At the very end of the mythic timeline, an impossibly long-lived bard faces his death, and tries to ensure that the legends will survive him.

1. “INTO THE WELL”
EP. #6: ENDINGS
[what do we think of the fire crackling etc opening I’ve been using.
Tbh I find it a little cliché, and would welcome other suggestions]
Bard Long ago, in Ireland, there was a wiseman and poet named Fintan Mac
Bochra. He had lived for five and a half thousand years, and saw all of Ireland’s
history unfold and repeat over and again; and he was always on hand when the people
needed those stories retold to them once more.
He was often sought out for his wisdom and guidance, and sometimes,
comfort.
A hawk cries as waves lash up against some rocks. A powerful wind
buffets us as we climb higher, catching up to an old man heavily
breathing while making a steep climb.
[maybe we even hear the distant noise of traffic?]
Bard Comfort is what Fintan himself now seeks, as he drags his aching bones to the
top of a hill, on the furthest western reaches of Ireland.
Fintan reaches the top and lets a sigh at the majestic view over the
western ocean that is revealed to him.

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Fintan (old, tired) Now there’s a sight worthy of being my last. Right, if there’s a
bench to sit down on I’ll— (notices Bard) You!
Bard Me.
Fintan But… I… You were there at the very start, when this all began! With
Cessair, and the others. You were there when I sought the silence.
Bard And it seems that you still don’t ever shut up.
Fintan Hmpf! And it seems you’re still a dick!
Bard Ha! You’ve no idea.
Fintan Why are you here?
Bard Because, this is where it will end. You are the great poet, storyteller and lore
keeper. All of Ireland’s history is within you; it seems fitting that it ends with you.
Fintan What ends?
Bard The stories. I’m not going to tell them anymore.
Fintan You’re a storyteller, like me?
Bard More than just like you.
Fintan And you’re going to stop… why?
Bard Because, there’s no point, is there?
Fintan To what?
Bard To telling them. No one will ever listen. The ending will always be the same.
The stories should die atop this mountain with you.
Fintan It’s true, I came here, as far west as west goes, to die. Something I’ve earned.
And I can’t help but feel you’re making this occasion all about you.
Bard What? This is about you. It’s always been about you!
Fintan What is this ill will you bear me? We’ve met all of two times, and yet
you seem to hold something against me.

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Bard So what? Are you too great a poet and sage for me to just not like you?
Fintan I can’t help but wonder why.
Bard You know why. I told you why all the way back then. Five and half thousand
years, and you still haven’t worked it out.
Fintan (thinks) Fine then.
Pause.
Bard “Fine then” what?
Fintan I’ve made my decision.
Bard What decision?
Fintan If you intend for the stories to die with me; then I’ll just have to live a
little longer.
Bard I should have known you’d say something like that.
Fintan Yes you should have.
Bard Grrr. Right. You came here to die, and I came here to kill you. Only one of us
will leave this cliff, I know that for a fact.
So, listen and I’ll tell you and tale.
(dripping in sarcasm, and irony) Long ago, there was a farmer named
Cian. And he had (what else would he have? But) a really nice cow. It was sooo nice
in fact, that Balor, pirate king of the Fomorians, coveted it.
That’s right Balor of the Evil Eye, whose mere gaze could kill a person stone
dead. The most mighty and fearsome pirate, really fecking wanted that cow. And he
tried everything to get it.

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He tried to buy it from Cian. But the farmer was like, “nah man, its too good a
cow. The profit I’d make from its milk is worth far more than you could pay me.”
So, Balor said, “grand, I’ll just take it from him.”
But every time Balor came for it, Cian spotted him from a mile way
(the big ugly head on him) and Balor could never find it.
But Balor had magic of his own, and he transformed himself into a
bull. Now I mean, a really fine bull. The kind of bull that for some reason people start
fecking wars over.
And he came up to Cian’s cow and lured her away. Then stole her and brought
he back to his home on the craggy islands off Ireland’s northern coast.
Now, Cian was having none of that, so he got his druid friend to cast a spell of
invisibility over him, and he snook into Balor’s castle, seeking the cow.
Ok so, Balor, evil king, greedy warlord, yatta yatta yatta, He had prophecy on
him. (How could he not?) He was told that he could not be killed, except by his own
grandson.
Now Balor, didn’t see this as much of a problem. He only had one child;
Eithne. So he did the natural thing.
He locked Eithne in a tower.
I mean what else do you do? These stories are all the same, got a princess?
Lock ‘em in a tower. God forbid she could have her own agency. Then again, maybe
she did.
Because, of course, Cian found the princess, and of course, they fell madly in
love. And using spell Cian hid with Eithne and he fathered a child with her. And when
he was finally caught by Balor, he managed to get away, and get his cow back.

