The Story of Tuan Mac Cairill

Finian,  the  abbot  of  Moveill  went  southwards  and  eastwards  in  great  haste.  News  had  come  to  him  in  Donegal  that  there  were  yet  people  in  his  own  province  who  believed  in  gods  that  he  did  not  approve  of.  And  the  gods  that  we  do  not  approve  of  are  treated  scurvily  even  by  saintly  men.  He  was  told  of  a  powerful  gent  who  observed  neither  saints  day  nor  Sunday.  A  powerful  person,  said  Finian  all.

That  was  the  reply.  We  shall  try  this  person's  power,  said  Finnian.  He  is  reputed  to  be  a  wise  and  hardy  man,  said  his  informant.  We  shall  test  his  wisdom  and  his  hardyhood.  He  is  that  gossip,  whispered.

He  is  a  magician.  I  will  magician  him,  cried  Finian  angrily.  Where  does  that  man  live?  He  was  informed,  and  he  proceeded  to  that  direction  without  delay.  In  no  great  time  he  came  to  the  stronghold  of  the  gentleman  who  followed  ancient  ways.

And  he  demanded  admittance  in  order  that  he  might  preach  and  prove  the  new  god  and  exorcise  and  terrify  and  banish  even  the  memory  of  the  Old  One.  For  to  a  god  grown  old,  time  is  as  ruthless  as  to  a  beggar  grown  old.  The  story  of  Twan.  Mcirial.  But  the  Ulster  gentleman  refused  Finian  admittance.

He  barricaded  his  house,  he  shuttered  his  windows,  and  in  a  gloom  of  indignation  and  protest,  he  continued  the  practices  of  10,000  years  and  would  not  hearken  to  Phineon  calling  at  the  window  or  to  time  knocking  at  his  door.  But  of  those  adversaries,  it  was  the  first  he  redoubted.  Phineon  loomed  on  him  as  a  portent  and  a  terror,  but  he  had  no  fear  of  time.  Indeed,  he  was  the  brother  of  time  and  so  disdainful  of  the  bitter  god  that  he  did  not  even  disdain  him.  He  leaped  over  the  scythe.

He  dodged  under  it.  And  the  sole  occasions  on  which  time  laughs  is  when  he  chances  antoine,  the  son  of  Carill,  the  son  of  Muradak  Red.