the world.” The smith said, turning his gaze back to the tears floating in the bowl. “Once I was a smith in a village probably little different than your own. I was respected and I was loved.”

He paused, looking deeply into the bowl, almost as if he could scry that past. In turn, Gwri said nothing, not wanting to interrupt the man’s thoughts or chase them away before they could be spoken.

“Her name was Lavena. She was beautiful and when she accepted my hand, she made my world whole, introduced me to a joy I never believed possible. And then she made it greater, when she gave me our son, Eghan. It was......wonderful. Perfect. Maybe that is why it could not last.

“I hated to be gone from them, but I had duties, responsibilities. I was a respected man, the village relied upon me and I served it well. Just as my family grew with my daughter, Cara, so did the village grow, until it became difficult for me to keep up with the demands upon my skill. There was no time to cut my own lumber, to fire my own charcoal. And so one day, I traveled to the neighbouring village and talked to their smith, who told me of the charcoal burners who supplied him. With his directions, I went into the woods and reached a similar agreement. But it was late by the time we finished and they convinced me of the dangers in the forest at night, offering their floor upon which I bedded down to sleep.

“I awoke to a feeling guilty, for Lavena had expected my return the day before. Therefore, I tarried not for breakfast, but immediately began my journey. My only stop was at Widow Brangaine’s, known as the finest dressmaker in the region, and from her I brought a blue dress. It was pretty. I hoped Lavena would forgive my absence when I gave it to her.”

Gwri looked downwards at what he wore, nervous speculation growing within his stomach at what was about to come.

“Arlan met me on the road. He was my friend and saw my approach as he tended his fields. Immediately I knew something was wrong, for he greeted me not in his normal fashion, instead his eyes would not meet mine. He spoke of a fire at my forge during the night and how it must have spread to my nearby home before anybody noticed. He told me how sorry he was, asked if he could do anything to help.”

Now Fin looked directly at Gwri with incredibly sad eyes, but ones that had already shed all their tears. “I was broken. I did not finish my journey home, for home and those I held dear no longer existed. I turned away and walked, eaten by my guilt at not having been there when they needed me most. For not ensuring the forge was safe before I left. For their deaths. Aimlessly I wandered. For how long? I do not know, for it proved to be a time where nothing mattered. But it could not last forever, I could only relive my mistakes so many times before I questioned them. As much as I chastised myself for the forge, part of me knew that I had done nothing wrong, that I had left it safe. I did not cause the fire.”

Fin did not question when he said this, the statement held a conviction of truth. Almost it seemed he challenged Gwri. “I believe you, Fin.”

“A need to know the truth wedged itself into my mind between my grief and my guilt. While I found myself in this state, he came to me with an offer to help learn the truth.

“The Goban Saor?”

“Aye, though at the time I knew him only as a man who offered me a chance at answers. Maybe if I had known the truth, it would have been different, but I doubt it. Above all else, the Goban Saor is skilled at offering what men desire most. For me I needed answers and those he offered to help find. He made me believe in him, probably because he never denied how difficult it would be to find those answer. Almost impossible he said, yet he sold me a dream. that of the phoenix.”

Gwri nodded in bewilderment, realizing a response was expected, but not knowing what to say.

“Have you ever wondered why the phoenix is locked in a never ending cycle of fiery death and rebirth? Because it was not always the case, in the beginning the phoenix was one of the many songbirds that were drawn to áengus, though greater than all the others. Flying not about his head, but at his side or sometimes even serving as his mount. The phoenix was with him when he tricked his father, the Dagda, into giving him his home in BrẠna Bá³inne, when he slew Lugh Lamfada, and while he searched for Caer, the girl in his dreams.

“And together the two watched over and protected the son of Donn, Lord of the Dead, who asked áengus to raise Diarmuid as his foster-child. áengus and the phoenix nurtured the boy through childhood and offered aid when the young man fled under a geis placed upon him by Grá¡inne, daughter of Cormac mac Airt, who found the handsome young warrior irresistible and wished not to marry the aged Fionn. Many were their trials until áengus brought piece between Fionn and the couple, allowing them to settle at Keshcorran in County Sligo. But neither step-father nor phoenix were present when Diarmuid joined Fionn in a boar hunt upon Ben Bulben and so the prophecy that Donn`s son would be killed by a boar came to pass. All the two found when they arrived was Diarmuid`s corpse, which they took home to BrẠna Bá³inne, while the soul returned to its father, Donn.

“Deep was áengus's sorrow at failing to keep his foster-son alive, for in a life devoted to love, Diarmuid held a special place. Questions arose in his mind. Was he not more of a father than Donn could ever be? Why then was the Dark One rewarded while he only had an empty shell? Unable to accept the loss, áengus mounted the phoenix and flew to Tech Duinn, where he confronted Donn, demanding Diarmuid be returned to life. And though in life, the Lord of the Dead had placed his son into the hands of someone so full of life, in death he felt his son belonged with him. Thus he held tightly to what was his and rebuffed both demands and pleas, finally he banished áengus from his island.”

The smith did not have the skill of his grandmother, nor even Gwri, at telling a story, but that did not stop the changeling from being mesmerized by the tale. Not a word did he speak as Fin paused to dip a cup into a pail of water. Emptying the cup, Fin continued.

