Manannan's Magic

by Michele McGrath

  “If he told you, of course I believe him.” I forced false confidence into my voice, but I must have looked at Sharry askance.

  He said, emphatically, “I’m telling you his exact words. I’m not sure I believe in such a strange remedy either, but, as you said, what have we got to lose?” He glanced down at his wife, lying so still and silent, so unlike her usual cheerful self. My eyes watered all of a sudden and I nodded.

  “Let’s do it then, but there won’t be a lot of stale bread around. We don’t waste much at this time of year, so far from the harvest. Do you have any here?”

  “No, Fritha didn’t bake before she got sick and I...haven’t felt much like eating bread or anything else lately.”

  “I have none left,” I said, thinking hard, “but there might be some at Verona’s. Everything’s been in a mess, ever since Cissolt died.”

  “I’ll go and ask. Verona won’t mind giving it to me if she’s got any.”

  “I don’t think she’ll even notice you’re there.”

  So Sharry left me with Fritha, while he went from house to house gathering whatever he found. He was lucky at Verona’s, as I thought he might be. Among her cooking stones a whole loaf lay neglected, which had gone green right through. No one had baked any bread in that place for days and nothing had been cleared away. Sharry was very pleased when he returned with his finds.

  “Look what I’ve got. This should be enough.” He almost laughed, as he waved the loaf in front of me, but he had a weird shrillness in his voice.

  He gave me a bowl and took one himself. He attacked the bread, tearing large strips and pounding hard with the grinding stone. He used a sort of frantic strength, as if he was trying to pound Fritha’s sickness into destruction.

  “Aren’t you finished yet?” he demanded after a few moments. I showed him my bowl, half-full of a greenish powder that smelled rotten and made me want to sneeze.

  He nodded. “Good enough. Let’s try.” He took the basin from me and mixed the paste as he had been told. However, when he went to spread the foul thing on Fritha’s lips, I stopped him.

  “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? The smell is so awful. Suppose this stuff makes her worse?” I did believe in McLir, but what he had told us to do seemed so incredible. I had the sudden fear that, if Sharry had his instructions wrong, we might hasten Fritha’s death. She was too frail to survive a mistake. He turned to look at me and his eyes glazed.

  “I’m sure. I’ve seen Jony and she’s a lot better than Fritha. Creena told me she was almost gone before McLir came. We’ve already done all we can for my darling and you know she’s dying. I doubt she’ll last through the night. This mixture can do her no further harm and may do her some good. Let me be. Please.”

  He had such a desperate longing in his voice; I drew away. I watched him, as he spread the paste onto Fritha’s dry lips. She licked, as she was meant to do, and he sighed.

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “Now we wait.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  “A change in her,” he said, but what sort of change he did not tell me. I had to leave him and go back to my mother. For a few seconds, I wondered whether I had the courage to give her the mixture also. She, like Fritha, had little time left. I rose from my knees, filled a small platter with the paste, and covered the platter with a piece of skin. I hid it inside my cloak so no one would notice.

  “Where are you going?” Sharry asked me, but he did not raise his eyes from Fritha’s face.

  “If you believe McLir enough to give the paste to Fritha, I’ll do the same to Mummig,” I said, crossing my fingers for luck, as I went outside.

  Margaid was still sitting beside Mummig’s bed when I returned.

  “How is Fritha?” she asked as soon as I came in.

  “Quieter now. She’s sleeping.”

  “I can stay longer, if Sharry still needs you.”

  I shrugged. “He says he can cope with her. She’s not tossing about and moaning at the moment. How is Mummig?”

  “Quiet. More than once, I almost came to get you, thinking she was going, but she’s still alive at the moment. I’m sorry, Renny, I think she’s sinking fast. Do you want me to call Oshin and Conal, so you can all be with her when she goes?”

  My heart dropped and I swayed, hoping that what I was about to do would not come too late. Margaid kept looking at me expectantly. I had to find an answer to satisfy her and make her leave me alone.

