The Salmon of Purpose

Rambling, jumbled thoughts danced through Finn's mind like leaves skipping on the wind. He could not make any single one pause and make sense. How long he sat dazedly, he could not say. Slowly, like a listing vessel righting itself, he felt his mind turn and begin to make focus of the whirlwind within. 

Who could be approaching; a man, a woman? Was he or she a druid or ruler, a sage? What would such a person be like? What had earned them the right of claim to the unearthly Salmon? Finn did not care that they would gain the elusive knowledge. That held little meaning to him. For an entire year, his and Fingal's special place with the salmon had been entirely unshared. The seclusion had been theirs' alone. Some stranger was arriving to shatter that intimacy.

It felt unfair. What had this stranger done to earn such a right? How could they walk in and take away what he and Fingal, each in their way, had come to love?

Finn looked at the old man.

Fingal's irascibility and anger in those early months took on a new meaning. How had it never occurred to Finn that the druid might have had conflicting feelings about Finn's uninvited arrival? The hermit had been utterly alone with the magical and wondrous salmon for seven years. Then, suddenly, a strange youth enters his world and stays. The boy's heart softened within him.

"I understand now, Fingal..." he thought silently.

Finn returned his gaze to the Salmon. For the first time, the unimaginable consideration of someone killing and eating of the Salmon of Knowledge threatened to become real. Instinctively, his mind pulled away. He shuddered, repulsed at the thought. Finn wasn't squeamish about death or, when necessary, killing. He'd hunted for food from the very earliest age. But this was different. These were in no sense ordinary fish. They were so pure to Finn's way of thinking it would be sacrilegious even to graze them with a mortal hand.

"How could anyone..?" he asked.

Finn flushed, embarrassed he had spoken the words aloud without intending to do so. He could feel Fingal's attention turn to him. "Kill one of these..?" Finn mumbled, his voice trailing off. The youth winced at his mistake. The reproach of his words judged not only whoever was coming to catch the Salmon but also the old man beside him, who had sought so desperately through the years to do that very thing.

But Fingal's reaction was unexpected. He wasn't angry or defensive. He looked at the youth as if Finn had just said the silliest thing imaginable. "Kill a Salmon of Knowledge?" he repeated in flat dismay. "Impossible!"

Finn's eyes widened. "But I----"

"You thought that to gain the knowledge of the Salmon; one must catch and eat of it? That much is true. But kill it? Never!" The old man bent slightly and studied Finn.

"Have you not understood, Deimne?" he asked quietly. "Have you not spent a year with them? These are not mere fish, lad! What you see before you –the shapes of these five creatures– are but momentary images, as it were, they have donned for us in Time, like a cloak or garment, a kind of convenience for our mortal minds, which are far too uninformed to grasp what we truly see. The Salmon of Knowledge are part of an ancient power, a link to another world entirely, Deimne. They pause here in our realm for what is, for them, but a twinkling in Time. They have come to this place for one purpose only; to fulfill a destiny.

"Look at them, lad! See how they watch us, how they wait? They are aware. They know their purpose, for they are Knowledge itself. That purpose will be fulfilled, of this, you can be sure. One of them will be caught and eaten. This is the way of things. It must be. In this way alone, as we humans understand it, will their purpose pass whole and alive into the mortal realm. It is not for death they have come, Deimne, but for life. This is the beginning. This is birth!"

Finn did not understand the druid's words but took unexpected comfort in them. It made no sense that something could die, be consumed and eaten, and not be killed. But for some curious reason, he knew he could trust the old man's words. The idea that the Salmon would pass "whole and living" into the mortal world in some uncanny way made Finn feel relieved. He leaned back slightly, relaxing for the first time since he'd arrived at the pool. Fingal lapsed back into silence.

Finn now had to decide whether to await the arrival of the unknown stranger coming to claim one of the Salmon or leave with the dawn as he had planned. What would the old man do? Would he stay on in this strange wood alone once the Salmon departed? With all that had happened, the thought of leaving Fingal alone now concerned him.

Fingal saddened the Son of Cumhal. He thought of all of his years of desperation during which the Mouse had tried without success to net the Salmon, how utterly defeating it must be to give up finally. How painful to live so close, knowing the Salmon were just within reach but ever beyond him?

Finn grew angry at this unknown stranger. How unfair it all seemed. Why must the Salmon pass into the world through any particular person? Why couldn't that person be Fingal? He had a great passion for knowledge! Was he less worthy?

This thought worked itself on the boy's mind, struggling its way deeper into its recesses until finally, it stirred something there, something the women who had raised Finn had taken secret pride in and nurtured whenever they saw it arise.

