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examining the lads and lasses as if they were sides of meat waiting to be dressed.
    Few words were exchanged.
    Sláine had long suspected that the decisions were actually made long in advance of the actual ceremony and this torture was little more than a relic hung over from centuries of ritual.
    That was why the Choosing was so vital.
    It was a way to assure that the lifeblood of the tribe was replenished: the butchers, the bakers, the chandlers, the farmers, tanners, and every other trade under the sun. They were all in their own way as important as the warriors. Of course, the warriors themselves would never have admitted that.
    The masters almost certainly met in private to decide what trades were under-represented and needed fresh blood - they would have been fools not to - and while they were at it, decide who amongst the youngsters were best suited to the various trades.
    The only question was who they had chosen for what purpose. That was what the ceremony was all about. It gave ritual to nothing more mystical than a calculated decision process.
    Fionn was taken early, chosen by Tall Iesin, to the delight his family. Whispers ran along the line. No one knew if the bard had the right to claim an apprentice. They weren't even certain he was Sessair. He came and went as he pleased, trading news for food, song for drink and stories for a place to lay his head come night. He had been alone for as long as any of the boys had known him, and now he had chosen Fionn.
    That he had selected Fionn out of all the boys set the wolf amongst the proverbial crows. What did he see in the boy that he had never seen in a candidate before? What made Fionn worthy?
    They had no answers because there were no answers.
    The honour of being chosen as apprentice to the great storyteller was second only to being called to take the Red Branch. And some would have argued the reverse: that the Red Branch was second only to the bard. Fionn was beaming as he left his friend to await his fate.
    Núada found himself pressed into service with Rioch, the tavern keeper. This was something of a surprise choice, but reasoned out it made sense. Núada was quick of thought and good with numbers. He would be able to help Rioch with the brewing and the stables, as well as the tabs run up by drinkers, and because he was a brawler at heart, he'd be useful when it came time to collect those tabs when the drinker's credit ran dry. He didn't seem unhappy with the choice, although he had harboured hopes of being apprenticed to Grudnew's personal bodyguard.
    Bluth the Blacksmith's strong hand came down on Niall's shoulder. It was an obvious match that met with the approval of Niall's parents in the crowd. They swarmed around their son delightedly as he walked alongside his new master on the way to the smithy. Grinning, Bluth had to send them on their way so that he might have a few moments alone with his new apprentice - he appeased them with promises of shared ale at the Feis Samain later that night.
    A few moments later, the cordwainer, Milo, claimed Cormac.
    Cullen, Dian and Sláine stood alone in the square. There were no more masters to come. They had been judged and found unworthy. The thought sank like a smooth sided stone to the pit of the young Celt's gut. Roth wore a face like thunder whereas Macha just looked distraught. The boys didn't move. The ritual of the Choosing demanded that they stay there until sundown on the final day of trinox Samoni. They promised to be three lonely nights while the others celebrated their indentures.
    That wasn't the worst of it though. Without a trade they were outside the tribe. They would be forced out of Murias to become exiles. No man of the Sessair was allowed to beg and without a trade that is exactly what they would be reduced to doing. Travelling from homestead to homestead begging for work and a roof for the night.
    Sláine turned slightly and saw Cullen staring at him, hatred blazing in his eyes. It was obvious that