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Balor still thought he’d be grand though, he waited until the child was born
and then fucked him out a window into the sea. But the kid was rescued, by such and
such of the waves. And brought back to his father, to be raised.
The boy would grow up to Lugh, the mightiest, wisest, and bravest of the
Tuath de Dannan. And when Balor became too greedy, and sought to conquer all the
land, and rule it for himself., it was Lugh who rallied the Tuath. He led the them at the
Second Battle of Moytura, and of course, came face to face with Balor, and his evil
eye.
Balor usually kept the eye closed, as not hurt people by mistake. But when he
heard of this champion slaying his soldiers left right, and centre, he opened his eye to
use it to kill his opponent. As he did the pure sight it gave let him see that it was, in
fact, his grandson that stood before him.
Before he could react, Lugh threw his spear into Balor’s eye. Knocking it out
the back of his head, killing the Fomorian, fulfilling the prophecy. And breaking the
Fomorian’s power in Ireland once and for all.
So, you see, you cannot escape your fate, Fintan Mac Bochra. Try as you
might, you will only end up causing your own demise. After all this wasn’t the first
time this had happened, it wasn’t even the first battle of a that place called Moytura.
Haha! You even only have one eye!
Its all the same.
Fintan (laughs) Well done. Very true. And it’s a fair point, it all just repeats itself over
and again. Sometimes our universe does seem like it lacks in originality. But maybe
stories don’t have to always be original, sometimes they can just be stories.
Bard Stories are just stories? Do you really believe there is nothing they can teach?

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Fintan Of course not! I’m just saying people are free to decide whether or not
to learn anything from them.
Oh! I’ve a good one. Hahaha.
Long ago, there was a farmer called Macc Da Thó. In his time there
was no High-King, and robbers and raiders often troubled him. So, he decided to raise
a battle hound to protect his herd.
One day, when the hound was naught more than a puppy, a druid was crossing
Macc Da Thó‘s land, and he saw the dog. He predicted then that this hound would
become the most famous hound in Ireland, but it would die young. Macc Da Thó
didn’t think much of this, and continued to raise the pup.
The hound grew up to be the greatest hound Ireland had ever seen. And far and
wide it was known that that dog, was the best dog in the land.
It was so good, in fact, that a queen in Connaught decided she wanted the
hound for herself. So, she sent envoys to Macc Da Thó, asking to buy it.
But she was not alone in desiring this dog. And a king in Ulster sent
messengers at the same time.
Now, Macc Da Thó was in a bind. He knew the dog would die young anyway,
so selling it made good sense. But he didn’t want to incur the wrath of either monarch
by selling the hound to t’other.
Luckily, Macc Da Thó’s wife, Misé Da Thó, was a wise woman, and she told
her husband that he should let the two provinces fight it out between them. And not
get involved.
So that is what Macc Da Thó did. He sent the messengers back to them both
informing them of each other’s interest and inviting them to a feast where the
purchaser could be decided and advising them to bring their greatest armed host.

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The Queen of Connaught and the King Ulster arrived at the feast, counting
among their warriors some of the greatest fighters in all of Ireland. And they all
arranged themselves on opposite sides of Macc Da Thó’s long table, and awaited their
meal. Glaring at one another the whole time.
The meal was presented, and at its core was a mighty pig, slow roasted to
perfection.
It was tradition in Ireland at this time for the greatest champion in the land to
get the first slice of the meat. Called the Champion’s portion, and it was time
honoured, and formal affair.
The two provinces fell into disagreement over who that champion was. They
boasted, and argued and debated into the night, until eventually things got heated and
weapons were drawn.
A bloody battle ensued that Ulster only just won by the skin of their teeth, and
when all was said and done, they decided to look back for the pig.
Only to discover that Macc Da Thó’s hound had took the Champion’s Portion
for itself.
The hound had gorged on the entire pig, leaving none for anyone else. In fact,
it had eaten itself to death, and so, no one had hound nor pig.
And they returned home empty handed one and all!
Hahahaha!
Bard Is that how that story goes?
Fintan Are you suggesting that I’m unreliable?
Bard No, I’m suggesting that no one is, and nothing is.
(coming upon the idea) Certainly not stories. And if we can’t trust the
stories we tell ourselves…

