An Unexpected Visitor

Part 1
by Friend of Methos


The walls of the cave echoed with each clang of the hammer; but the young man wielding it did not seem to notice. Lost in thought and flowing with an inner rhythm, he raised the hammer and let it fall repeatedly, his brow furrowed with apparent concentration. His bare back glistened with sweat and the muscles of his supple shoulders and arms rippled with every movement. Connor paused a moment in the midday heat, wiped his brow on his bare forearm, and looked for the sun. It had played cat-and-mouse all morning, sliding behind swiftly moving gray clouds, peeking part way out only to hide again. It was still several days before summer solstice, but the sun's presence was nonetheless penetrating, the spring day hot for the highlands. Connor waited a moment for the breeze from the loch, but none came to relieve the heat. The air was heavy with coming rain.



Thoughts of recent events began to play over in his mind again and immediately he raised his hammer. In the split second before it hit the metal, Connor heard the sound of a muffled sneeze coming from the scree a few yards away. He gave no indication of having heard it, but continued his hammering, his anger flaring fiercely. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? They had beaten him and driven him from the village. Was it not enough? He beat the metal as if he were fighting the giant who had dealt him the mortal blow, the one that should have finished him, but amazingly did not. It was a miracle! It had to be! What else could it be? Connor asked himself silently, furiously. I am not the Devil's spawn, and that I know well enough!

The bushes crackled a bit with movement and the sound of a throat being cleared insinuated itself into Connor's thoughts. "All RIGHT!" Connor roared. "Come OUT, coward that you are !! Have ya naught else to do but bother me?" He glared at the bush that had suddenly grown still. His eyes swept the hillside; there was no one in sight. He slammed the hammer down on the anvil, and stalked toward the shrubs, newly fashioned sword in hand. "Well, come OUT, I say!" He brandished the sword, slashing and hacking at the hapless bushes, only to have his weapon reach no true target, but swing whistling through heavy, damp air. Connor growled, then lifted his arms in frustration and shook them at the invisible foe. "Why cannae ya leave me be? Is it not enough, that ya drive me away, but ya must come to torment me? Come out, you shite o' swine, and face me like a mohn! I'll show ya what it is to fight a highlander, well enough!"





When no answer came, Connor growled again in disgust, swung his sword a few more times till the bush was hacked nearly to the ground, then turned and stalked back to his anvil. He picked up his hammer and smacked the new sword as if pounding his foe into the ground and to his dismay, the metal broke clean in two. His fury and frustration erupted into a howl that echoed from hill to hill. After a moment, cursing the flawed metal and gasping for breath, he threw the broken sword into the cave.

Someone gave a yelp, startling Connor who nearly jumped backward in surprise. "Well, now, dear me, dear me, is that any way to treat a fellow highlander, eh, highlander?" a disembodied voice floated from the shadows.

With adrenaline still rushing through him, Connor answered with authority, "I am Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"Yes, yes. I know who you are. I do, eh, I do," came the response.

Irked, Connor asked, hands balled into fists on his hips, "And are you plannin' to show yourself or hide there in the dark all day?"

"That depends, eh, depends." Silence followed the brief answer.

Impatience replaced the anger in Connor. "Och, mon! make up your feeble mind!"

Another silence, then the voice came again, closer to the entrance this time. "You do promise not to --attack me, don't you? eh, don't you?'

Exasperated, Connor bellowed, "Do ya now plead for your life, trespasser?" Despite his ill humor, curiosity began to get the better of Connor as he wondered who under the sun could have slipped into the cave without his seeing. His anvil and fire stood just to the right of the opening. No one could possibly have gotten past him...could they? Surprise overrode all other emotions, however, when he saw a face appear from the shadowy darkness of the cave. It was small and round, as was the man whose face it was, Connor reckoning him to be about four feet tall, but he could not be sure. The visitor stepped forward, but not quite into the full light, and standing so, he seemed to shimmer, appearing and disappearing into the walls of the cave itself.

"T'is not I who am the trespasser, not at all, not at all," the diminutive man replied equably, apparently unruffled by Connor's angry threats.

"What do you mean? But of course you are!"

