Cailín (Lass) (Anam Céile Chronicles)

by Scarlett, Rosalind

  Entering the modest stone cave there, he comes upon a long-ago erected dungeon, its sole function to confine these perilous lust-crazed beings for the duration of their Síolmhar.

  So that he may free a hand to wrench open the solid iron door, he has no choice but to lower her from where he has held her at bay. As he struggles to hold her tight to him, her animalistic cravings tersely seize control, and she molests him with her forceful hands and mauls his bare male neck and chest with her gnashing sharp teeth, tearing open his flesh.

  At last, he makes progress on the heavy door, and hastily throws her inside, quickly pulling it secure again. Immediately she heaves herself at the unyielding door, shrieking in anguish as she rips the chuba from her, seeking to unshackle her steaming flesh from its suppression. Staggered by the savageness of her behaviour, he stumbles back and efforts to regulate his discipline, raising his hand to feel the consequences of her teeth upon his flesh for those mere seconds.

  Never in his existence had he imagined he would ever be in the presence of a vexed female creature lashing at the prospect of copulating with him! Though he understands he cannot under any circumstance indulge her— nor regrettably, he— to such wicked penchants, he cannot avoid humouring at the stimulating notion.

  As he listens to her emphatic screams dampened by the thick iron walls, he is reminded of the original loneliness which elicited her to appeal his support, and gathers the essential tenacity required to attempt interaction with her on a colloquial level.

  Ignoring her cries, he steps forward and speaks to her in a pacifying tone. “I am called Tenzin. I am honoured that you have chosen me to serve as your guide in your quest for insight.”

  “Matter not to me who you be, the right you have not to imprison me in this manner!” she screeches belligerently. A moment later she lets out an elongated, vociferous scream. “What be this place in which you have caged me? Pass through it I cannot!” Her voice is wild with rage.

  “My sincere regret I give to you, dear one; however, your behaviour has left me no viable alternative.” He shifts awkwardly, still feeling the tender remnants of his own regrets. “Perhaps now, we will have the occasion to converse freely with one another.”

  “What be the matter with you?” she demands viciously. “Why do you not just feis with me? We could both be immersed in gratifying our unshakable needs right now, rather than this inane chitchat!” Her voice seethes with her lust, yet still it is accompanied by fury.

  Solemnly holding back the first reaction that comes to him at her frustrated interrogation, he pauses to compose himself before calmly uttering, “Dear one, though the proposition is unduly inviting, please do understand my decline comes only of the greatest difficulty. I assure you it is out of the utmost respect for you, and in my wish to justly be a benefit to you in the profounder troubles marring your soul.”

  The effect of shame heavy in her lingering silence, Tenzin continues on, to relieve her indignity, “I know my impression upon your soul will have more significance than would the satisfaction of our ephemeral impulses of the flesh.”

  Still she speaks not.

  “Please do allow me that. Tell me, child, by what name are you called?”

  He holds onto his breath as she remains quiet for a long moment. Finally, she speaks, “Aislinn, I be . . .” she hesitates, pondering for a moment her next words. “And you ought not waste yer efforts on a creature such as I,” she ends bitterly.

  “Someone such as you, Aislinn?” he clarifies, the bewilderment clear in his voice. “I have felt your soul and indeed it is lost, but still it is worthy.”

  Suddenly she erupts with a burst of fury. “He did this to me! That narcissistic Diabhal! Obliterated me life in the dawn of me awakening to love! Took everything from me and made me into this! Committed me to this interminable wandering, entombed within this Godforsaken existence fer nigh two centuries to wreak havoc upon unsuspecting humans, to relish in me lust driven feast upon them, whilst simultaneously lurching from me guilt and wretchedness!”

  Tenzin’s eyes broaden, once again shocked by her erratic behaviour.

  Then her rage filled raving becomes weeping as she continues on with her tirade. “Me chéile! Me chéile! Donovan! Departed fer so long now he has been! Waited and sought endlessly I have, though never since to recover him. Weary I be of searching. He’ll not return to me. And were he to? Not possible would it be he could love this fiend I have become. A sprite I be, arracht disguised by me álainn: the ultimate lure, me most potent weapon.”