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Fintan Oh I see, then we live in a world where we cannot even trust ourselves.
Bard I worry we live in a world where we cannot really know ourselves.
Fintan Maybe, getting to know ourselves is part of the adventure!
Bard (frustrated sigh) Is this what talking to me is like?
Fintan You would know.
Bard Argh! So annoying.
He paces around, frustrated by the old man’s double talk.
Bard Do you think this has a happy ending? Is that what you want? Is that why you
came here?
Fintan I came here for an ending.
Bard Well I don’t think I can give you one. At least, not one that promises
that this all won’t happen again.
After all, hearts die, only to be reborn and be broken all over again.
Long ago, there was a woman named Sadbh. She was a friend of the
animals, who spend all of her time out in nature enjoying the beauty of the world.
While out, she was often watched in secret by a very powerful druid of the Tuath de
Dannan, a man named Ferdoirich.
After many months spend watching Sadbh from afar, he decided to speak to
her. Creeping out of the bushes one day, while she fed and chatted to some deer.
His sudden appearance frightened her, and when he proceeded to profess his
undying love, she was taken aback, and even more scared.
She politely denied him, then turned to leave when Ferdoirich flew into a rage,
he took out his hazel-wand and he struck Sadbh with it, transforming her into a deer.

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Trapped in this animal shape Sadbh ran from him then, but she could not
communicate with anyone to say what had been done, and she found that the animals
who had once been her friends rejected her in this new shape, as she was a thing they
could not comprehend.
One day, one of Ferdoirich’s apprentices came upon the doe that was Sadbh,
immediately recognising his master’s magic, he told her how she may counter it.
Ferdoirich had an opposite power, one that could nullify his. If she went to
Dun Almu, the fort of the Fianna, the magic there would undo what was done.
“But,” he warned her, if she left the fort, she would once again be vulnerable
to Ferdoirich’s magic.
So Sadbh set off in search of this fort.
The Fianna were the greatest warriors in Irealnd at this time. Tasked
with protecting its shores and keeping the peace. And their leader was a great hero
named Fionn MacCool.
One day Fionn was out hunting with his two magic hounds, both of whom had
once been human but were transformed into dogs.
They came across the most majestic doe Fionn had ever seen and proceeded to
pursue it. The magic hounds and the doe outran Fionn’s horse. And they were out of
sight for some time before Fionn caught up with them.
When he did, he found them playing in the fields, the hounds and the doe
cleaning one another as kin animals do. Fionn decided that this innocent creature
should live, and decided to return home, calling his hounds to heel.
He travelled back to Dun Almu, and all the while the doe followed carefully
behind.

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Fionn began to suspect something was afoot, so, he struck his magic thumb
into his mouth, and sucked on it as a child would. For you see, this allowed him to
access the power of the Otherworld he’d received from tasting a salmon that had lived
in one of the magic wells.
In a sudden heightened form of awareness, he realised that the doe was in fact
person, transformed, and understood that the dun’s blessings could heal them.
He immediately ushed the doe inside, and as he did it transformed back Sadbh.
For of course it was her.
She explained to Fionn what had happened to her, and how the she’d been
warned that leaving the fort would once again make her vulnerable to Ferdoirich’s
magic.
Fionn told her that she could stay for as long as was necessary, and he vowed
to use his knowledge of the Otherworld to help her free her free herself from
Ferdoirich once and for all.
But even with his magic thumb, they struggled to find a permanent solution, as
Ferdoirich was one of the most powerful druids, and a Tuath dé Dannan as well.
As time grew on, Sadbh and Fionn began to fall in love. Eventually they were
married, and they knew a happiness unlike anything either had ever felt before.
But still Sadbh was trapped in that fortress, and it cast a shadow on their love.
Fionn longed to see her free to enjoy her beloved nature. And she longed simply to be
free.
One day, Fionn was summoned by the King of Ireland, Cormac Mac Airt,
grandson of Conn of the Hundred Battles, to defend Ireland’s shores against invasion.

