Irish Mythology and Folklore

The Fifth Invaders of Ireland, and the Battle of Moy Tura (~1896 BC)

I spoke in the previous chapter of how the remaining Nemedians journeyed outwards, and how a third of them set off into the mysterious north of the world.

On their journey, the people of Nemed encountered... Something. There was a great rumbling from around them, and waves crashed against the side of the ship. A large, indistinguishable shape rose from the ocean, water cascading from it. As the mist cleared, the shape was revealed to be the great goddess Danu, daughter of the waves and of heavenly fire, one of the old gods of the world. She took in the survivors of Nemed's tribe, and directed them to the four mystical cities of knowledge. Little is known of what happened there, to the people, and their descendants. But what is known is that when they left the four mystical cities, they were not the same. The people of Nemed had become the race of gods, the Tuatha Dé Danann (Twe-he de Dun-an). The Tribe of Danu.

* * *

It was the witching hour, when the depths of night became the hours of early morning, when Eochaid, High King of Ireland, awoke from a dream, covered in sweat and retching with cold. He summoned his highest druid and advisor Cesard (Say-sard), and told him of his dream, asking for an interpretation.

"I saw a great flock of black birds," said the King, "rising from the depths of the ocean. They settled across the land, and brought brought confusion and dread, and war to the people of Ireland. They destroyed our forces, and our armies. But one of us, caught the largest, and noblest of these black birds, and ripped off his wings." And so the druid left the King in his chamber, and used his powers of sorcery to determine the dreams meaning.

It was before noon the next day when Cesard returned to the King, with the grim tidings of war. "There are warriors coming from the sea," he explained, "Like nothing our men have faced before. They are skilled in every craft, in every strategy, and in every magic. A spirit will come upon you, and lead you astray. And in the heat of war, the foreign warriors will win." It was not long after the King had his dream, that a great smoke enveloped land. It filled the sky, making it dark, and the sun and moon reigned down upon the people a deep red, as was blood.

It was a farmer, on the coast, who first saw the invading forces arrive. They emerged from the smoke, walking from the water. Whether they had burned their ships upon landing, or simply appeared on the shore, no one was ever sure. It was the Tuatha Dé Danann, lead by their High-king Nuada (Noo-ada), and they settled in the hills of Brefne, in Connacht.

The Fir Bolg knew nothing of the invaders. And so they sent out Sreng (Sir-eng). He was a tough, strong young man, with a face as though it had been chiselled from granite. The kind of man who would rather go through you then around. Sreng strapped on his armour, and his weapons, and headed out to meet with the Tuatha Dé Danann.

One of The Tuatha Dé Danann, Bres the handsome, son of Ériu (Ee-roo) of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and Elatha (El-ath-a) of the Fomorians, saw this man approaching from the distance, and went out to meet with him.

The two men found relief in their common tongue, as both were descended of Nemed's people. Sreng told Bres, "In our flesh and our tongue, our people are as brothers, and it should be minded, that of flesh and blood, we are the same race," he continued, "But be mindfully, that your brotherhood will not prevent the destruction of your men. Our temper is high, and our fierceness against our foes is unmatched, and you shall not abate it. Should our brethren meet, many of both sides will die."

Bres listened to these words, and he asked for Sreng to remove his shield and helmet, so they could speak face to face. And so Sreng did so, and Bres inspected his helm, and his weapons. "What do you make of these?" Sreng asked, after several minutes of silence.