“I’ll wager no bargest dwells there,” said Jewel, emptying her catch from the net into a wooden pail. “I’ll wager ’tis only a nursery tale to scare young toddlers from climbing on the rocks.”
“Even so!” said Oisín emphatically. “I’ll bet nothing dwells there at all, save for some mangy goats. Let’s go and see.”
“Let’s not!” cried Ciara. She appealed to Jewel. “That would be foolish, would it not, Jewel? If ’twere discovered we’d set foot in that place, there’d be no end of trouble. What would your father say?”
“I’ll not be disobeying my father,” said Jewel, as Ciara had guessed she would.
“Pah!” snorted Oisín. “You girls are so full of your fears. Cringe and cower, little baa-lambs. I’ll come back here tomorrow with the Alderfen boys, and we’ll scour the whole of Gordale. If this monster does exist we shall see it for ourselves, for I know a charm to summon wights!”
Jewel bridled.
“You’ll not be saying I am a coward,” she said indignantly. “I’m as ready as any boy to go ashore.” Picking up the oars, she began to row valiantly, heedless of Ciara’s half-hearted protests.
As the three children came ashore, a gusty wind stirred in the willows. They bent and swayed like grizzled old men in a slow dance. Warily the intruders began to walk across the island toward the place where the walls of the ravine sloped precipitously down to meet the shoreline. A sullen, continuous roar grew to meet them; the noise of machinery, or of water racing across stone.
“How do you know a charm to summon wights?” Ciara whispered to her brother. “’Tis not possible.”
“I overheard it. Those peddlers were talking about it, the ones from Bellaghmoon who came through the marsh last se’nnight.”
“’Tis full of nonsense they were,” hissed Ciara. “They were inventing tales for our entertainment, that is all.”
“Maybe so, but I tried the charm and a siofra appeared.”
“In sooth?”
“Then it ran away.”
“But the siofran are seelie. Bargests are—”
“Hush!” said Jewel, who was walking ahead. “I hear something!”
The pewter sky darkened to charcoal, and the wind strengthened. It billowed in their ears, blocking out the endless background tunes of waterfowl and frog; or perhaps the wild creatures had ceased their singing.
“What did you hear?” Ciara asked nervously.
“I heard—that is, I fancied I heard a clanking, as of a chain being dragged.”
Ciara’s face paled like the moon. “We should go back—”
“Press on!” insisted her brother, and so they did, right under the shadow of the massive ramparts.
Heavy rain had fallen during the preceding days, and the stream that flowed through the ravine had swelled to a torrent. The low light of afternoon could not penetrate the sheer walls of the narrow cleft, and in the gloaming, from behind the roar of the wrathful waters, they heard a sudden, loud cry.
“Forbear!”
Ciara spun about and would have fled had not her brother gripped her firmly by the arm.
“Coward,” he derided. “Coward!”
“I am that,” she retorted, struggling to free herself from his grasp. “Leave me be! Some voice called a warning out of that dark crevice, and I am heeding it.”
With a sigh of exasperation he released her. She retreated toward the boat but hesitated, loath to let her companions out of her sight.
“Get away from here!” Oisín shouted to her above the water’s din. “‘Tis away from the water the safe circle must be drawn. If you’re unwilling to be in the circle, you should be gone!” Reluctantly Ciara glided in among the willows. To Jewel, the lad cried, “I spy a grand old yew over there. ’Tis a tree of power, such as is needed for the charm.”
She nodded, and they made toward the tree.
Beneath the yew, Oisín drew a circle, tearing at the grasses with a jagged branch he had found, scoring a deep groove in the moist soil. As he dragged the stick along the ground, he chanted certain rhythmic words. When this was done he kneeled down within the circle and kissed the ground thrice, then beckoned Jewel to join him. Spreading wide his arms, he turned toward the head of the ravine and cried, “Spectre Hound! I call upon you to appear!”
Like sudden death, a whirlwind blasted out of nowhere. Flames burst from every cranny in the towering stone ramparts, and with a savage howl there bounded into sight a creature like a hound fashioned from pure malice and insanity.
