The Children of Lir

by Marion Grace Woolley

“Were you fighting stable boys again?”

  “No, I was learning how to fight men.”

  I felt a terrible tug at my heart, for I knew that he had been in the company of the Fianna, and I feared to lose him. Yet, before I could tell him this, before I could say how much I loved him, he kicked his horse and rode ahead to chase the twins.

  There on that road, between oceans of grass and the wide open sky, I suddenly felt very alone. Our mother rode in front with her horrible maid by her side, there was little conversation to be had with them, and my brothers were brothers and had each other.

  If I could have turned my horse around, I would have, but we had come too far.

  *

  It was a long ride to the Lake of the Oaks, with little to catch the eye. Now and then an eagle soared overhead, crying out to the wild of our existence and warning the woodland creatures to take cover, for they both killed and protected. Once, the untamed horses of the plains came to greet us, surprised to see their own kind ridden by these strange, two-legged creatures, eager to play and to tease. Guennola soon shooed them away and we continued in silence.

  By the time we reached the mountain pass that opened out to reveal the lake, its surface green from reflecting back the thousand oaks by its shore, I was saddle sore and weary. Although the outing was supposed to be a treat bestowed upon us by our mother, in truth, the day felt flat and joyless.

  We women settled the blankets whilst the twins ran down to the water. My eldest brother stalked off between the trees to gather wood for a fire. The sky did not threaten rain, yet neither did it promise sunshine, the clouds moving low and slow, the light-grey of salmonskin. I took bread from the basket, smothering it in butter and slices of cheese to satisfy my hunger. Guennola did the same, though her thin frame looked famished, as though she had not eaten a proper meal in years.

  “It is nice here,” I said to my mother. Though I did not particularly mean it, I felt as though I should say something, offer her a sign of gratitude at least.

  Aoife nodded, but did not reply. She took an apple, breaking its green skin between her teeth, causing juice to flow from the wound.

  As the day wore on, the twins took to splashing in the shallows. Guennola accompanied me to the shore to watch them play. After a while, I asked her to help me undress. She pulled my outer garments over my head until I wore only my white tunic.

  “If you step into the water, it will be ruined,” she said, pointing one bony finger at the clouds of mud scuffed from the depths by my brothers’ feet.

  “I have others,” I replied.

  The water was cool and refreshing after the midday heat. It coaxed gooseflesh as the surface rose to meet my waist. Pausing for a moment to catch my breath, I continued further in, Conn already cupping water with his hands, ready to throw at me.

  Their laughter leapt across the surface of the lake like a thousand small fish.

  Aodh

  I built the fire at a distance from the women. I knew they would join me once the heat of the day had passed, but I wanted time to myself to stare into the flames and search the smoke for answers. I wanted to see a vision of my life a year from thence. I wanted to see myself lifting the sword I had forged, wielding it alongside my stave, standing beside the pile of furs I had placed before Cumhaill.

  Despite the dryness of the day, the fire was slow to catch. I stripped more bark from the woods and blew a little to help it light. In so doing, the smoke came the wrong way and I could see nothing for a moment.

  With my eyes streaming, I listened to the laughter of my brothers on the lake, ashamed that I was seeking insight into my own future, without having thought of theirs. Could I, in all good conscience, ride off to war whilst they were still so young? Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I was uncertain whether my tears belonged to the fire or my family.

  “The spirit of the lake has dampened the wood,” Aoife said, suddenly before me. “You cannot light a fire here.”

  “Then what shall we do for warmth?” I asked.

  “I do not intend to stay so late. We will eat and ride home.”

  “We have travelled all this way, and already you wish to return?”

  “What’s the matter Aodh, do you not enjoy the journey as much as the destination?”

  I turned from her to gather another log for the dying flames.

