Cúchulain’s greatest feats occurred during the Cattle Raid of Cooley, a war sparked by a squabble between husband and wife. The queen of Connacht, another of Ireland’s four great kingdoms, argued with her husband over whose heritage and possessions were greater. The two matched each other until it was revealed that her husband owned a magical white-horned bull named Finnenbach. The queen could find no equal among her herds and, consumed by jealousy, sent her emissaries to Ulster, where she sought Finnenbach’s rival, the Brown Bull of Cooley. Her offer refused, the queen resolved to take the bull by force.
The queen chose an auspicious time for her raid into Ulster. The men of that kingdom suffered from an ancient curse that weakened them for a time each year. As the queen’s armies raided north, the men of Ulster were bedridden and powerless to stop her. Not being born in Ulster, Cúchulain was spared the curse and stood alone against the queen’s armies. Cúchulain came upon them at night, killing the outriders and leaving only heads behind as a warning to turn back. So devastating was his onslaught that the queen’s soldiers quaked at the mention of his name and the armies were brought to a standstill.
The queen sought desperately to negotiate with him, promising riches and reward if he should give way. Cúchulain refused these temptations until, finally exhausted by his efforts, he agreed to a bargain. In exchange for halting his nightly attacks, he would meet a single champion of the queen’s each day. While the two fought, her armies could continue on their march. If and when the queen’s champion was defeated, her armies were obligated to stop and camp.
Each day, Cúchulain met a different champion at the river and fought while the queen’s armies raced deep into Ulster. So impressive were his feats that Morrigan, the death goddess, watched from above in the form of three ravens. Finally, the queen sent forward a kinsman of Cúchulain’s who now served Connacht. Preying upon Cúchulain’s loyalty, the kinsman pleaded with the youth to give way—as a favor to one who had raised him. Reluctantly, Cúchulain stood aside and relinquished the field. Galloping ahead, the queen’s riders seized the bull and rushed back to Connacht with their prize.
Once reunited, the magic bulls went mad in an attempt to destroy each other. In their rage, the bulls devastated the surrounding countryside and were never seen again.
Max put the book down. He tried to envision the tapestry he had seen at the museum. His mind wandered over its threads of green and gold, the brilliant glow that erupted from the scene within it. He understood that scene now. The sleeping soldiers were the weakened men of Ulster, unable to protect the Brown Bull of Cooley. The approaching warriors were undoubtedly the soldiers of the queen of Connacht. Cúchulain stood tall in the distance.
While the images were clear to Max, the interpretation of the story was not. After all, Cúchulain had failed—the queen was able to get the bull despite his acts of heroism. Was Max somehow destined to fight the good fight but fail? Was his life to be short? Max turned the page and poked gingerly at the bump on his head. His eyes fell upon a discolored illustration of a wounded warrior tied to a stone pillar. The heading read “The Death of Cúchulain.”
Max quietly closed the book.
His head ached and his mind raced with too many questions to count. With a sigh, he slipped the book into his bag and walked once more to the windows. The campus was quiet; just a few lanterns bobbed along the paths. Max turned to go when a small flash of green light danced on the window. It disappeared suddenly. Squinting, Max hooded his eyes against the window’s glare and peered deep into the night. Another pinpoint of green light shot from the black mass of Brigit’s Vigil. It bobbed and hovered in front of Max’s eyes before disappearing a moment later. He stayed at the window another ten minutes, but the light did not return.
18
SMUGGLERS ON THE NORTH ATLANTIC
The morning sky beyond the observatory dome was a pale blue. Max frowned with concentration beneath it, flipping through a thick booklet full of glossy charts as David came downstairs to join him at the table.
“What did Ms. Richter say?” asked Max, turning the booklet sideways to read a particularly detailed chart.
“Bad news,” said David. “Two of the four paintings are actually forgeries—the Enemy has already stolen them.”
Max looked up. “Which ones?”
David retrieved two posters from his desk: one was a Vermeer of a girl reading a letter; the other was a Rembrandt depicting Abraham’s sacrifice of his son, Isaac. Max stared at them, abandoning his booklet on the table.
“I don’t get it,” said Max, glancing up. “If they wanted to hide the fact that some paintings were stolen, why wouldn’t they just replace all of them with forgeries? Then we wouldn’t even know they were after paintings.”
David nodded.
“It’s a good point, but the forgeries needed to be real—made by hand, that is. Any traces of enchantment would have aroused suspicion. Not too many people can forge a Rembrandt or a Vermeer, so they would only be able to leave behind forgeries for a few,” said David. He leaned down to read the spine of the booklet Max had been reading earlier. “What does your Course Analysis say?” he asked.
Max shook his head slowly from side to side.
“I’m never sure with these things. I wish they’d write them in English.” Max pushed the slim white booklet full of crisp blue graphs and analyst commentary toward his roommate.
“They say some good things,” David allowed, skimming through it. He selected a paragraph from the summary page. “‘McDaniels continues to demonstrate capabilities well beyond the normal Apprentice spectrum. As illustrated in scenarios MMCD048, MMCD071, and MMCD093, his Amplification abilities are at Agent levels and will continue to be monitored very closely. Relative to peers, McDaniels is among the top four in scenarios involving live adversaries, including four scenarios with random vye generation. Ratings on Strategy Execution continue to be high, and McDaniels’s aggressiveness should prove to be an asset if it can be applied more selectively. Due to exceptional physical abilities, McDaniels currently has the highest Course rating among both First and Second Year Apprentices.’”
“That does sound pretty good!” said Max, perking up considerably. David started giggling.
“What?” said Max, his smile frozen at the sound of David’s sudden laughter.
“Well, you can read the rest,” his roommate said, failing to suppress a smile as he handed the booklet back to Max. “Second paragraph, summary section.”
Max scanned the page, murmuring aloud as David picked up a discarded sock and sniffed it before dropping it in a hamper.
“‘McDaniels’s slide from the top spot is as imminent as it is inevitable. His combination of gutter ratings on Strategy Selection coupled with high marks on Strategy Execution are a disaster waiting to happen; the operational equivalent of running very fast in the wrong direction.
“‘Running very fast in the wrong direction seems to come naturally to McDaniels and has been a common theme in his more amusing scenarios. We can recommend MMCD006, MMCD-052, and MMCD076 as personal favorites, although other colleagues swear by MMCD037 as a candidate for this year’s highlight reel. Unfortunately, these tendencies are a fatal flaw, and we recommend McDaniels’s scenario options be restricted to those emphasizing Issue Identification and Strategy Selection. In his long-term interests, McDaniels should be prohibited from accessing those scenarios that allow raw physical execution to overcome glaring strategic flaws. One can only hope that a steady diet of Strategy scenarios will help him overcome lazy mental tendencies and build a strong foundation for longer-term success.’”
Max blinked twice and flung the booklet on the table. He whirled at David.
“Can they write that?”
“Don’t take it all so personally,” said David, slipping on his running shoes. “What happened with your Strategy midterm?”
“Failed it,” Max replied, casting a final angry glance at his booklet. “But at least Boon passed me on my Mystics midterm—then again, I think that’s just so I’ll talk to her about my vision. Does she ask you about yours?”
David turned toward his wardrobe to change shirts.
“Not really. I told her I forgot mine,” he said.