  “No, not yet. Let them have their meal in peace. There is time enough to come afterwards. The night will be long. I’ll call if I need to.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “I am. Go and eat yourself and thank you for minding her for me.”

  “Shout and I’ll come back.”

  I nodded, silently urging her to go. I sat down and took hold of my mother’s hand. Her skin was so wet and clammy; all at once, I thought she had left us already. Then I bent closer and I saw her chest rise and fall. She lived, but barely, just as Margaid had told me. When Margaid’s steps had faded, I glanced round covertly. Good, no one else was in the house to watch what I was doing. People always shun the homes of the sick if they can, especially since this illness began. They huddle together in the houses where no one has been affected, although those are getting fewer and fewer. I pulled the platter from under my cloak and hurriedly spread some of the mixture on Mummig’s lips. Unlike Fritha, she did not lick them. Panic rose within me and I hurried to carry out the rest of McLir’s instructions. I mixed the paste with more water and dribbled it into her mouth.

  At first, everything ran out of the sides of her lips. I thought she must be too far gone even to swallow. Then, thankfully, she gave a cough and gulped the liquid down, almost gagging as she did so. Encouraged, I continued to dribble the rest into her mouth, until everything was gone. I mopped her and changed her wet covers. Then I sat next to her to wait, for what I was not sure. I had nothing more to do except pray for her. I prayed fervently, every prayer I remembered and a few I made up for myself. Margaid came creeping into the house a little time later, bringing me some food and a beaker of ale.

  “How is she? I told Oshin that likely enough he’d be needed before the night is over,” she whispered to me. “He says he’ll come. Shall I call him now?”

  “No. She is no better and no worse than when you left. We can only wait.”

  So began one of the longest nights of my life. My father and my brother joined me in the house later on and sat down some distance from Mummig’s bed. At first, we formed a silent circle around her, but Conal fell asleep soon enough. He is really too little for such a vigil, and I was surprised Father let him remain. My father sat still, saying nothing, but watching everything. My skin prickled and I thought his eyes were boring into me, finding out the secret of what I had done. I too sat silent and unmoving, wondering if giving Mummig the paste had really been the right thing to do. Too late for regrets, but never before had I disobeyed any of Oshin’s commands.

  I was so tired from work and emotion I dozed at last and birdsong woke me with the dawn. The fire had died down so much; I could see nothing. I made haste to poke the embers and throw on fresh logs upon them, so the flames burst into life. Their glow bathed my mother’s face with light. She was white and her eyes were tightly closed. For a few agonising seconds, I was sure that she had died with none of us awake at her last moment. My tears fell. I stretched out my hand to stroke her face, as I had done so often before, while she lay sleeping. Her skin was warm, not cold! I laid my cheek against her chest. She breathed faintly but continuously.

  “Oh thank God!” I buried my face in the covers of her bed.

  “What?” My father stood behind me, looking down. My cry had woken him.

  “She lives. Oh blessed be almighty God, she is still alive.”

  He said nothing but continued to stare at her. I recognised again the flash of emotion in his eyes I had seen once before. This was no mistake. Whatever
my father thought of his children, I was suddenly sure he did not want my mother to die. Margaid, for all her experience of men, had been wrong this time. He bent over Conal, who was bleary with sleep, but had also wakened at all the noise. Father helped him onto his feet and held him steady.

  “Call me if there’s any further change in her,” he said gruffly. He left me, leading Conal out into the fresh air. I stayed there alone until Margaid came, freeing me for my own needs – and to check on Fritha. Sharry lay stretched out beside her, asleep, but with her hand clasped in his. I picked up a twig from the fire, blew hard and cast its light onto her face. She, too, still lived and breathed steadily. The sudden brightness and movement roused Sharry and he gave me a sleepy grin.