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While he was gone Sadbh continued her research into becoming free of
Ferdoirich’s magic. But suddenly, Fionn returned home. He stood outside the gates of
the fort calling her name and beckoning her to join him.
Sadbh came the gate but would not leave. Reminding him that Ferdoirich
could be waiting for her. Fionn scoffed at this insisting that he, of all people, could
protect her.
Sadbh was still unsure, and did not think she was ready to challenge
Ferdoirich directly if her did emerge.
But Fionn insisted she was safe, and if she truly loved him, she would come
out.
Wilfully ignoring the massive red flag that statement was, Sadbh relented and
left the gates.
As she approached her lover he transformed, and revealed himself to be
Ferdoirich.
She went to run away, but it was too late, he pulled out his hazel-wand and hit
her with it. Transforming her once more into a doe. He then stood between her and the
dun, Almu, and began to chase after her.
As he pursued her, he wove a path in front of them into the Otherworld.
Unknowingly Sadbh ran straight down it, arriving in a forest hemmed
in by mountains and cliffs on all sides. Here, she was forced to roam as deer, for the
rest of her days…
We are returned to the cliffside.

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Bard Tell me, what can mere stories do against a world where shit like this happens
every feckin’ day?
Fintan The stories help us see the truth.
Bard But the truth is gruesome, and can be complex, and people just don’t
want to hear it.
Fintan I see, what you seek is a world of clarity, a world where people can actually
see the obvious. A world of simple truths. I hate to break it to you, there’s no such
thing as a simple truth.
Bard I don’t know, I’ve witnessed simple truths. I know they’re real. A part of the
very fabric of the universe. I guess what I wish is that more people were able to see
the truth.
Fintan That’s why we have to tell the stories!
Bard But it doesn’t work!!
Fintan Doesn’t it? Long ago—
Bard (interrupting) Oh no no no no, you’re not going to do that to me.
Fintan It’s the only language you understand. Long ago—
Bard Stop. I’m not listening.
Fintan tries to continue but the bard keeps interrupting.
Bard Ep. Bep. They have to end. Stop it!
Fintan No! I’m going to tell it, and you’re going to listen.
Long. Ago.
There was a High-King in Tara called Diarmat Mac
Cerbhall, at this time there had been much conflict over the High-Kingship. It had

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been made hereditary instead of an elected position, and the ownership of the seat at
Tara had led to war and partition and many other disasters.
So, as Diarmat, always a thinker, gazed out over the great plain of Tara, with
seven views on every side, he wondered if he might be the truly just ruler of Ireland.
He decided to call upon the wisest person he could think of: Fiachra, son of
the embroideress, who was Saint Patrick’s successor in Ireland. But when the question
was put to Fiachra, he refused to answer it.
“There is another person, wiser and older than myself,” he said, “and that is
Cennfaelad, who got a wound to the head in the Battle of Moy Rath, that took the
brain of forgetfulness out of her head, so she remembers everything, and can forget
nothing.”
But Cennfaelad, too, refused to answer the question. She insisted they ask her
five seniors, the oldest and wisest people in Ireland.
But when the five elders arrived, they also would not answer such a laoded
question. And bid the King summon the wisest, oldest, and undeniable person they
knew of.
At once the King sent for the person named by the five elders of Ireland. That
man was of course, myself.
Fintan Mac Bochra.
I had lived for so long that my legend had grown and fallen again into
obscurity, until by then, only the oldest and wisest people had ever heard of me.
They asked me to sit in the judge’s seat, but I refused until I knew what
question they had to put to me.
Diarmat explained; that he thought that due to the wars of succession, and the
division in people’s hearts and minds, it might not be just he be should be king at all,

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especially only because his father had been so.
Now, I thought this was a very interesting question indeed. And it had been
centuries since anyone had thought to ask me about affairs of state.
In that moment I realised something, I had the ear of the High-King. All
through the centuries I had told my stories, and all along I worried that no one was
truly listening.
And I knew, that the person who didn’t think they should be King, might be
the very person who had to be king. And fate had twisted to allow the right person to
arrive at the right time.
Now I knew someone would be listening. Someone cared. And he was the
King.
I told Diarmat all the history of Ireland. From the forgotten past, right up to his
present. I told him of the High-King’s original role. The one of mediator, not ruler. Of
the division of power between the politics at Tara, and druidic magic at Uisneach.
I told all the stories that spoke of the justness of a King, and the legends of the
land that told of its hidden secrets.
And High-King Diarmat Mac Cerbhall listened to one and all.
He took what I said and he carved a High-Kingship that was true and just, and his
people lived at peace, and in prosperity.
By the end of this tale Fintan sounds tired, yet content. He is an old
man at peace with himself.
Bard Did it last?
Fintan Does anything?