  It was hard, too hard, to know what to say to Aoife. I had never embraced her, yet I had done my best to tolerate her, for my father’s sake, and the sake of my kin. She was beautiful, and in the time she had been with us, she had not aged a day, but hers was a harsh beauty, unlike the softness of our true mother. At times she behaved more as a sister to me than a mother, and at times, more as though she wished to be my lover. Beneath her looks, something desperate lay.

  She came towards me round the woodpile, running her fingers down my folded arm.

  “Don’t,” I told her.

  “What is it, you do not like my touch?”

  I stared hard, willing her to return to her blankets.

  “Ah, you do not like my touch as much as that of Caílte mac Rónáin,” she smiled.

  “And you do not like my father’s touch as much as that of Nyle of the White Field.”

  She drew back, eyes wide as a fox in a trap, defiant in its fear.

  “Conn told me what he saw, though he did not understand it at the time.”

  She turned away, then turned back, her hand pressed to her lips.

  “It would break his heart,” she whispered.

  “You would break his heart.”

  Aoife

  One moment in time that would change history.

  The weight of such a moment should cause everything to fall still. The stars should move backward in the sky, the sun’s fire extinguished, the birds silent in the trees.

  Yet it was not so. Time raced as fast as the blood in my veins.

  As I watched Aodh walk away, my future spun out before me like the women of the loom had lost their grip, the threads of my wishes slipping from their fingers, torn and tangled.

  He reached the shore, stripped his tunic and plunged beneath the surface like a seal, swimming with strong, steady strokes whilst I stood, dumbfounded by the ashes of his failed fire.

  My feet moved across the ground as though I were floating, drawn in his wake. The wind whipping at my skirts, I reached for a broken branch where the water met land. I intended to throw it in frustration, yet as I lifted it above my head I felt its shape shift. There in my hand was the druid’s rod that I had buried beneath my hut, its form growing from my flesh like roots breaking through soil. My hand trembled so hard I could barely hold it.

  With certainty, I knew what my one wish should be.

  I wanted the children of Lir to vanish.

  That is all I remember.

  Fionnuala

  The sky darkened as though a great cloud had drifted across it. Looking up, I saw the full brightness of the sun and could not understand. As I turned to the shore, I caught the figure of a person standing high up on the purple cliffs that plunged down to the water. Whether it was a man or a woman, I could not tell, for it wore a long cloak.

  My eyes had already moved on, glancing across the green reflection of the water to the line of quartz pebbles on the shore. They sparkled like ice in the afternoon light. My brother Aodh was swimming towards me. As he reached us, I saw Aoife behind, her face set in an expression of pure hatred.

  I opened my mouth to ask my brother what he had done. Before the words left my lips, I saw her raise something aloft. I could not see from that distance what it was, but the look on her face was enough to cause me fear. I felt the current beneath the surface encircle me, an invisible hand wrapping its fingers about my waist, stroking my skin. In seeing my terror, Aodh swam onto his back, looking towards the shore.

  Aoife’s hair was a thing to behold. It flowed from her face as though she were speaking to us from beneath the waves. Her eyes glowed green, lit from within by a raging
fire. We watched in horror as she began to float a foot above the ground, her terrified maid staring up from where she had fallen.

  “Out with you, children of the king,” her voice came, rippling across the water and echoing within our minds. “Your luck is taken away from you forever. It is sorrowful the story will be to your kin. It is with flocks of birds your cries will now be heard."

  I screamed and reached for my brother, holding tight to his arm.

  “The twins!” he cried. “Get them out of the water!”

  Tearing free of me, he dived beneath the surface and swam for them with all his strength.

  “With your white faces, with your stammering Irish, I drive you out upon the rough wind. Nine hundred years to be gone from my sight.”

  Her voice was no voice at all, it sounded like the howling of the wind against rocks.

  “Witch!” I cried out. “Witch!”

  My hand rose to my mouth to steady myself, for I was scared then in a way I had never been scared in my life. Aoife was inhuman, whatever magic she used came from the forgotten worlds of the Aos Sí. Her words turned the water putrid, the stench of carrion causing me to gag.

