The Adventure of Nera

In the days when Queen Medb ruled Connacht from her great fortress at Cruachan, she was married to King Ailill, and their court was filled with the finest warriors, the wisest druids, and the most skilled artisans in all Ireland. Among Ailill’s most trusted warriors was a man named Nera, known for his courage, his loyalty, and his unshakeable nerve in the face of any danger.

It was the eve of Samhain, the most mysterious and dangerous night of the year, when the boundaries between the world of the living and the world of the dead grew thin, and strange things walked the earth. The great feast was in full swing in the royal hall of Cruachan, with warriors boasting of their deeds, bards singing ancient songs, and the fires burning bright to keep the darkness and its terrors at bay.

As the night grew later and the ale flowed more freely, the conversation turned to tales of ghostly encounters and supernatural visitations that were said to occur on Samhain night. Some of the younger warriors began to dare each other to venture outside the safety of the hall and face whatever spirits might be roaming in the darkness.

“I’ll give a fine gold arm-ring,” declared King Ailill, his voice carrying over the noise of the feast, “to any man brave enough to go out to the gallows beyond the fortress wall and tie a withie around the ankle of one of the corpses hanging there.”

A murmur of unease ran through the hall. The gallows was a grim place even in daylight, where the bodies of executed criminals swayed in the wind. But on Samhain night, when the dead were said to walk, it was a place that even the bravest warriors preferred to avoid.

Several men started to rise, boasting that they would easily claim the king’s prize, but as they approached the great doors of the hall and felt the cold wind of Samhain night against their faces, their courage failed them one by one. They returned to their seats with excuses about important duties that required their attention, or sudden illnesses that made it unwise for them to venture out.

Nera watched this display with quiet amusement. When all the other warriors had made their excuses and returned to their drinking, he stood up calmly and walked toward the doors.

“I’ll go,” he said simply. “A withie around a dead man’s ankle – that’s a small task for a gold arm-ring.”

Queen Medb looked at him with concern. “Nera, you’re a valuable warrior. Don’t throw your life away for a piece of jewelry. The dead walk on Samhain night, and they don’t welcome the living among them.”

But Nera only smiled and checked that his sword was secure at his side. “My lady, I’ve faced living enemies who were far more dangerous than any corpse. What harm can a dead man do to someone who’s not afraid of him?”

King Ailill nodded approvingly. “Spoken like a true warrior. But take this advice, Nera – if you see or hear anything strange, don’t linger. Tie the withie and return immediately.”

Nera wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and stepped out into the Samhain night. The wind was cold and sharp, carrying with it the scent of dying leaves and the promise of winter. Dark clouds raced across the moon, casting shifting shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own.

The gallows stood on a small hill about a quarter-mile from the fortress, silhouetted against the stormy sky like a giant cross. Even from a distance, Nera could see the dark shapes of bodies hanging from the crossbeam, swaying gently in the wind. He walked steadily toward them, his hand resting on his sword hilt but his heart calm.

As he approached the gallows, Nera could see that three corpses hung from the wooden frame – criminals who had been executed for their crimes and left as a warning to others. Their bodies moved slowly in the wind, and in the uncertain moonlight, they seemed almost alive.

Nera took a withie – a flexible twig of willow – from his belt and approached the nearest corpse. As he bent down to tie it around the dead man’s ankle, a voice spoke from above him.

“That’s a kindness you do me, warrior,” said the corpse in a voice like wind through dry leaves. “For I am thirsty, and there’s a house nearby where I might find drink.”

Nera looked up in surprise, but he felt no fear. The dead man’s eyes were open and looking at him with an expression of pitiful gratitude.

“You speak truly,” Nera replied, for he had been taught that on Samhain night, the dead could sometimes converse with the living, and it was both dangerous and discourteous to ignore them. “There’s a house at the bottom of this hill. If you can travel, I’ll help you reach it.”