Hidden in the willows, Ciara trembled, sobbing with terror. How long the wind lasted she could not gauge, but when it dissipated, as abruptly as it had arrived, she dared to peep from her place of concealment.
Night had wrapped itself around the Gordale. Under the yew tree, Jewel and Oisín were lying dazed. Upon the body of the boy were wounds so strange it seemed no human instrumentality could have made them.
Jewel regained her senses sufficiently to help Ciara drag Oisín to the boat and row him home, but although she appeared unscathed, she was so shaken that it was a sevennight before she would utter any word at all, and then she could not steel herself to speak of the experience. As for Oisín, he lay at the gates of death for many weeks. Even when the ministrations of Eolacha had brought him back to wellness, he was forever changed. On Winter nights his left side would ache where one of the strange marks had gouged him, and he was never again so lighthearted and high spirited as he once had been. A heavy grimness had descended on him, and he seldom smiled.
Jewel, however, recovered from the shock completely. She regained her levity and became as blithe and careless as before, although it grieved her to see the difference in her friend, and her pleasure in his company diminished.
At the times when she grieved most over the changes wrought in her playmate, her father would counsel her. “We are made for both joy and woe,” he was fond of saying. “The better this we accept, the better we go. A wise woman once gave me this motto, and she said also, ‘Be assured, there is no pain that does not decrease over time.’ All sorrow eventually diminishes.”
Then Jewel would sit on his lap and wind her arms about his neck, burying her face in his chest. In her father’s strong embrace she felt utterly secure; the troubles of the world could not touch her.
The child of Lilith and Jarred grew swift to pierce the thoughts of others, keen to fathom their reasons and unravel their games. She perceived that Eoin loved her mother. Once, as she sojourned at his floating abode, she casually asked him why he had never married.
“I cannot find anyone who suits me,” he replied, filling his pipe with leaf.
“I shall not find anyone who suits me either,” said Jewel.
“Why not?” Eoin asked, amused to imagine such unyielding conviction in so young a creature.
Jewel paused for reflection. “I just will not, that’s all.”
“What about your friend Oisín Rushford? Is he not good enough for you?” Eoin tamped down the leaf with a stained fingertip and reached for his tinderbox.
“He’s changed,” she replied sadly.
If Uncle Eoin will not admit his true reason for remaining single, she thought, I shall not tell him mine.
“I will never marry,” she declared emphatically to all and sundry, without caring whether anyone was interested. “I will never marry,” she said to her mother as, side by side, the two of them walked home from Lizardback Ridge. They had spent some time in discussion while gazing out across the grasslands to the low green hills of Bellaghmoon.
“Why not?” Lilith echoed her stepbrother.
“If I tell you, you must keep it secret.”
“That I shall.”
“No man born could be as flawless as my father.”
A smile brightened Lilith’s lovely features. “Perhaps you are right. But methinks somewhere in the world there must be a youth who comes close. Earnán always says, For each man or woman, there is a partner.”
“No, he does not. He s
ays, For every back there is a coat, for every cap there is a head.”
“Which he takes to mean the same!”
“Máthair, how did you find such a man as my father?”
It was not often that Jewel asked for advice. Lilith weighed her words carefully.
“If you desire an enduring and happy union, heed my words. Look for a man who loves his mother, who delights in children, who holds old women in honor and friendship, who is kind to bird and beast, who laughs, who is well spoken of by those who know him, and who is adept at earning money and does not waste it.”
“Why should I look for all these attributes?” asked the child as they proceeded along the rickety wooden footpath, nearing the Mosswell dwelling.
“One day, should the Fates be willing, you might be a mother yourself. Find a man who loves his mother and he will treat you with the same compassion he shows her. You will love your children more than life, and you will love a spouse who feels the same way. One day, should the Fates be willing, you will be an old woman yourself. He too will have aged, but your mutual honor and friendship will endure. You will love a man who treats beasts and birds with respect, knowing he will show no scarcer generosity to humankind. If both you and he can enhance your lives with kind jests and laughter, your affection will stand the test of time. And should others who know him speak well of him, you will know you have chosen rightly—for love is deaf and sightless; your own mind may be clouded, but the judgments of others will not be so biased.”