  A vicious cackle rose from her lips.

  “Three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach. Three hundred years on Sruth na Maoile. Three hundred years on Irrus Domnann. Not until a flower from the south takes root in the north, and all your lands lain waste, shall you regain your true form.”

  Our true form.

  I did not understand what she meant. Desperately, I began thrashing towards the shore. Aodh had reached the twins. The speed and the power with which he dragged them through the water had frightened them and they cried out, their tiny forms struggling to draw breath. As I tore at my tunic, attempting to free myself from it that I might swim faster, I saw Aoife’s feet return to the ground. That strange stick she held aloft came down to meet the lake. As it pierced its surface, it pierced our very souls.

  The water at once felt like frost, its surface no longer green but black, swelling and broiling beneath us. The sky blackened and lightning cracked her whip; great blue bolts that raced from cloud to cloud and set the forest aflame.

  I screamed again, my ears filled with the bawling cries of my younger brothers.

  “Swim!” Aodh shouted, his face red as the forest. “Swim, Fionnuala!”

  Yet I could not swim. All of my strength left me as I saw their skin splitting apart. Their screams of terror turned to screams of pain, their flesh rippling as though a nest of ants swarmed beneath. My own skin started to blister, and the frozen water could not quell its heat.

  Holding my hand before my face, I saw slivers of translucent bone begin to press their way through, causing rivulets of blood to mingle with the water, swallowing it into the blackness.

  Blood.

  My blood.

  I began to scream and scream and scream.

  And then I began to drown.

  Those fingers in the water beneath tightened about my ankles and began to drag me below the surface. I fought and thrashed but I could not get free. In that moment, I forgot my brothers. I forgot everything, even my name. My lungs filled with searing water as I sank to the depths.

  Light reflected just above my face, yet I could not rise to meet it.

  I was breathing the lake.

  I was drowning.

  I did not want to die.

  Sorcha

  The wind whispers strange stories.

  I was scrubbing out a cookpot when the grass about me rippled. A tingle at the base of my neck spread through my body and I knew that the wind spoke the truth to me. I knew that something was wrong, but I did not know what until the sun had set.

  Aoife’s horse sped across the plain beneath us, its black mane flowing like a banner, its saddle empty. Cries from the guards raised the alarm and all who could stand ran up the embankment to look. Lir was fetched from his hut, Bodb at his breast, their breath scented by wine yet eyes suddenly sober.

  “What is it? What has happened?” he bellowed, his warriors gathering to him.

  A young man with a spear led the horse through the gates of the fort.

  “Your wife’s horse, my lord.”

  As Lir snatched the reins of the frightened beast, the boy pointed to a trail of blood, barely visible against its midnight flank.

  “My children?”

  “No one has returned.”

  Lir held the animal’s face to his, searching for answers in its rolling eyes.

  “Come!” he shouted. “Saddle the fastest horses.”

  “And bring our swords!” Bodb cried. “Our sharpest swords.”

  They exchanged a look of fear, the first time I had seen such an expression on either.

  “What is it?” Ailbhe cried, running from her hut with her child pressed to her shoulder.

  “Your sister,” said Bodb, “she is gone, and so are the children. We must look for them.”

  “They were going to the Lake of the Oaks,” I stammered, trying to be of help. “They left this morning.”

  “Let me fetch my husband, he will ride with you.”

  And so it was that Lir, Bodb, Eoghan and twenty men set out on horseback with their torches alight.

  That night will live on in my memory forever. They were not gone long at all, for they found Aoife’s body a little way along the road, where she had fallen from her horse. Lir carried her home draped across his lap, her long hair trailing between the reins, her face ashen and bloodied, eyes closed.

  He laid her out upon his bed and called for Elatha. When she came, she pressed the back of her hand to Aoife’s brow, her eyes betraying nothing of her thoughts. I stood beside her with a damp cloth, which I had used to wipe away the blood.