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Bard “Impermanence is the only constant.”
Fintan Which is exactly why I don’t think I can keep this up much longer.
The bard doesn’t reply, as they note Fintan difficult breaths. They
think about it all as they gaze into the west at the setting sun.
Bard (raw) It just… hurts… you know? The things I’ve said and done; I feel guilty
and yet still self-righteous. I’m angry, so angry, I feel like I’m screaming at everyone
but no one is listening, no one cares. I’m… I’m…
Fintan (laboured) Afraid.
Bard Yes. I am afraid. I’m afraid I’m right; that it’s futile. That conflict, that
suffering… that no. one. cares.
Fintan (fading) Somewhere, someone cares. Even if it’s only one…
This burden, is the storyteller’s lot.
Bard Then, maybe we should all be storytellers.
Fintan laughs heartily at this, it’s a laugh of pure joy.
Fintan We are!
He continues laughing, eventually fading off wiping a tear from his
eye.
Fintan Thank you! A good laugh after all this, to die with a smile lips; its truly a
blessing.

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Bard (quietly) You don’t die, you realise?
Fintan (sighs) Tell me a story, one more to send me on my way.
Bard I will, one just for you.
Long ago, there was a simple man named Fintan. He was one of the
first people ever to come to Ireland and he lost everything he loved. He even lost his
physical form and became one with the land; and later, its chosen representative.
As the bard relays this tale their voice slowly fades and is replaced by
Fintan’s voice.
It is very gradual, and the two speak in unison for a time, until the
bard’s voice fades completely and it is Fintan’s that recounts the rest
of the tale.
Bard/Fintan After losing his shape he was reborn as a salmon. For many years he swam the
waterways of Ireland, and came to know them well. But a terrible thing happened to
him at the estuary of the river Earne; the cold that winter was the worst he’d ever felt,
and the waterfall froze solid, like shards of glass.
He couldn’t stay under the water, and tried in vain to make the leap above the
waterfall. And then a hawk swooped down at him out of the sky and plucked out one
of his eyes, and that was one more grief on top of all that he’d suffered already.
After this, people returned to the island again, and Fintan became a man once
more and the land beckoned him to recount his story to them.

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But, their colony failed; they were wiped out by a plague and Fintan once
more became animal, this time a bull. He roamed the meadows of Ireland and came to
know them well.
And then, Ireland was colonised once more, and again Fintan became a man
and relayed to these newcomers the stories of the colonist that came before. But they
were driven out by the constant raids of the Fomorians, and Fintan, was transformed
into a horse. He ran the length and breath of the island, and came to know its very
edges so well.
Again, Ireland was colonised, and again Fintan transformed back to recount
the history. This time the people were invaded by their own long-lost kin and after a
terrible battle were overrun.
Fintan, in his grief transformed back into an animal, this time a woodcock.
He flew the skies of Ireland and came to know them so well.
Until, a time came that the new residents of Ireland required a
counsel, and once more the land summoned Fintan. Hebecame a man once more to
tell them the stories of all those who came before them.
But, these people were invaded again, and driven into the Otherworld by the
people who would come to be known as the Gaels.
Fintan became an animal, this time a mighty stag. He wandered all through the
woodlands of Ireland, and came to be considered their king.
Until, at last, the Gaels required Fintan’s counsel, and he was summoned to
Tara. Where he became a man on final time.
He told the story of Ireland, its colonisations; its loneliness. Then, he lived his
life as a wanderer, and he came to know all the people of Ireland so well.

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Ireland was invaded again, and this time the people cared not to hear Fintan’s
tales. He tried in vain, to get the people to listen but he was ignored, by all but a few.
Fintan’s voice grows weaker and weaker.
Fintan But this was fine with him; as long as a few people still carried on his
knowledge, that was enough. And after he’d taught all he could, Fintan departed from
society. He travelled to the furthest western edge of the country, and there he finally
let go.
Fintan (his last words) He was finally free.
Fintan lets out a final breath, then dies. The bard waits in respectful
silence for a moment.
Bard And so, the story of Fintan Mac Bochra, Ireland’s first storyteller, ends, only
to start once more.
Because this is an ending. But it is not the ending.
If you haven’t realised yet, endings, like all other things, are
temporary.
I have one more story to tell, one more tale, to begin it all again…
To be Continued…