Having reached the cottage, they entered.
“What about poverty? Are poor folk incapable of love?” Jewel wanted to know.
“They are capable of the greatest of all,” said her mother, unwrapping the shawl from her shoulders and hanging it over the back of a chair, “because human life and love are severely tested by want. The bonds must be all the stronger for it to survive.”
“I have never met anyone like you describe,” said Jewel, “save for my father.”
“You are not yet eleven Summers old,” said Lilith, her eyes twinkling. “There is time. Oh!” She spun to face the cottage door, adding quickly, “Did you hear footsteps?”
“That I did,” replied her daughter, perplexed as always by her mother’s occasional displays of nervousness, “that I did. My father has arrived home and has just set foot on the staithe. I can see him through the window.”
It seemed to Jewel that as she approached womanhood, everyone wished to give her counsel, not least Earnán, who was always ready with a wise adage.
“To live a good life, one must maintain good health,” he would earnestly proclaim. “Never walk when you might run, never stand when you might walk or sit, never sit when you might lie down. Eat more than nine-and-thirty different foods between Moon’s Day and Sun’s Day. And remember that health of the body is not everything. To be content in life, it is necessary to have, at least, these three things: something to do, someone to love, and something to hope for.”
Passing years had transmuted the hair of Earnán to silver gray. By this, Jewel knew he was wise.
Eoin gave not much counsel, but he taught Jewel numerous tavern songs.
“All this advice,” said Jewel to Eolacha as they sat by the cottage window spinning nettle fibers one sun-bright day, “is confusing. Do this, do that. How should anyone know the right path?”
“If I tell you, I will be giving you more advice,” answered the carlin, her thin fingers busy with the thread. “Therefore I withhold my rede.”
“Pray do not,” the child said quickly, “for as soon as anyone conceals their thoughts, I am instantly driven to find them out.”
“Curiosity,” said the crone, laughing, “is both your strength and your weakness, dear child! Mind the tangles! Very well, I tell you that the way to choosing the right path is within us all. If a choice must be made, one ought first to collect all available knowledge on the subject, from as many different sources as possible. Then mull over the information, examine it, observe it from all angles. Lastly, turn inward. You will know when you have discovered the right answer. It may take a long time—some solutions are hard to find. But keep in mind—there is a reason for all things, an answer for all things, and that is why you must never give up.”
“You have great store of wisdom, á seanmháthair. Tell me now how to find power and wealth.”
“Power and wealth do not necessarily bring happiness.”
“Oh, but I ardently desire them,” sighed Jewel, letting her borrowed spinning wheel slow to a halt. “I do not want to have to work hard for a living. I want a fine house of stone, fair garments, and servants.”
The marsh upial’s offspring played among the rolled-up balls of thread, batting one along the floor of the cottage with one mitten of a paw. Its parent had passed away after a long and joyful existence, the normal life span of such creatures being but a few years.
Eolacha said, “In pursuing the magic we dream of, we are in danger of losing sight of the real magic.”
“You speak in riddles. What magic?”
“Look around.”
Jewel looked around. On the distant wetlands the geese were alighting in great snowy drifts. Near at hand the water sparkled like a carpet of diamonds, the marsh upial’s cub was gazing at her with an adoring expression of unconditional love, a spider engineered a web in a corner of the ceiling, the breeze brought the scent of flowers and wet soil, dragonflies held themselves impossibly still within the orb of their own shimmering wings, and dandelion ducklings like yellow powder puffs were swimming in their mother’s wake.
“What magic?” demanded Jewel again. Bored with her task, she was out of sorts.
The carlin shook her head noncommittally.
“You speak of magic, á seanmháthair. Tell me of the carlins’ lore.”
“There is little I am permitted to divulge. Our lore is our own, and no woman shall know it all unless the Cailleach Bheur gives her the Wand.”