"No, no...no, no," the man folded his hands over his round middle, and shook his head firmly. "Not me, not me."

Connor felt irritation rising in him. The sun was out again and the heat was suddenly dreadful. "Why will ya not come out into the light so's I can see you properly?" Then the man's words struck him. "Whatever do ya mean, YEW are not the trespasser!"

"I'm not, I'm not. No, no. No, no."

Connor took a solid stance, crossed his arms over his chest, stuck out his chin, and glared at the man, still difficult to see in the dimness of the cave. He held the glare for long moments, looking as fierce as he possibly could, but finding it more and more difficult as sunlight pierced his eyes and heat pressed on him like the weight of the mountain itself. Finally he spoke through clenched jaw, "Yes, yew are."

"No, no. I'm not, I'm not."

Connor's eyes drew together in a squint and his jaw muscles worked. He pointed at the man. "YES, yew ARE," then flung his arms wide, "this is MY mountain and MY cave," then pointed, "and that's MY anvil and MY hammer, and YEW are trespassin' on MY land."

The little man remained where he was, clicked his tongue against his teeth and merely shook his head. "No, no. No, no."

Exasperated and feeling tortured by the heat, Connor sighed mightily. He lowered his voice to a reasonable tone. "All right then. Come out and we'll discuss this, though I dunnae ken what yew expect to come of it, as it IS all mine and--" The man held up a finger, pursed his lips, and looked out of the corner of his eyes. His bushy eyebrows worked up and down quizzically and his nose quivered a bit, rather like a rabbit's. The little fellow looked so ridiculous to Connor that the young Scot nearly laughed out loud. The little man certainly looked harmless enough. Connor took a deep breath and said, "All right then, I won't hurt ya, I promise." The little man tilted his head down and sent a piercing look to Connor from under his brows. Connor held both hands out, palms up, and shrugged, "I promise. Mah worrrd is as good as ma sworrrd...uh, better right now, it would seem. I'll nae hurt you, but Ah will defend maself if need be."

"Oh, yes, oh yes, I'm sure you will, you always do, eh, always do." At last the man gave a quick nod and took a step fully out of the cave. Connor gaped. He saw a small plump man of indeterminate age, with a head full of wildly curling white hair. He wore leggings and a seamless, smoothly woven tunic of a color Connor could not quite identify. Connor had thought at first it must be gray, because try as he might, he had not been able to distinguish clearly the man from the cave walls. However, once he was in full light, the visitor's clothes appeared to be made from the highland hillside itself, with shades of brown, a hint of red and black, combined with subtle hues of green. Connor thought he saw a long strand of ivy winding its way in a flowing pattern through the outfit; and following its progress for a moment, he felt his eyes grow heavy and go unfocused. It could not actually be moving! He shook his head, forcing his eyes away, then in spite of himself, his eyes were drawn back again, and it seemed that the heather on the hill had somehow made its way onto the man's tunic as well. Connor rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. What magic was this? What under God's sun...?

As Connor opened his mouth to speak, the diminutive man commented, "You've been working awfully hard, um him, awfully hard."

Connor objected. It was a matter of pride. "Not so hard." But the visitor's statement was true. Connor had pounded metal for days, working diligently this morning to finish the new sword. And what did I gain, he thought, but the wasting of a fortnight and another good half-day?

"Oh, yes, very hard, very hard." The man walked quickly to the well, filled the dipper and returned, offering the cup to Connor who, overcome with thirst and without a second thought, took it with a nod of thanks.

When the cup was but an inch from his mouth, Connor stopped, amazed at himself. His forehead wrinkled as he said, "Wait, now. First you trespass on my land, and then you offer me water from my own well?"

"Oh no, oh no, not trespassing. I've been here far longer than you, far longer. But yes, yes, you should drink the water. It is after all, from YOUR well, as you say, eh, you say."

Connor squinted at the man, difficult to see in the blinding sunlight; then scowling, he gulped the water, spilling nearly half on his face and down his cheeks and throat, then held the dipper, gazing at it in wonder. The water from his well had never tasted so sweet. Ah! And there was the breeze sweeping up from the loch, for which he had been waiting earlier, and so cool and refreshing it was now! Connor heard himself saying, "Ma thanks to you."