  “She’s better. I think the paste is working,” he exclaimed, triumphantly. “A change came over her in the night, just as McLir said it might.”

  “Too early to be completely sure, but I think so too.” And I did. The lines of pain on both Fritha’s and my mother’s faces had gone. They seemed more comfortable than they had been for days.

  So Sharry and I prepared another batch of the paste and gave it to Fritha. Again, she licked everything away as she slept – just as she did before, except that her nose crinkled with disgust at the smell.

  “Did you see that?” Sharry asked, delightedly. It was the first time we had seen her respond to anything for days.

  “Rather her than me, if it tastes as foul as it smells,” I said, but I smiled through my tears.

  I had to wait until Margaid left my house before I could treat my mother once more. As soon as she went to get her meal and to rest, I again spread the paste on Mummig’s lips. This time, she managed to lick and to swallow. In between tending to her, I set some bread to bake. McLir had told Sharry to bake new bread, cut the loaves into pieces, wet them and leave them to stand. They would turn green as the mould grew. It seemed such a waste of good food. However, I think I would waste everything I had, if it helped the people I loved to recover.

  Darkness had fallen when Margaid returned. She said Sharry was asking for me, to help him with Fritha. She had again become too restless for him to manage on his own. My heart sank for a moment, until I remembered he had said he would use that excuse to send for me. I could make my escape from his house more easily than my own and go to meet McLir at the appointed time.

  “I think Mummig’s a bit better than last night,” I told Margaid. “No need for Conal and my father to stay awake. Let them sleep, but call all of us, if she becomes any worse.”

  “I will.”

  I put on my warmest cloak and went to Fritha’s house. Sharry stood waiting for me by the door. “Do you really need me?” I asked him anxiously.

  “No. She’s no worse than this morning. You’ll be able to leave in a little while, but if I were you, I’d stay here for a bit until everything’s gone quiet and nobody’s about.”

  So I settled down to wait for people to fall asleep and for the moon to set.

  10

  I made an eerie journey, alone in the darkness. The light from the setting moon gave only a milky glow on the horizon too dim to see the way. I crept, unchallenged, between the houses and out onto the path leading down to the river. I was very nervous, starting at every shadow, as if my father stood waiting to reach out and to grab me. When I trod on a twig that snapped, I almost died of fright. My heart hammered in my chest, so hard I could barely walk. I needed all my strength to keep going, but I had to. Turning back without doing what I had set out to do, would be even worse. And I wanted to see McLir again. I had missed him even more than I expected to.

  After what seemed like hours, I made out the shape of the dead tree. Our meeting place loomed dimly against the darkness and no one was there! Had this awful journey been for nothing? I went forward to look for him and nearly jumped out of my skin. Something wet touched me on the hand. Then Shea grumbled deep in his throat and I recognised him. The huge hound leaped at me, knocking me down with the warmth of his greeting. The air was forced the air out of my body as I hit the ground, making me gasp. Despite the pain of being winded, I threw my arms round his neck to hug him. I let my tears fall into his woolly fur. He licked them from my face, comforting me, and, when at last I had caught my breath, I laughed.

  “Are you all right?” McLir asked, coming out of the shadows. He stooped over me and helped me to my feet.

  “Yes. Have you been waiting long?”

  “No, not long.”

  “The journey took me more time than I thought it would. The path is so different in the dark.”

  “Did you jump at every shadow?” He laughed.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve often done the same. But you came anyway, despite your father and the evil spirits or even the little people,” I smiled at his words, so full of my unnamed fears.

  “I did, but I can’t stay away long. I might be missed.”

  “Then let’s waste no more time. Tell me – did the young man do as I told him to?”

  “He did.”

  “What happened?”

  “Fritha, his wife, seems a little better and my mother, at least, is no worse.”

  “Good. Any real change, in either of them, will probably happen tomorrow or even later. This cure takes a few days to make a difference.”