  He observes quietly as her distress converts, this time into conceit. Her voice takes on a clever tone now. “Undeniably, most adroit I be at bewitching anyone, be they man or woman.” With a little sigh she declares, “Yet, sadly, always it will end in their demise.”

  Sadness envelopes her once again as she says, “That I would not wish fer him. Still, would it be unavoidable? Wouldst I be consumed by me unrelenting desire fer him, turning to lust fer his blood— fer still he be human and fer too long now I be not— only to disregard me love fer his soul? Opt it better to leave his soul be, no more searching, no more awaiting his return to this earth. Deserves a real life, he does, that which never I can give him. Merely take it away in one swift kiss I can …”

  She hesitates for a moment, reflecting solemnly before stating, “Attempted to destroy meself several times I have, to relieve meself continue on with this, yet nary with triumph. Oh wise one, I beseech you help me! I be knowing that you possess the knowledge of how ‘tis to be done. I plead of you, please end me suffering!”

  He senses her crumple to the ground, sobbing in her desperation.

  “Who is he you speak of, that you claim made you this what you are, Aislinn?”

  Hesitating as the contempt that has fermented for two hundred years threatens to spill over, she chokes it back to speak the name at last. “Voljidaar,” she hisses, her mouth strangely twisted, her stomach churning with the seething loathing for the uttering of that name. Overtaken with it, she cannot refrain from the resultant writhing and thrashing.

  “You truly are not aware of what you are, Aislinn?” he asks, his tone most concerned.

  Her tone is perplexed as she enquires, “Whatever do you speak of? What I know is worthy of this world I not be. Seizing the lives of others only that I may live on infinitely in this state of despair,” she reasons, still ensnared in her distress.

  Tenzin, in an attempt to calm her, broaches a new subject. “Do you know your Dia?” he questions.

  He does not receive a reply from her.

  “Aislinn!” he demands again. “Are you acquainted with your Dia?”

  Disheartened by her contemptuous laugh in response to this imperative enquiry, he strives to find the indispensable lyrics of assurance in this delicate moment.

  And though, before he is able to accomplish the task, at last she does speak. “Once I knew of Dia. However, so long ago that be, and I have since accepted that I have wandered astray fer far too long now. Dia be not fer creatures as me, but rather fer the occasional good and innocent humans.” There was an unspoken connotation of sorrow lingering in her voice.

  In that moment, he wishes to uncover the secrets that led to her apparent dejection. “Aislinn, I am of the very same existence as you, and I live with Dia day by day. Those like us are not excluded from that spiritual connection. On the contrary, we are creatures of Dia’s creation. You are closer to Dia than you have believed!” Tenzin informs her encouragingly.

  “Believe that I do. Nonetheless, it is our actions by which we are judged,” she states confidently. Then more desolately she closes, “Our choices that constitute who we are.”

  Recognizing she is leading him to query further, he ventures forth on this path. “Right you are, but do not undervalue the prominence of one’s heart. Pray tell me of your choices, Aislinn,” he requests, seeking to convey a non-judgmental attentiveness.

  Again she laughs, only this time it is tainted with gloom. “Well, fe
r all me centuries on this earth and the most of it compiled of most unscrupulous choices, an easy task that not be. Certain you be of this you request to undertake?”

  Not the least bit discouraged, he probes on, “You know Dia can absolve one who puts their corrupt past behind them and treads an honourable path. Do let me lead you toward that place.”

  “Well then, Tenzin, ‘tis the glutton fer punishment you must be, so, if you insist . . . Are you sure cope with it you will be able?” she asks, though continues on without allowing him a reply. “I understand ‘tis shrouded by me attraction you be. Yet, you cannot conceive of the countless debaucheries I have engaged in!” She pauses as her mouth forms into a mischievous smile, “Though, even you may feel the need to inhibit yerself from savouring some of me confessions, me thinks.”

