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sight before I decide it is time for your first lesson."
    Roth Bellyshaker grabbed Sláine by the arm and hauled him from the roundhouse. Conn was no less gentle with Wide Mouth, dragging him so that his feet barely touched the ground.
    "Just wait 'til I get you home, boy!" Roth growled, shoving Sláine in front of him. "Making a show of our family in front of the king!"
    Then, when they were out of sight of prying eyes, Bellyshaker wrapped his arm around Sláine's shoulder and said, "You did yourself proud today, my boy. You took down a stronger, faster opponent and he'll not forget the beating you gave him in a hurry. You caught the king's eye; he marked you, lad. Do you have any idea what that means? The king's marked you, six months from the time of the choosing, the king has singled you out. Do you think it was a coincidence that Gorian was talking to you? The man's the Warlord of the Red Branch, son. The bloody warlord! When you were out there they saw something in you that they liked. Then you had to go and show them something ugly. You better get a grip on that temper of yours before it gets you in even more trouble."
    "Yes, father," Sláine said, remembering the intoxicating touch of the earth power as it seeped into his body, remembering the feeling of strength it promised, and yearning to feel it once more.

Three
     
    The Choosing
     
    It was the first day of the trinox Samoni: the three nights of Samain.
    They called Samain the feast of the dead. Feis Samain. At Samain, the barrier between the world of the Sidhe and the mortal world was at its thinnest and most fragile. These were the days in which old ghosts returned to their familiar haunts. It ought to have been the stuff of nightmares but it wasn't. It was a time for remembering. A time for celebrating those lives that had gone before. It was a time for reflection.
    And, they whispered, if you were lucky, a time to remake old acquaintances.
    More practically it was the time between times, between the death of summer and the birth of winter, outside the ordinary turn of the seasons. Tithes were paid to the king from the harvest and the king himself settled the Ugarta. These were tribal taboos, old scores that demanded the sovereign's hand in settlement because the claimants couldn't find satisfaction between themselves. Some were held over from Calum's reign, others were new to Grudnew's. The king would seek to settle many with a bountiful feast and even more bountiful ale. A full year had passed since the marriage of Grudnew to the Goddess, crowning him King of the Sessair.
    It was also the birthday for the men of the tribe, marking the turning of another year.
    Today Sláine became a man.
    The Choosing began at noon. He would learn his fate soon enough, as would the others. Sláine woke early and sat on the edge of his cot, watching the sun rise orange on the horizon. He hadn't slept well the night before. He was restless, nervous. He wanted nothing more than to be accepted into the Red Branch, to be a true warrior of the Sessair. But doubt gnawed at him, and for good reason. It had been six years since Gorian allowed an apprentice into the Red Branch. Six years. Why should they embrace him where they had overlooked so many others?
    His mother had risen early and left to work the fields before dawn. His father was still in his cot, snoring loudly.
    He crept out of the house without waking the old drunk.
    The morning air was crisp and sharp, and the sky was glorious. It was going to be a good day.
    He found Núada and Fionn kicking a ball back and forth between them. The ball was Cormac's. His father had made it out of a pig's bladder and cased it in rawhide. Grinning, Fionn punted the ball to Sláine.
    "We're waiting for the others," Núada said. "We thought we'd get our minds off the Choosing with a game. Cormac's fetching Niall and Dian."
    "Yeah, knocking ourselves senseless ought to do it," Fionn agreed.
    "Here's Wide Mouth," Sláine said, seeing Cullen