“I do not wish to wield the Wand. There is much drudgery in it and never a moment’s thrill from one year’s end to the next. Drat!” Jewel had noted some leaves twined in her tresses. She began to pick them out, grimacing.
“What’s amiss?”
“There are still prickly leaves lodged in my hair. Yesterday on Lizardback Ridge, I mistakenly lay down on a patch of crowthistle. I hate that weed. It stings all my friends, and when chopped out of the ground it only grows back again. Such a useless vexation. Why was it ever invented?”
“For everything there is a role,” the carlin said, “whether we are aware of it or not.”
Jewel plucked the last leaf from her locks and threw it in the lowbanked fire. “But crowthistle has no sweet scent, no range of colors. ’Tis utterly common and dreary.”
“Yet if one looks closely at the flowers, they possess a certain beauty. The butterflies think so, and the bees also. Without crowthistle they would have one less source of nourishment. Learn, even the commonest, most unfriendly of weeds owns some beauty and usefulness.”
“I continue to revile it,” said Jewel wryly.
Eolacha let her wheel spin to a standstill, like Jewel’s.
“Have we finished for today?” the child asked eagerly.
“We have not. Only, I am weary.”
Sunlight poured in at the window. For one moment, Jewel fancied the wizened form of the carlin had evanesced to translucency, so that the light shone through her. Eolacha’s line-graven face looked gaunt, her cheeks sunken, her shoulders more stooped than Jewel recalled. It came to her, with sudden force, that she did not want to lose this frail old woman—not ever.
“Á seanmháthair, how old are you?” she suddenly asked.
“Very old,” came the flippant reply, “old and wise; therefore you should heed my words.”
Next year the Spring rains were heavy and prolonged. In vast sheets and torrents, water ran off the slopes of Bellaghmoon and the Wight Hills and the northern foothills of the border ranges. It chattered down stony gu
llies and spurted from rocky crevices, striping with glitter the bare rocks, gliding between the grasses, twining in silken currents around the roots of the trees. All the waters of the surrounding lands found their way at last down to the Great Marsh of Slievmordhu. As the levels rose higher, the marsh denizens began to worry.
“Is there no end to these floods?” they wondered. “If they continue thus, soon the waters will rise to our very doorsteps.”
But the waters only increased, urgently gushing and rushing from the high places to the low, and the music of their passage was everywhere, roaring and sighing, chiming and chuckling. In a sevennight, the fears of the marshfolk were realized and the first wavelets began to lap at their thresholds.
With the burgeoning tide threatening to invade their homes, some said, “We must enlist the aid of the weathermasters.”
“How could any man get to High Darioneth in time to save our homes?” others objected. “For it takes more than six se’nnights to reach the seat of the weathermasters, and who among us possesses a horse with wings?
Eolacha said, “Besides, the rains have ceased. It is only the run-off that is causing the water level to rise. The weathermasters can command the rain, but I am unsure whether they have any governance over water that has already fallen.”
“What shall we do?” The marshfolk appealed to their carlin for guidance, not their Chieftain. A Chieftain’s province was defense against assault from mortalkind; the carlin dealt with other threats, whether natural or numinous.
Eolacha said, “’Tis time to call upon the Tiddy Mun.”
The Tiddy Mun was the eldritch guardian of the marsh. Down in the virescent water holes by Lonely Banks he dwelt, only emerging at dusk when the pallid steams appeared, hanging in gossamer scarves over the lakes and winding themselves in and out of the trees. When the mists came, this small wight would move out stealthily into the shadows, limping along. He looked like some lovable granfer with his long, ghost-white hair and beard, all raveled and knotted. In his long robe the color of ooze he was difficult to discern in the gloaming, but anyone who happened nigh might hear him whistling along the wind and laughing, pewit! pewit! like a lapwing’s call. He was strange and frightening, though not unseelie. Indeed, he was benevolent toward humankind.
The Iron Tree: Book One of The Crowthistle Chronicles Page 37