Its hot behind this Lugh mask. The eye holes are the only openings. Soon it will be stuck to my face with sweat. This must be our last performance. I take my discomfort out on the stooping Crom Dubh.

"Yer killin' me!" Nion snarls as we clash with our sticks.

Good, I think to meself, and I play the role of Lugh for all I can get out of it. I strut and dance and twirl the batan. The people love it. More offerings to come at the end. I toss my stick to a lad who has never stopped roaring for Lugh the whole time. He leaps to catch it and goes down in a horde of boys, all after the ash branch I broke off and spent the idle morning in carving with ogham like markings. A mockery, aye, but so much fun.

"Now we wrestle!" The thunder of my own voice surprises me. Lugh must be laughing in his sky-dunn. Perhaps he's lent me some of his fire. Caught up in the play, I grab Nion and grind his head between my hip and elbow. The bundle of wheat slowly comes loose from his shoulders. Another victory for Lugh!

Nion's hands tremble as he unfurls his black cloak to receive the offerings. Indeed this is our last time. Silver, bright stones, and all kinds of ornaments, along with bread, cakes and fruit are pitched into the cape.

I spot Hadaig in the crowd. He steps forward and mutters something to Nion. What's this? Sean in a Telltown marriage? We both turn to look where Hadaig pointed. I see only the back of the archer as he hurries off. His bride is just a blur.

Before I can consider that, something more urgent catches my attention. There's a man bent over Nion's cloak, tossing in an armband. As he turns to his companion, a regal lady nearly his own height, I glimpse his distinctly weathered but handsome profile, ruddy face and red hair tarnished a bit at the sides. Once seen in battle, he is never to be forgotten. Fenian! And, by the gods, the Rian of Niafer herself is with him. Their heads bow together in what seems to be merry conversation, then the Rian looks straight at me with those damned owl eyes. Her stare cuts through me like a winter wind. I know she can't see who's behind the mask. I hiss a warning to Nion.

"Keu! Keu of Niall!" she calls out. I can't help it. I feel my chin come up just a notch. Call me Nuada, call me Lugh, but Keu is the name my own mother gave me and I will answer to it until I meet her in the summerlands.

Nion hears it too. He whips the heavy laden cloak over his rounded shoulders and scoots right into the mass of people, vanishing in a blink. I've nothing to do but try my own luck at disappearing. I march off in the opposite direction and much to my horror, a train of adoring children, women and a few worshipful warriors falls in behind me, chanting praises to Lugh. I can't look back but I fear the two Niafers are among them.

I cross the field with the adoring mob stringing along, and come to rest near a shady tree, not knowing what to do next. Just then a screeching raven swoops low over our heads to perch in a branch right above me. Something plops down onto my shoulder. The raven soars into the sky with a cackle. Laughter breaks out everywhere and one of the warriors disdainfully flicks the raven's dripping offering from my leine with the tip of his sword. The spell is broken, the crowd disperses, and I cannot see the Niafers anywhere.

Its time to head for our meeting place in the thick copse of trees off the road at the first bend outside the gates. It looks like the festival is over for us. Joyously I slip off the mask and throw it into the weeds before making my getaway.