To his amazement, the corpse loosened itself from the rope and dropped to the ground beside him. The dead man was pale and gaunt, with long hair that stirred in the wind, but he moved with surprising grace.

“My thanks, warrior. But I warn you – there’s sorrow coming to your king’s hall this night. Great sorrow, unless you can prevent it.”

Together, they walked down the hill to a small farmhouse where a light still burned in the window. The corpse went to the door and knocked with skeletal fingers.

“Water,” the dead man called in his hollow voice. “Water for one who thirsts.”

But no answer came from within the house. The corpse tried again, but still no response.

“They cannot hear me,” the dead man said sadly. “The living have closed their ears to the voices of the dead. But you, warrior – you have the sight and the hearing. Will you ask for me?”

Nera knocked on the door himself, and immediately it was opened by a frightened woman holding a small child.

“Please,” Nera said gently, “this man needs water. He’s thirsty and has traveled far.”

The woman looked past Nera but could see nothing except empty darkness. Still, something in the warrior’s manner convinced her that his request was sincere. She brought a cup of water and handed it to Nera, who passed it to the corpse.

The dead man drank deeply, and as he did so, his appearance seemed to become more solid and lifelike. When he finished, he turned to Nera with a look of deep gratitude.

“You have shown kindness to the dead, and for that, you’ll receive a gift of knowledge. But first, I must return to my place on the gallows, for dawn is coming, and the dead must return to their rest.”

They walked back up the hill together, and the corpse climbed back onto the gallows and allowed Nera to tie him in place with the withie. As he did so, the dead man spoke urgently.

“Listen well, warrior. Before this night is over, the síd-mound of Cruachan will open, and the fairy folk will emerge to attack your king’s hall. They will burn it to the ground and carry off Queen Medb unless you warn them in time. But know this – if you enter the síd-mound yourself, time will flow differently for you. What seems like a short while in the otherworld may be many years in your own.”

“How can I warn them if I’m trapped in the otherworld?” Nera asked.

“You must choose,” the corpse replied as dawn began to lighten the eastern sky. “Warn them and stay in the mortal world, or enter the síd and learn secrets that may save them from a greater danger yet to come.”

As the first rays of sunlight touched the gallows, the dead man’s voice faded to a whisper, and his eyes closed. He was once again merely a corpse hanging in the wind.

Nera hurried back toward Cruachan, his mind racing. The fortress looked exactly as he had left it, with lights glowing warmly in the windows and guards walking their rounds on the walls. But as he approached the gates, he stopped in shock.

The great hall was a blackened ruin. The walls still stood, but the roof had collapsed, and wisps of smoke still rose from the charred timbers. The gates hung broken on their hinges, and bodies lay scattered in the courtyard.

“No,” Nera whispered, running toward the destruction. “I’m too late.”

He searched frantically through the ruins, calling for King Ailill and Queen Medb, for his fellow warriors, for anyone who might have survived. But he found no one alive. The attack the corpse had warned him about had already happened, and everyone he cared about was dead.

As he knelt in despair among the ashes, he heard the sound of music – wild, otherworldly music that seemed to come from the very earth beneath his feet. Looking around, he saw that the great síd-mound of Cruachan was glowing with an eerie light, and its entrance had opened like a door.

“The fairy folk,” Nera said to himself. “They did this. And if they’re responsible, perhaps they’re also the only ones who can undo it.”

Without hesitation, he walked toward the glowing entrance of the síd-mound. As he stepped across the threshold, the world around him changed completely.

Instead of the burned ruins of Cruachan, he found himself in a vast underground realm more beautiful than anything he had ever imagined. Crystal pillars supported a ceiling that looked like the night sky, complete with stars that gave off their own gentle light. Gardens of flowers that glowed like jewels stretched in all directions, and the air was filled with music more beautiful than anything played by mortal harpers.

Fairy folk moved through this realm like creatures made of light and shadow. They were tall and graceful, neither entirely human nor entirely something else, with eyes that held the wisdom of ages and faces that were beautiful but utterly alien.