The little man nodded, his eyes penetrating Connor's. Despite the heat, Connor felt a slight chill go over him, but before he could ask the man's name, the stranger said, "You should come inside now. It is midday after all, and you are hungry, yes, you are, you are."

Connor opened his mouth to counter the man's assertion, but snapped it shut when he heard his belly rumble from his navel to his backbone. Such emptiness he felt, sure enough. "Come this way, eh, this way." Before Connor could blink twice, the man had disappeared.

"How...how do you do that?" Connor's head whipped around. "And where'd you go off to?"

The man's face appeared from among the shadows of the cave. "Are you coming in, or do you plan to stand out there all day, eh, all day?" Connor opened his mouth to answer, but saw only the shadowy dimness of the cave. He stood gaping and squinting. The voice floated out and seemed to Connor to fill his head. "I have a hearty stew all ready, but you must eat it now, yes, you must, you must."

Connor scratched his head, wondering; but when his belly growled again, it was a rumble like thunder and Connor decided he must have some stew straight away. Now, as a matter of fact. Yes, I must, now, he thought, and followed the echoing voice. After working outdoors all morning, Connor felt nearly blind once inside the cave, but thought he caught a flash of movement in the back corner of the cave. He followed the movement and found himself slipping through an opening he had seen many times. Once through, he looked back in amazement. How could he get through it now, when he had tried and failed so many times before?

"Come this way, eh, this way." Connor turned to follow, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, and he saw a passageway stretching before him. He had suspected something such as this existed, and felt great satisfaction to find he had been right all along. A sparkling stone in the wall caught his eye and thinking, "Gold!" he reached to grab it, only to find in his hand a piece of dull rock, much like all the other highland rock he had cleared from his field. Perplexed, Connor stared at it, barely able to discern its shape. The passage had grown dimmer, of that there was no doubt. Then he realized as he stared at the rock in his hand, the passage walls sparkled and glinted in his peripheral vision, but when he looked directly at the walls, there was nothing discernibly special about them at all. He pondered for a moment; then, puzzled, he wedged the rock back into its place in the wall, just as he had found it. To his further amazement, the passage brightened again and sparkled as if full of diamonds and precious stones for which Connor knew no name, thus providing more than enough light to see the way ahead.

"Come along, come along, the food is ready to eat, eh, to eat."

Still awestruck and wondering if he might be dreaming, Connor obeyed and walked ahead, his eyes adjusting once again, this time to the sparkling twilight of the passage. He knew it was magic. There could be no other explanation.

*********
Part 2

Connor found the path smooth, free of fallen rock and easy to traverse. After awhile, however, he wondered how far he had walked, thinking he must be deep within his mountain. He stopped to listen. There was no sound of the little man walking ahead of him. Indeed, there was no sound but that of his own breathing and his heart pounding in his ears. Connor felt the odd sensation that the mountain itself was a living, breathing thing and he was near the very heart of it. His scalp crawled. Feeling very much alone, he called out, “Ha-loooo,” and heard his voice echo back and forth along the passageway.

“Here, now,” the man’s face appeared as if out of nowhere, “no need to bellow about. Come this way, this way.” Connor did as he was told and stepped around the curve of the path to find himself in a tiny stone room, an anteroom of sorts, which opened onto a much larger room, obviously the man’s living quarters. The room, looking as if it were nestled in a hollow beneath the ribs of the mountain itself, was indeed large, yet warm and inviting with a lively fire crackling in the hearth to ward off the damp chill of underground living.

Connor looked around, amazed. A comfortable looking chair covered with shiny black beaver pelts stood at an angle before the fireplace and a luxurious bear rug, complete with the head and jowls opened in silent growl lay before the hearth. The furnishings were few, the place spotlessly clean, and the small bed neatly made with a sheepskin throw. “You are welcome to my home, eh, my home.” The small man said with a flourish of his hands. His words were formal, but Connor heard the sincerity, and Connor realized what he felt upon looking at this small underground dwelling. It was the feeling of home.

