Naturally I am first to cross the creaky threshold of the Sea Hag. I keep my hood up and try not to shuffle or hunch over too much. Only a smelly clot of the village sops are in the common room. None of them give me so much as a glance, their only interest being at the bottom of their cups. Ah, here's herself, the owner of this cobwebbed ruin, dancing over to see to my pleasure.

Fondly I remember last year's visit, when we were plotting to kidnap her and hold her hostage. 'Daig thought she was giving me the eye.

"Fáilte!" says she, and that eye roams over me, sparkling clear as the Boinne at springtide. I'm thinking there may indeed still be some juice left in this ever so ripe fruit.

"What's in the pot? I'll have some o'that, and keep a cup filled while I'm at it!"

She nods, grins and winks. I squirm 'round to watch her bony rear wiggle back to the hearth. I've a treasure-hoard to meself. I wonder...

It's the best bowl of mutton stew I've tasted in ages. And she keeps pouring out the flaith, just the way I wanted.

With such strong drink and lots of it, its not long before I must leave my sprightly darlin' sea hag and make room for more of the waters of life. There's a ditch made for such purposes at the side of the falling-down hut. While I'm standing there flowing, a gut-searing scream blasts the air, so sudden and fierce that I shiver, miss aim, and wet my leg.

Two thoughts fly. A ban sidhe! Who'll be dying then? And - will the sweet old sea hag still want me now I've got this damp spot? She'll think me a doddering old man who can't even make a steady drizzle.

"Nion, you scabby sack o'vermin!"

I draw meself up proud at such a title. Only one man would greet me with such an insult and live to repeat it. "Huath! I shoulda known you'd be found by this reekin' ditch."

We bash each other, slather each other's faces with kisses, then the motherin' fool tries to push me into the ditch. Then we drape our arms around each other and stagger back to the table where my cup's been filled again. "Same for me cousin!" I holler to the hag.

After we drink to this and that and the other thing, Huath grins at me. "Got the message, didja? Only a few of us was at Temhair, the rest left early to set the trap. Now - here's the plan!"

I listen and listen well. Still, I keep thinking about the banshee wail. Edgily, I ask Huath if he heard it. He throws back his head and laughs, then whispers. "She's callin' for the Rian mor Niafer, and who else would it be?"