  “Aoife of Aran, open your eyes,” Elatha commanded, her voice soft to the ear yet firm to the heart.

  Aoife’s eyes fluttered for a moment, her lips parted as though to speak, and then she turned her head and slept. Lir was beside himself. Such frustration in a man makes him dangerous. At once he wanted to gather Aoife to him and shake her awake. Only Elatha, with her silver hair and robes of office, held the authority to order Lir from his room.

  “You will hear nothing from her tonight,” she told him. “The better she rests, the sooner she can talk. Take your men and ride to the lake. Perhaps the children are there. If she stirs before you return, I will send a rider.”

  The men of the fort left for a second time, and I dearly wished I were a man, for they were my children as much they were Lir’s, and I wanted to go with them to search. Yet my skills were needed elsewhere. I sat by Aoife’s bed all that night. I held her hand in mine and mopped her brow. I made sure the blankets were tucked up high so that she did not feel the chill, and I moistened her parched lips so that she would not feel thirst.

  I cared for her whilst the druids met to scry the waters and read their runes. I cared for her whilst the warriors of the fort were out riding, their bones cold in the starless night. I cared for her whilst my children, my beautiful children, that I had helped raise since they were old enough to say my name, were out there somewhere in the dark forest, alone.

  Never will I forget how much I cared for her.

  Shortly after daybreak, the men returned. We watched their approach from above. I could see by Lir’s crumpled form that their search had not been successful, for he rode with one hand pressed to his face as though in mourning.

  When he came to Aoife’s bedside, he grasped her hand in both of his. His tear-reddened eyes imploring her to wake. Sensing him there, she stirred. Her face turned to his and her eyes fluttered half-open.

  “My love,” she whispered, her voice so fragile that our silent breathing swept it away.

  “Aoife, my darling wife. You must tell me what happened. For I have been to the Lake of the Oaks, and such destruction there I found. The woods are all burned, and the water is black. My children’s clothes are ripped and torn, your maid is dead, her body brutally beaten—”

/>   “There was a wolf,” she said. “The likes of which I have never seen. Taller than any man, fierce as Scáthach. It came upon us as we ate.”

  “A wolf?”

  “It came for the twins. I did not see it until it was upon them. We chased it, Aodh and I, carrying torches from the fire, yet it was not afraid. We screamed, but no one was there to hear us. When it had finished with the boys, it turned on us. Guennola threw herself upon it and it took out her throat. Then it came for Aodh. He dropped his torch and the whole forest caught fire. I tried, my love. I tried so hard. Its eyes were like the depths of winter, its breath like death. There was nothing I could do—” Lir placed his finger softly to her lips, burying his head against her breast. “I am ashamed to say, but I ran.”

  Lir’s shoulders began to heave as he sobbed against her. None of us could look upon them, our eyes downcast, our own cries rising in our throats. From that day on, we dressed in white and grey. On the nights of the full moon I would follow Lir down to the inlet and watch as he threw his anger and his pain into the waves, howling for his son to rise from the depth and comfort him, yet Manannán never answered.

  Aoife became a shadow of herself. She rarely left her bed, her beauty faded like the flowers of spring. She would talk to no one except her husband, and ate only milk and bread.

  None of us spoke, for there was nothing to say. The light of the sun had been extinguished. Everything that had held our fragile peace together since Aobh passed had been stolen from us. We were defenceless against the crumbling dam of sorrow that flooded our hearts. What reason was there for the moon to rise, for the birds to sing? What reason was there left to live?

  Ailbhe

  In the year following the children’s disappearance, we did not see my sister or Lir. He barred the gates of his fort, and although we talked with Aoife and tried to persuade her back to her childhood home of Sidh-ar-Femhin, she would answer only by turning her face away and burying it in her pillow. She appeared to share so completely in Lir’s grief that her eyes grew dim to those around.