As Nera walked deeper into the síd-mound, he was approached by a woman who seemed to be a queen among the fairy folk. She was magnificent to behold, with silver hair that moved like water and robes that seemed to be cut from the aurora borealis itself.

“Mortal,” she said, her voice like silver bells, “you enter our realm on a night when the worlds touch. What do you seek here?”

“I seek to understand,” Nera replied. “Your people have destroyed my king’s hall and killed everyone I care about. I want to know why, and I want to know if it can be undone.”

The fairy queen smiled, but it was not a cruel smile. “You see destruction because that is what will come to pass if certain events are not prevented. But know this, mortal – time flows differently here. What you saw was not what has happened, but what will happen if the future is not changed.”

“Then they’re still alive?” Nera asked, hope rising in his heart.

“For now. But the future you saw will come to pass on next Samhain unless steps are taken to prevent it. We showed you this vision so that you might have knowledge to act upon.”

The fairy queen gestured, and suddenly Nera could see the world above as if through clear water. The hall of Cruachan stood intact, its people sleeping peacefully in their beds, unaware of the danger that would come upon them in a year’s time.

“Why tell me this?” Nera asked. “What interest do the fairy folk have in the fate of mortals?”

“Because the threat that will destroy your king’s hall is not of our making,” the queen replied. “Dark forces are stirring, powers that threaten both our realms. The destruction of Cruachan will be only the beginning. If the mortal world falls to these forces, the otherworld will follow.”

She offered Nera a choice. “You may return to your own time and warn your people of what is to come. Or you may stay here and learn the deeper secrets that will help you fight the greater darkness that approaches. But know that if you stay, many years will pass in the mortal world, and you will return to find everything changed.”

Nera thought of King Ailill and Queen Medb, of his fellow warriors, of all the innocent people who would die if he failed to warn them. But he also thought of the greater threat the fairy queen spoke of, and the knowledge that might be needed to face it.

“If I stay and learn,” he asked, “will the knowledge I gain be enough to save not just Cruachan but all of Ireland from this greater darkness?”

“It may be,” the queen replied. “But the choice is yours, and once made, it cannot be undone.”

Nera made his decision. “Then I’ll stay. But I ask one favor – send some sign to my people so they’ll know to prepare for the attack next Samhain.”

The fairy queen nodded. “It shall be done. When you left your king’s hall tonight, you carried fruits and flowers from our realm. These will be found in the hall as proof that you entered the síd and spoke with us. Your people will understand the meaning.”

In the year that passed in the otherworld – though it felt like only days to Nera – he learned secrets that no mortal had ever known. He learned the true names of power, the words that could bind or banish supernatural creatures, and the signs that would warn of approaching magical dangers. He learned the history of the conflicts between the various otherworldly powers and the roles that mortals were destined to play in the great battles to come.

When finally he returned to the mortal world, he found that his prediction had come true. King Ailill and Queen Medb had taken his warning seriously when they found the otherworldly fruits and flowers in their hall. They had prepared for the attack, and when the hostile fairy folk came on the next Samhain night, Cruachan was ready for them.

The battle was fierce, but the defenders prevailed, and the threat was turned aside. More importantly, they were now warned about the greater dangers that lay ahead, and they began preparations that would serve them well in the years to come.

Nera became known as one of the wisest warriors in Ireland, consulted by kings and druids alike for his knowledge of the otherworld and its dangers. His adventure on that first Samhain night became a tale told throughout the land, teaching that sometimes the greatest courage is shown not in charging into battle, but in making the difficult choice to sacrifice immediate happiness for long-term wisdom.

The story of Nera’s adventure reminds us that knowledge often comes at a price, that the future can be changed by those brave enough to act on hard-won wisdom, and that sometimes the dead know truths that the living need to hear. It teaches that Samhain is indeed a night of power and danger, but also a night of opportunity for those with the courage to walk between the worlds.