With that realization, Connor suddenly became aware of the dirt and grime on his hands and kilt and recalled his mother’s oft repeated admonition to wash before entering her house. “It’s very kind of you, I’m sure, but I’ll bring dirt into your clean place.”

The man’s bushy eyebrows rose. He gave Connor a long measuring look, pursed his lips, then replied, “Yes, yes, well, put off your boots just there, in the entrance hall.” Connor pointed behind him, his expression a question. “Yes, yes, just there, just there. And then you may wash over here.” Connor’s eyes followed in the direction the man was pointing. He heard it first, then saw a stream of water flowing from a place high in the stone wall into a natural small basin, then overflowing, trickling and finally falling into a larger stone basin below. The water flowed into a small area beyond the main room, in which Connor could just make out what appeared to be a tub, hewn from the stone itself. He stepped back into the anteroom and shook his head in wonder as he stripped off the makeshift wrappings that held his worn boots together, then looked with some disgust at the flimsy soles coming apart. He set them under the stone bench on which he sat.

“Come, come, this way, this way.” Connor rose quickly and washed as the man indicated. He found a soft woven cloth laid by with which to dry himself and a shirt of finest quality cambric. He hesitated to touch it, but his host assured Connor it was indeed for him. Connor drew the shirt over his head and found it a perfect fit. He was astonished at the way it felt next to his skin. Never had he worn so fine a garment.

“Sit, sit.” The man indicated the chair covered with glistening beaver pelts.

Connor saw that the chair was too small for him and, rather than hurt his host’s feelings, replied, “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll sit here at the hearth. ‘Tis where I sit in ma own house.” Again the man gave Connor an inscrutable look, then nodded briefly, waiting for Connor to settle himself before dipping the steaming stew into a bowl. The rich aroma of venison brought another rumble from Connor’s empty stomach. He took the bowl with a nod of thanks and ate eagerly, pausing after the first bite to nod again and say, “Good.”

The plump little man sat in the chair and watched Connor eat. No more words passed between them till Connor was nearing the bottom of the bowl. He glanced up and really saw his host’s eyes for the first time. They were a deep emerald green, so deep that Connor felt he was looking into a well of endless depth. Connor endured the man’s unwavering scrutiny, then set the bowl carefully on the hearth.

“Will you have more?”

“Yes, I…no, dunnae get up. I will help myself.” And Connor did exactly that, then settled himself again on the luxurious bear skin rug. Connor felt the silence acutely and so spoke. “I do believe I recognize this bear whose skin I’m sittin’ on.”

The man merely raised his eyebrows a bit and said nothing. Connor angled his head. “’Tis odd, indeed. I was hunting a bear like this…I would say, exactly like this one. I had him cornered in a pocket of the mountainside; but before I could bring him down, he charged me. As luck would have it, he knocked me down…or, mayhap my foot slipped and I hit my head on a rock, I dunnae rightly know. I saw stars and it midday, then all was black. ‘Tis a wonder the wretched beast dinnae kill me. But he got clean away before I could find my feet again.”

The other man said merely, “Yes, yes.”

Connor moved his bowl a bit and studied his host for a moment, then asked, “What do you mean, ‘yes, yes’? How would you know about it? Did you see it happen?”

“Well, I was not far away, not far.” The answer came back evenly.

Connor’s brow furrowed slightly. “So you did indeed take him down?” The host moved his head so slightly, Connor was not sure whether he meant ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Connor was indignant. “What? Do you not know better than to steal another man’s bounty? I myself have hunted this self same bear for nigh onto a year and you wait till I’ve worn him down with three days harrying and I’m…I’m knocked about and then you come and take him down yourself?”

The host said nothing, his gaze steady.

Connor’s eyes locked with his, green eyes with green, for a long silent moment. At last Connor sighed, looked appraisingly at the bearskin while he sighed and stroked it, then looked up again, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Better you than anyone else I know.”

The man smiled, his eyes sparkling, and Connor laughed. The tension instantly dissipated. “So you know I am Connor MacLeod. Will you not tell me who you are?”

