Tuatha De Danann Graveyard

     A tenebrous velvet curtain drew across the hill strewn countryside. The boundless heavens were scattered with thousands of stars. They flickered and nodded, eyes watching; a hushed anticipation.  As if on cue, dark tendrils retreated; pursued by the nimble light of approaching lanterns. In the distance through tall grass, a grove gradually emerged out of the darkness. High above the trees, in graceful repose; the Evening Star observed the approaching individuals’ with great curiosity.

                 

 “Once a race mighty now brought low, hidden where mortals fear to go. Mysteries the Evening Star does keep; where children of Goddess Danu rest, an eternal sleep.”

                

   Looming ahead, a stream mirroring the sky chortled; singing a melodic lullaby to the night. Carefully, lanterns held aloft; the gentlemen traversed the exposed stone footpath that led to the opposite embankment. A gentle breeze danced through the leaves; visible in the spaces amongst the trees, small pinpoints of light bobbed up and down. An eerie glow filled the surrounding meadow.

               

  Inside the cluster of trees, small mounds of stone lay partially hidden in the tall grass. In front of each mound, a solitary flower bloomed. Curving inward like delicate white slippers attached to slender green stems. Suspended in every bloom, an orb emitting a soft white light. The stones furled outwards and spiraled inwards, taking the shape of an intricate Celtic cross. At the center, a small hill covered in lofty whispering grass; obscuring part of the formation.

               

  Everything went unnaturally silent. An intoxicating perfume filled the air, causing the men to become drunk off of its heady scent. Light headed, they stumbled towards the middle of the cross. The atmosphere crackled and snapped; like it does sometime before a storm. As if heated by a flame, the air rippled, contorting. Dark robed figures emerged from the hill singing:

"White shields they carry in their hands, 

With emblems of pale silver; 

With glittering blue swords, 

With mighty stout horns.

In well-devised battle array,  

Ahead of their fair chieftain, 

They march amid blue spears, 

Pale-visages, curly-headed bands.

They scatter the battalions of the foe, 

They ravage every land they attack,  

Splendidly they march to combat, A swift, 

Distinguished, avenging host!

No wonder though their strength be great:  

Sons of queens and kings are one and all;  

On their heads are Beautiful golden-yellow manes.

With smooth comely bodies,  

With bright blue-starred eyes,  

With pure crystal teeth, With thin red lips.

 

Good they are at man-slaying, 

Melodious in the ale-house, Masterly at making songs, 

Skilled at playing fidchell."

Lost in the mists of time, on Midsummer's Eve many years ago; visitors from four great sky cities: Falias, Gorias, Finias, and Murias; landed on the coasts of Ireland. As they felt was their right, the Tuatha De Danann sought to conquer and rule the land. Challenging the existing inhabitants, the Fir Bolg; The Battle of Mag Tuired lasted for four days.

Tuatha De Danann rode hard into battle on red stallions, striking down their adversaries with swords of blue flame. On the second day of the battle, Sreng champion of the Fir Bolg; openly defied King Nuada.  Challenging him to single hand combat, Sreng removed the hand of the Tuatha De Danann King with one grisly blow. As the battle raged, victory appeared grim as the Fir Bolg attempted to throw the invaders back into the depths of the sea.

On the fourth day, casualties were running high on both sides. The Tuatha De Danann, with everything to lose, made one last bid for victory. Raising The Spear of Lugh high, the young warrior Bres thrust the spear through Fir Bolg King’s (Eochaidh) head. Victorious, the Tuatha De Danann banished the Fir Bolg to the lands Connacht.