  Tenzin swallows hard, his eyes broadening at her eluded promise of further erotic overtones. He knew she would put the limits of his resolution and lifetime of spiritual devotion on trial. As they both still stood there totally nude, he cannot hide the swelling amid his groin at the anticipation of the tales she would reveal to him. Suddenly embarrassed and fearing regression to their carnal struggle, he quickly excuses himself.

  Aislinn smirks to herself, yet also feels treacherous for afflicting herself upon this pitiful, benevolent soul of a creature. Indeed, behave in a better manner I should, she thinks, feigning guilt to herself.

  “Let us hear it then,” he enncourages.

  She smiles and inhaling deeply, commences her tale.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Twas the year 1690 that I be born, the very same as the Battle of the Boyne. I be merely five years of age when Catholics were banned from participating in public life. And in 1701, the Act of Settlement passed dispossessing the Irish of their land in favour of British Lords. Fortunately, these corrupt decrees had yet to come to the west. Still, a sense of urgency there be— especially fer me father, who comprehended we indeed were living on borrowed time.

  ‘Twas then the year 1702. A girl of a mere twelve years I be. Oh, how unaware I be of the changes me fate soon would rouse. At that time, the only place in this vast earth ever I had known be the lands surrounding Ballyvaughan, in County Clare, in me homeland of the island Éire.

  Éire herself is said to have been conjured up, out of the magic mists, from the lyrics of a poem. The small village of Ballyvaughan lies at the corner of The Boireann, a ruggedly desolate, yet beautiful land along the coast of the Atlantic.

  In this land seemingly unchanged by the millennia past, our peoples too were impervious to change. Still we spoke in the tongue of our native Gaelic, when the culture of much of the rest of our Éire had been prohibited and acquiesced to speaking the language of her British captors.

  I could scarcely believe the stories I had heard about man, that they could truly be that cruel and hateful. And furthermore, I could not understand what reasons there could be to possibly be so vile to one another. I have since come to understand that man’s hatred fer others, his violence, boils down to one purpose— power and greed.

  Fortunately, the rugged, untamed shores of the west, were too far and too bleak fer the covetous British lords seeking to take over its lush farmlands. Our people were able to preserve their culture, fer the time being, that is. Nonetheless, these lands could not have been more precious to us, and we would not have left them fer all the gold in Éireann!

  Enigmas are abundant in this wondrous place where the very name means ‘Great Rock’. As far as the eye could see, there were cliffs of jagged rocks of limestone jutting out along the shoreline, the white frothed waves crashing unto them in a perpetual inescapable encounter, the spirit of neither ever to fade. Much of the land is covered by the ancient limestone with its unique composition of fossils of sea creatures from long ago. Its soft and porous nature allows the growth of plant-life in its crevices, ranging from native species to tropical and then to alpine.

  More inland, the rich soil of its tranquil valleys long ago carved by glaciers proliferate an abundance of dainty wildflowers, creating with tapestries of colour a seductively magical aura, is caressed by gently meandering streams.

  In a final apex, rising above its landscape, are the Dolmens, the megalithic tombs of our ancestors, hailing back more than six millennia, even more ancient than Egypt's pyramids. Also, there are the clokkens, strange stone huts that once served as medieval dwellings.

  This place endured on, unbroken by time or man, where one’s innate sense of spiritual reconciliation may flourish. One could stand witness in awe of the utter magnificence of it all; or just as certainly, one could feel immersed in their own smallness amidst the enduring wildness surrounding. There, one could walk endlessly to escape the reality of their life, and also realise the genuine aloneness of their existence in this world.

  The realm of me childhood this was. In that place, I too flourished, wild and free. Though, woefully, fer me, it would not last.

  Not yet taken over by the British lords, a modest, yet respectable amount of land me family possessed on which we farmed a herd of sheep. Riordan, me older brother, worked the farm with me father, Quinlan.

  And I, being the lass, had to assist me mother, Meara, in the duties of the household. Though, much rather would I have been to be of value in the out of doors, tending to the animals. Contrarily, the few times had I the occasion entrusted to me, nary a time did I not reap me father’s sullenness, as hinder not could I me wanderlust to frolic along dreamily to wherever ‘twas the wind were to blow me.