“However, while speaking to Donn, áengus had noticed the Dark One glance towards a steaming cauldron whenever Diarmuid’s name was mentioned. áengus guessed this vessel held the soul of his foster-son and with diplomacy having failed, he decided to try stealth. In the deepest night, áengus and the phoenix once more flew to Tech Duinn. There they waited and they watched, hoping Donn would wander away from his seat, leaving them free to venture forth and take what they sought. Many days passed, Donn sitting as if a statue upon his throne, before the Dark One’s head swiveled and he looked into the distance. Neither of the watchers heard or saw what drew his attention, but they felt a surge of anticipation when the Lord of the Dead heaved himself to his feet and stomped off in that direction.

“Chance offered, áengus crept from his hiding place and to the Cauldron of Souls. There a lesser man would have been stumped, but áengus came prepared. Looking into the cauldron, with its contents that boiled despite there being no fire under the stand upon which it sat, áengus lifted a chain over his head from his neck. A chain from which hung an iron ring that had long circled the thumb of Diarmuid`s hand. Holding the chain, áengus let the ring drop into the cauldron. Immediately it took on a glow as it attracted the essence of its owner. When the glowing stopped and the ring was lifted from the murky pool, áengus found it cold to the touch and changed to silver, rather than iron. Satisfied he draped the chain once more around his neck and turned to leave.

“But the cauldron would not give up its bounty so readily. Barely had he turned before he felt the ring being pulled towards the cauldron. As the ring upon its chain was pulled, so to was the thief. Unable to leave with his prize, but unwilling to leave without it, áengus allowed himself to be pulled in the direction of the cauldron. Pulled within a pace, he kicked its stand out from beneath the cauldron, spilling many lifetimes of souls onto the floor.

“Suddenly áengus realized what he had wrought in his grief. Like a naughty child, embarrassment caused him to flee to where the phoenix waited, seeking escape. However, Donn was drawn by the sound of the cauldron’s crash. Outraged at the desecration, he spotted the phoenix climbing into the air, though he did not see áengus upon its back. And so he called forth to the seas surrounding his island to rise into a mighty storm. Caught in the winds and the rains of the storm, the phoenix and its rider were pummeled from all sides, until áengus was ripped from his seat to plummet towards the seas. Just before he splashed down, he rescued himself by turning into a swan and in this form he rode out the storm, upon its giant waves, and then took flight for BrẠna Bá³inne. There he placed the silver ring upon the thumb of Diarmuid’s corpse and once more he heard his foster-son speak.”

Gwri had heard the stories of Diarmuid many times before, including those that included áengus, but never the version told by Fin. Still their end was not the end that interested him, one question remained. “Fin, what happened to the phoenix?”

“Ah yes, the phoenix. Not being a bird of the seas, it flew towards the nearest land when separated from áengus. Unfortunately, that was Tech Duinn, where waited the Dark One, who imprisoned it while he contemplated cruel punishment. For with the cauldron of souls cracked from its fall, he no longer had a vessel, beyond himself, to hold the deaths he gathered. And strong willed though he was, Donn already staggered beneath the weight of those he had rescued from the broken cauldron, never mind the continuous flow of new despair.

“He decided it was only right that the trespasser, who he believed to have done the damage, should help him carry the load. Therefore, Donn climbed to the top of the highest tower in Tech Duinn, where the phoenix roosted, a shackle about its leg. One after another he fed it the deaths that he had rescued. Slowly its beautiful plumage lost its lustre and colour, becoming dull and colourless, since the bird who had only known beauty and joy was unable to understand the sorrow cascading down upon it. The songs that it had once sung were washed away by a tide of sorrow. Finally it could no longer accept anymore anguish and its heart burst. However, Donn would not accept its death.

“What he had been unwilling to do for Diarmuid, Donn now attempted to force upon the phoenix. Finding its broken body unable to hold onto its being, he summoned forth a conflagration to consume the carcass, until all that remained were numerous eggs scattered about the perch where it had once roosted. If someone were to have counted, they would have found one hen, sized egg of smoky grey translucence for each death it had consumed. They also would have seen one other egg, much larger and glowing with an internal fire that grew steadily brighter before it shattered. For a moment, the phoenix reborn appeared as glorious as ever, its song bursting forth in hopeful renewal.

“Some say that hope can be the most cruel of emotions, since it so often toys with its owners. However, if you have ever been without it, you will that its absence is worse. The phoenix shows the truth behind this, cruel though Donn’s ongoing punishment towards the bird may be, how much worse would it be if at every rebirth it did not hope that things would this time be better?”

“But doesn’t Donn know the truth?” Gwri asked. “That áengus, not the phoenix, broke the cauldron?”

“Probably.”

“Why does he continue to punish it? Why hasn’t áengus done something.”

“The Dark One probably no longer sees it as punishment, for it serves him well, gathering the dead. As for áengus, never forget that the friendship of our betters means more to us than it does to them.”

Gwri nodded at this truth. Even in wanting to believe in a god like áengus, who championed beauty and youth, he could not deny that other tales hinted at someone whose temper readily changed. Nervous at the expected answer to his next questioned, “So I need to rescue the phoenix?”

Fin initial answer was a snort. “Hardly. No, I expect you’re to claim your dead. For you alone cannot pull off your masquerade.”

“And the dragon’s tears?

“In birth and death the phoenix burns as brightly as the afternoon’s sun. To look upon it during this time is to look upon the last thing you would ever see. But a dragon is also a creature of fire, its flame burns just as brightly, and with its tears so to will you be protected.”