The orphan of the Baiscne was a curious mixture of his mother and father. From his father, Cumhal, Finn had inherited the soul of a hunter. In bare feet, the boy could run down a hare and, without a second thought, dispatch it instantly. However, if Finn came upon any creature, footed or feathered, which through some event of the forest had been wounded and left helpless, this was an entirely different tale for the boy. By the scores, Finn brought helpless creatures home to his childhood cottage. Seemingly every day, he greeted yet another wounded creature, another hapless victim of the indifference of the wildwood. Though their overcrowded home seemed at times ready to burst at the seams, in their wisdom, Bodhmall and Liath never once turned out one of these unfortunates. There was always room to be made somehow; another cage could be built, yet another place to squeeze in a new resident. They understood how important it was to foster this instinct in Finn.

If from Cumhal, his father, the boy had the inherited instincts of a hunter; it was from the gentle and comely Muirne that he had inherited a very different trait. Deep in the soul of Finn resided great compassion for the weak and needy.

Through Muirne, Finn was born a defender.

This instinct stirred in Finn as he looked at the bent and defeated Fingal. The more he thought about what he perceived was the unfairness of this stranger's impending arrival, the stronger this feeling became. At last, unable to be contained, it began to shape and form a plan deep in Finn's mind, a plan so startling to him when it finally surfaced as a fully formed idea; he was without words for a moment, alarmed at what he contemplated. He would have liked to flee this thought, get up from the pool's side, leave never to return, but he knew he could not. Unexpectedly, he blurted out, rushing to keep himself from stopping, "Fingal...Fingal, what if I try to catch one of the Salmon for you?"

Fingal turned slowly on the boy; amazement was written into his every feature, "Do you know what you are saying?" he managed to whisper.

Fearing he might lose heart, Finn pushed on, his words nearly tripping over themselves to get them out, "Of course I do, Fingal. Who knows? You couldn't catch one, but maybe I can? I caught all of the fish for Bodhmall and Liath, and myself. Bodhmall always said she'd never seen anyone with hands as quick as mine! I don't need the Salmon. What do I need them for? Just a bunch of knowledge. I don't need more knowledge, Fingal, but you do! All the things you've taught me about plants and things. You love knowledge, Fingal! Why should some stranger get it? You've lived here, Fingal. You've lived and fought for this. Anyway, if it's like you say, that the Salmon...I mean...that it's got to happen anyway, and it isn't going to be killed, as you say... or at least not dead, I mean...well, I mean, dead, but...well, you know what I mean...Well, I'd just as soon that you eat it, Fingal. After all is said and done... you've been okay to me."

After the rambling, jumbled confusion of Finn's speech, his last few words dropped and wavered like a newborn foal. It was clear to see that the old man was shocked at what he heard. As if he'd just stumbled upon some species of strange forest plant of which he had no previous knowledge, his face wore a curious and bewildered expression.

Moment by moment, as the reality of what he'd just offered sunk in, Finn could feel his courage slipping. Instead of waiting any longer, Finn decided to act. He stood, his legs wobbly and weak beneath him, and waded slowly into the shallows.

The difficulty in catching a fish bare-handed was not the final lunge but gaining a good position. It was a test of patience, requiring a painstakingly slow movement through the water. Once near enough, one only needed quickness and sureness of hand.

Entering the watery element of the Salmon had a sobering effect on the youth. He took a deep breath, feeling oddly calm. They watched him from a distance of about a meter, seemingly unafraid, not moving. Usually, during Finn's visits, they drew much closer to him. Perhaps the presence of Fingal was keeping them farther away. A meter felt like a great distance for Finn to cross, especially in quiet waters. In the past, Finn had the benefit of tumbling pools and rock-walled waters to disguise his approach. This time the fish were completely aware of his presence.

Finn could feel Fingal watching him intently.

Ever so gently, bubble by bubble, Finn eased his hands into the water and moved toward them. The salmon's scales seemed to have gotten even brighter in the short time since he'd arrived at the pool. They were glowing with sun-like intensity now and building stronger yet.

The boy hadn't even covered half the distance when the Salmon drew close together and quietly drifted a few more feet away. Finn sighed inwardly. At this rate, the fish would soon be safe from capture in deep water. They could elude him like this forever. He now understood how it must have been for Fingal all those years, so close yet not. Perhaps he was foolish to think he could accomplish with his bare hands what the old man, with all his traps and devices, never could.

But wait.

From the ring of glowing fish, one lone salmon began to drift apart. Finn watched with curious wonder as the fish traced a slow, gentle arc away from its companions and eased unhurriedly toward Finn and the bank.

Even under the cold water, Finn's hands itched with tension. If the Salmon kept its present course, it would ease just within Finn's grasp. He must wait for the right instant to make his lunge. A bit too soon, and he would surely miss it. The seconds seemed to stretch on and on, and the Salmon grew ever nearer. Finn began to perspire under his tunic. It took his breath away to be so near the Salmon. He saw its tiny lateral fins rippling like silken moth wings at its side. At this distance, its eyes seemed like endless blue tunnels. Just a few inches, a few more inches...