  “Does it really work?” Hope was in my voice, but also fear, fear of his reply.

  “Not always. Sometimes the sufferer is already so weak there isn’t time enough for the substance in the mould to act. However, if your mother and your friend are still alive, this is a good sign. They have not yet run out of time.”

  “Mouldy bread seems such a strange remedy to me...”

  “To me also, but I’ve seen odd things work before, on illnesses similar to this one. So it was worth a try, and, so far, it’s having the right effect.” I smiled at the pleasure in his voice.

  “What do I do next, if they continue to live?”

  “Keep using the paste. Wash those who are sick with warm water and wrap them in clean cloths. Pile covers over them and set all the doors wide, so the air around them is sweetened. After they are comfortable, give them this.” McLir put some packets into my hand.

  “What are they?” I asked him, curiously.

  “One of the mixtures you put together for me back in the cave, feverfew with a little camomile. Make them into a brew, sweetened with honey.”

  “What does this do? I can’t think.” My thoughts whirled as I tried to remember.

  “Your people will feel as if they’re better, which is always good. Feverfew is a help in recovery, although not a cure in itself. Give the brew to all those who can swallow.”

  “I will, if I can do so without being seen. I can explain about washing the sick. We do that sometimes, to bring down the heat of a fever. But I can’t give something new like this without being questioned. People would wonder where I got the thing from.”

  “Be cautious. Don’t get caught. I don’t want you to be harmed. The brew is not as important as the paste. Can’t your friend help you?”

  “He will if he can, but everyone would think him strange if he cared for anyone but his wife. He has never tended the sick before now.”

  “Try your best, which is all you can do.”

  “Should I do anything else?”

  “Yes. Grind the mouldy bread and make a drink for yourselves. It should stop you from becoming infected.”

  “It will?”

  “Yes, I think so. I tried the brew out on myself and, so far, I am unscathed and so are the others who helped me.”

  “I’ve been so scared, for myself, for Sharry and all the rest.”

  “Everyone is afraid at times like these, no shame there, only shame if you fail to do what you should.”

  Suddenly I realised I had never expected to live through this sickness until now. I had merely wondered when I would start ailing too. The strain I had lived under ever since I returned to my village lifted. A heavy weight
was gone from my shoulders. I might even have a future again. McLir must have been thinking something similar, because he asked,

  “Is your father at home now?”

  “Yes, for the moment although he goes away often to avoid the sickness. Why?”

  “So a message from me will reach him.”

  I gasped. “Don’t send a message to him, please. I don’t want him to find out about this meeting or the fact I sent Sharry to you for help. He forbade all of us to have anything to do with you. He knocked me down merely for asking him to send for you.”

  “So Sharry told me. I must make sure you don’t suffer any more. Don’t worry. You won’t be the one to carry the message and this meeting stays secret.”

  I shuddered, for, by going to meet him, I had deliberately defied my father. All my past wrongdoings were merely thoughtless, and I had been punished enough for them. I had never before consciously done something he had told me not to do. I did not want to imagine what he would do to me if he found out. So I said,

  “He doesn’t like me and, if I do something wrong, I always suffer. Truly, he mustn’t find out about this.”

  “He wouldn’t do you grievous harm any more. You’re almost a woman grown, with an honour price and legal rights of your own. You’re valuable to him now, perhaps for the first time in your life, as he would measure your worth. But he can’t be a sensible man or he’d have treated you differently in the past.”

  “You mean he values me for the dowry which will be paid for me soon?”

  “Yes, among other things.”

  “I’m too young...” I started to say, but suddenly I remembered, for the first time in months, I was not.

  “You will be the right age to be hand-fasted by Lughnasa,” McLir reminded me and I felt slightly sick. “Has anyone asked for you yet?”

  “No. At least I don’t think so. Who thinks about those things, when we might all be dead before the summer ends?”

  “True.”

  “You won’t betray me to my father by sending him a message, will you?”