Dark green eyes penetrated Connor’s again and he felt something like wind through the depths of the forest in his soul. Connor remained unblinking, unmoving, waiting. At last the man spoke. “Finn.”

Connor waited, then asked, “Is that all? Just ‘Finn’? Have you no clan? Or is that your clan name then, Finn?”

“Finn, “was the reply. “Finn.”

“’Tis a name from the neighboring isle, Eire. So you’re from there, are you?”

The man’s head moved slightly. Yes, or no, Connor could not tell. “Come, Finn, surely there is more. You are not from these highlands, that I know. There’s no clan of the name Finn hereabouts.”

Finn merely pursed his lips.

“And your speech is not that of a highlander. Oh, you speak passing well, no question, but not as a native born highlander, that I do know.”

The little man’s eyebrows rose. Connor saw the emerald eyes sparkle again as his host replied, “Finn Glennan.”

Connor nodded. “Finn Glennan. Hm…Finn Gle…ah, now you’re telling stories, are you not? Finn Glennan indeed. Jesting with the name of my own home village, Glenfinnan. Finn Glennan indeed! Will you not now tell the truth, Finn Glennan? Or is it that the truth is something you simply cannot speak?”

The man closed his lips tightly and made no reply.

“So ‘tis games and riddles you wish to play now, is it?” Connor leaned his head to one side, appraising his host. “Well then, Finn Glennan, tell me where it is you truly come from. Or is that to be a riddle as well? Hmpf! I have my own ideas about who your are, living as you do inside the mountain, appearing and disappearing as you do, first here, then there, then not there a’tall. Come! Can you not tell me at least where you come from?”

Finn spoke at last and Connor’s brow furrowed in his effort to comprehend. “What manner of speech is this? Say it clearly, so I might understand.”

The man repeated his words and Connor tried his best to imitate them. “Oat-a Reeve. Oh-t reeve. Where in the world is there a place with such a name as-Ah! It is an Eirish name, O’Treeve. Tha’ ‘tis it, isn’t it? O’Treeve. Finn Glennan of the clan O’Treeve. Yes, um hm.” Connor scratched his temple, then clasped his hands around his knee, leaned back and said smoothly, “Never heard of it.”

Finn replied cryptically, “No. I wouldn’t expect you would have.”

Silence.

At last, Connor could stand it no longer. “Well, come, man! Where is this place?”

Finn, perceiving Connor’s nature and knowing he would not have peace until Connor’s curiosity was satisfied, replied, “In the land where I lived as a young one.”

“Um-hmm. Yes. And what land might that be, Finn? Wait, I know. T’was Finn-land. Aha! I am right, am I not? Finnland.” Connor felt quite clever for a moment, relishing his discovery, but was still not fully satisfied. “But are you kin of the Eirish people?” Musing aloud, he continued, “You must be with Finn for a name. Finn Glennan of the clan O’Treeve from Finnland.” Connor looked puzzled still. It simply did not sound right to him. “Is that it?”

Watching the fire his host replied softly, “It will do,” then glanced sharply at Connor, “it will do.”

Connor returned the gaze, knowing that was all the information he would get from his host at this moment and so let the subject rest. “All right, then.” He grinned. “Finn Glennan, i’tis.” Then shaking his head ruefully, “But I have to say, it truly doesn’t fit.”

“So you enjoyed the venison stew, eh, the stew?” Finn interjected.

“Aye, t’was good. That was rosemary I tasted in the juice, was it not?”

Finn nodded, looking genuinely pleased. A companionable silence drew out between them. Connor, with full belly, felt himself relaxing on the luxurious bear skin, the chill of the cave dispelled by the comfortable fire at his back. He wondered about this little man who called himself Finn and how he could have lived on the mountain longer than Connor without Connor’s knowing it. He wondered about the fire so deep in the mountain, how the smoke could escape and how he had never noticed it above ground. He wondered how old this man Finn, if that truly was his name, could be and where he did indeed come from. If it were the land of Eire, and he being so small of stature, could it not be that he was one of the legendary Little People? Connor had heard tales of them all his young life. It was no secret that they existed, that they had skillful ways about them and even were possessed of a kind of magical power.