  Our home ‘twas built of grey stone doubled walls packed with an earthen core to provide insulation and exposed wooden roof timbers rising from the inner face of the walls providing a tobhta, a ledge at the wall head. The timbers were sheltered with a dense thatch of turf covered by reed over which an outside layer of moss and lichen would grow. ‘Twas essential the roof have sufficient sturdiness to resist the strong winds delivered by the Atlantic.

  All the floor was of packed earth and in the central area, there be a hearth fer the fire, the unmistakable aroma of peat turves ever burning to keep warm the abode. Four windows only there were. A modest area to each end there be, one where me parents would sleep, the other fer me brother and meself.

  Although in reality we were far from it, still our fellow countrymen we were regarded as being moderately prosperous, since we were fortunate enough to hold a separate dwelling in which to keep our animals. Other than the out of doors, that was me most favoured place to pass the time.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Twas upon the twelfth anniversary of me birth that things began to take a unexpected course. ‘Til then, reasonably happy I had been in me simple, carefree life. However, me mother and father informed me that a young lady I be now, and certain things expected of me there would be.

  Of course, substantially more duties I be given to complete. However, bothered me this hardly did. I preferred to keep busy. What did perturb me was the lecture I received from me father that night before retiring to bed.

  Haphazardly— as was his way— me father started in, “Now, daughter, ‘tis the time to stop all yer imprudent childish behaviours and time you start acting as a proper young lass if you’ll ever be wantin’ to acquire a suitable fellow fer a husband.”

  “Well, ‘tis no matter to me whether I do not snag a husband, besides!” I daringly countered. “Fac ‘tis, I would truly prefer not to ever marry at all. Then there be nobody to be tellin’ me what I may and may not do, and be expectin’ me to keep his abode fixed up and always be cookin’ fer him. Rather I would use me time keepin’ meself happy, than some chap.”

  Me mother’s eyes widened as she shook her head silently, apparently anticipating me father’s reaction to me blatant dissent.

  Needless to say, delighted to be hearing this he was not! “Oh, you do, do you? Well, I’ll be damned if I’ll be afflicted by yer presence in me house fer the rest of me days! Learn yer place, Muzzy! ‘Tis yer duty as a lass to relieve yer family of the
burden of you in a timely manner by securing a husband who shall assume the responsibility of you!”

  Me mother, on the other hand, looked on me regretfully, blue as the soft light that shone about her.

  His frequent reminder of me burden to them stung at me. Nonetheless, wear it upon me face I did not, as I smugly resumed. “Father, surely ‘tis not me intention to hold me burden upon you. Go out on me own I will, as soon as you’ll allow it.”

  “And just how’re you supposin’ to fend fer yerself, then, lassie?” he chortled mockingly.

  “Play me fiddle I will, perhaps travel with a steppin’ troop.” I came back over-confidently, whilst perfectly imagining the uproar of laughter from him over this one.

  Instead, he became greatly infuriated, his face reddening as he bellowed out aggressively, “Meara, what it be always I be tellin’ you? A dreamer, she be, every bit of logic set ablaze in that bonfire shrouding her head. An iarlais of the sidhe this one be, sent here to curse us fer God knows what!”

  In me defense, me mama pleaded with him, “Now Quinlan, must you be so harsh with Aislinn? ‘Tis her birthday, after all…”

  “Hold yer tongue, woman! Don’t you be coddlin’ that iarlais! Suspectin’ her fer the sidhe I’ve been ever since she came to us with her imp hand, and flashin’ that wicked red mane of hers! Any sensible person could see that she possesses all the marks of being bitten by the devil!”

  Of course, he referred to me red hair and freckles, as well as me favoured use of me left hand, something viewed as totally reprehensible, associated with the witchcraft, not to mention a multitude of other sins and defects. The perpetual reminder that I be the black (well actually, red!) sheep in his family of proper brunettes. Me mama looked at me powerlessly, as I shriveled from his slurs, turning to go on to me room.

  Speaking to me again, he outraged, “Turn not from me, Gingernut!” he stopped, and only glared at me. The rising uneasiness unnerved me as I began to fidget anxiously. After a bevy of agitating seconds, finally, he spoke again.