Finn made his lunge.

Never in his life had he seen anything move so fast. He had not even seen it flick a tale. In one instant, it was nearly in his hand, and in the next, it hovered ten yards away, motionless and watching once more.

The Son of Cumhal stood up, and tiny droplets of water fell from his hands and made gem-like ripples in the pool's surface. Once again, the lone Salmon began to move slowly toward him. "Is it toying with me?" Finn thought. Somehow he couldn't believe this was so. It continued toward him, drawing ever nearer. Finn decided to give it another try. He lowered his hands into the water, glancing at the other four. They remained in a motionless ring in the distance, waiting and watching.

The lone salmon was approaching quite close now. Given the creature's fantastic speed, Finn knew he could not catch it. He decided not to try. He would wait and see what it was up to. His back ached from the strain of holding himself so motionlessly.

Strangely, the mysterious salmon seemed to be drawing directly toward his hands! Finn held himself, resisting the alluring nearness of the fish. Finally, the elusive fish stopped mere inches from Finn's grasp. It took the strain of all of Finn's will not to move. They were locked into that instant together, Finn and the Salmon. Never once in the last year had Finn felt more intimate in his knowledge of the fish than he did now.

Then, unexpectedly, the salmon backed itself into Finn's palms.

The Son of Cumhal was instantly overwhelmed. Finn had never felt anything as magnificent as the touch of the salmon against his palms. His whole body rippled with sensation; his fingers tingled as if they had been stiff with cold and were now being winter warmed before a fire. Without realizing he had done so, he closed his hands about the fish and lifted it from the water.

He tried to put it back.

In the very instant of understanding what he'd just done, he tried to return the enchanted fish to the waters from which it had come. But it was already too late. Even as he started to lower his hands, he knew from the sick feeling in his stomach what had happened. Life had drained from the salmon. It had died. Hanging limply in his hands, it was robbed of life when it left the water.

Finn heard Fingal gasp behind him. He turned, vaguely aware that tears were streaming from his eyes. In a gesture of helplessness, uncertain of what to do, he lifted the salmon toward the druid in a confused offering.

The old man was aflame with excitement. His eyes wide, his body trembling uncontained, he stretched his hands before him, his fingers clutching at the air, "Lad...lad.," he intoned, barely able to shape his words. "Lad, you...you've done it! The Salmon, boy, the Salmon of Knowledge." He suddenly went wild. "Give it to me!" he screeched, "give me the salmon!"

"Aye, Fingal..." Finn murmured. He wanted nothing more than to rid himself of the fish, never to see it again or remember it. The salmon had grown heavy in his hands. "It backed, Fingal... It just backed into my hands..." he moaned.

Like someone in a dream, Finn repeated those words as he made his way from the shallows, but the hermit, his eyes fixed wildly on the salmon, seemed not to hear him. But at last, just as Finn lifted the fish's body to Fingal's shaking, outstretched hands, the druid seemed to become aware of the boy's ramblings.

"Wh-what?" he asked, "What did you say?"

"I said it backed, Fingal! It backed all by itself. It went right into my hands."

"But of course, it backed. You don't think that a Salmon of Knowl...." The old man's words suddenly died in the air. His small dark eyes drew close together as if something were stirring in his mind, perplexing and pulling at him. "No..." he whispered. Abruptly, he pulled his hands to his chest, clutching them tightly together.

"No, no, lad. I see now. I must not touch it. An Innocent, of course! Why didn't I see it before? The Salmon would only have come to an innocent! I must not touch it. You, Deimne, must do it for me. You must cook the salmon. Do you understand? You must cook the salmon for me!"

"Cook it..." Finn muttered, still too much in shock to understand what the druid was saying. Nothing seemed to matter now. "Aye, Fingal, I'll do that. I'll cook the salmon..."

"Good lad." The old man tossed a flint pouch on the ground before Finn. "I must prepare. You lay a fire and cook the salmon, Deimne."

The druid whirled but then stopped abruptly. Spinning on the youth again, he said, "But listen to me, Deimne! Cook the salmon, yes, but you must not taste its flesh! Do you understand? Repeat my words; you must not taste of its flesh."

"I must not taste the salmon's flesh," Finn intoned. "I understand. I will do as you say, Fingal."

"That's a good lad. Oh, indeed, a good lad." Fingal continued to clutch his hands together as if restraining himself against reaching toward the salmon. I'll be back."

After Fingal left, Finn felt alone and strange. He looked at the four remaining salmon as if to seek therein some understanding of what had just happened. But he found no comfort. They watched him as silent and beautiful as ever. An odd ache began to throb in Finn's belly. He sighed and turned away. Reverently, he laid the now lifeless salmon on a bed of ferns and turned to gather wood for the fire.