Full of curiosity, his thoughts finally spilled over once again into words. “So tell me, Finn, how is it that you have lived here so very long, as you say, without my knowing of it?” Connor glanced around the room of stone. “And what weapon did you use to bring down the bear after you knocked ma head with the rock? You did do that, did you not? And it was not your bare hands against the mighty beast, surely!” Connor laughed heartily at the mental image his words conjured of the diminutive man wrestling the huge bear. His laughter died when he spied the bow and quiver of arrows leaning against the wall beyond the far edge of the hearth. “You’re not going to tell me it was with that you brought him down, are you? A single arrow sprung from your trusty bow, dead between the eyes, was that it?” Still grinning, Connor went on, “And how did you manage to skin him, eh? With your teeth? An arrow’s no good for skinning bear and beaver, nor sheep either, I trow.”

Even as the words left his mouth, Connor spied a long knife leaning against the wall next to the bow. The blade had a wicked looking curve to it that glinted impressively in the firelight. Connor, still grinning, turned to Finn who sat motionless, eyes never leaving Connor for a moment.

There was a dignity about the man that brought Connor up short. The way he sat, hands at rest over the ends of the chair arms, feet planted firmly before his chair, they way he held his head, the way he looked out of his eyes. Connor, all of twenty-one years old, recognized the steady look of a self-possessed man, a man of courage and depth of character. This was not a common hermit, or a lunatic cave dweller. As Connor looked into Finn’s eyes, he was sure he saw the man at the core of his being. He felt instantly chagrined at the words he had spoken, even in half-jest. This man, Finn, had offered him naught but hospitality and had shared his food and hearth. As Connor lowered his eyes, his glance fell on his own arm, resting comfortably on the hearth, wearing the fine shirt provided by his host. He shook his head, amazed at his own thoughtless rudeness.

Silence stretched between them broken only by the snapping and popping of the fire. At last, Connor sighed, faced his host, and said quietly, “That’s exactly what happened, is it not? The arrow straight between his eyes.” Finn sat utterly still, his expression inscrutable. “And skinning him - a worthy day’s work for a man and his brothers, much less a man alone.” Connor sat up straight, sincere respect in his eyes and voice, “You are a generous host. I had no call to question your skill, much less your courage. As one highlander to another, I offer apology for my foolish words and I ask your forgiveness.”

Finn studied Connor’s earnest face, the younger man’s eyes looking clear and nearly gold in the firelight. He saw that he had been correct in his estimation of the young Scot, even aside from the uniqueness that set Connor apart from his clan. Finn felt gratified that he had chosen well. He gave a gracious nod. “I accept.”

Connor exhaled slowly and relaxed once more against the hearth. “I’ll say it again, better you than anyone else I know.”

A smile played about Finn’s mouth. Connor glanced up in time to see the brief smile and thought he glimpsed a young man’s face in the visage of the plump old fellow. But the next instant he knew it must be his imagination; for there sat Finn, the same man Connor had seen all afternoon, with the round face and rosy cheeks framed by the wildly curling white hair. Connor blinked, felt the room spin about him, and passed a hand over his eyes, wondering at the slight dizziness he suddenly felt.

Finn’s voice came softly to Connor’s ears and seemed to surround him. “You’ll be all right. Perhaps it was the heat. You taxed yourself overly much. Rest now. We have matters to discuss and far to go. But that will come later.”

With great effort, Connor raised his head. Swimming before his eyes was the face of a man who was Finn and who was not Finn; and in the air between them thousands of tiny glittering particles of gold. Connor’s limbs grew heavy and his body sank so deeply into the skin of the bear, he wondered if he were becoming the very creature itself. Yet his thought was calm and objective. Fairy dust…he’s covered me with fairy dust.

“Fear not, my friend, Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. For indeed I am your friend and you are mine. We are more alike than you know. Rest now. Sleep well. We have a hard journey before us, but with the will and help of the High King, all will be well.” The words came from a great distance but they seemed to Connor to resonate deep within him. His eyes closed in spite of himself and his last thought was, I was right. It is a kind of magic.

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