“This you will take heed of right now, lass. Marry a right man you will. And you’ll stand behind him as his wife, bear all his children, tend his house, and fix the meals fer him and his brood the whole of the day, each and every one! ‘Twas this you were meant to do. Now cast them notions outa yer head and forge ahead and prepare yerself to attend to yer duty without grumbles!”
From the severity in his eyes and gravity of his tone, I did not doubt he meant all he said. Nevertheless, how could I back down, and allow him dictate the outcome of me life. What did it matter to him at all?
Darting through me head were these thoughts when I burst out, “I’ll not be or do as you say!”
Before I knew what had happened, his ensuing blow to me head had knocked me right off me feet, landing upon me side. This time, I knew well not to utter another word, lest I wished fer more of the same.
Stunned, I lay still upon the ground. Although I felt the rage rising up in me, I dared not stir ‘til he be gone.
As he moved away, me mama knelt down to the ground by me side, empathy clear in her eyes as she looked upon me. I struggled to hold back me tears as her fingers moved through the disarrayed curls of me hair, brushing the area he had bruised. And whence she withdrew her fingers from me hair, the tips of them they be covered with blood.
Gently she whispered, “Aislinn. Now why must you provoke yer father so? I understand you did not like what say he, but mind yerself now and be a good lass, won’t you?”
I only looked back at her with quiet frustration as on to bed she gently helped me. As she looked back upon me, I could see she be fully knowing I did not intend to back down and submit to the demands of me father. That troubled her, fer she be aware the path I chose would be uncertain and fraught with difficulties. Nevertheless, as she tucked me in and kissed me head goodnight, I knew that she loved me no matter what path I did choose, and more than all else, wished genuinely fer me contentment.
The next morn’, arose early I did and made sharp time of me chores as I felt the restlessness that was besetting me more frequently, gnawing at me. A remarkably lovely day it be— even fer this early May— the sun shining brilliantly, as if striving to lift me from this morose mood I did carry. Before going, I climbed atop the bales of hay to fetch me fiddle from its usual hiding place in the barn— lodged up atop of a rafter. Never did I journey without me fiddle. It inhabited perhaps the most vital role in me retreats.
Across the pasture I did skip, endeavouring to leave behind the harsh words of me father. The vibrant yellows and purples and pinks of the petite wildflowers which tickled at me ankles cheered me. I reached the wooden gate at the fence bordering our land and swinging it open, stole away from the confinement of me father’s to the rugged lands that were me habitual refuge.
As I carefully trekked over the craggy expanse, I be able to let me thoughts drift where they may, without disruption. This is when truly I could be at me utmost peace.
I mulled over the denunciations of me father from the night prior.
Perhaps the truth be what he alleged, and I be a child of the sidhe. Sensical it would be. Never have I felt fitted to me family. Although me mama loves me and kind she be, still I do not in essence feel belonged, not in the way I imagine it should be. Always so unalike them have I seemed. Not one of them has ever understood me, and even though Mama did attempt, still in actuality, she has not.
I fancied over this fer quite a spell, imagining one of the many raths on the land to be me birthplace— the sidhe bringing me out from within it, me merely a few days old, to bequeath me upon this human family.
And then, whilst seeking to discover the purpose fer their severe oversight, me foot unexpectedly slipped down between a gryke in the boulder I be climbing atop. Quite trapped I be, so I plopped down straining to relieve me foot.
If only I be able to dislodge this lesser rock jammed amidst the two greater sides, I’ll be free. I thrust at it, and after just a few seconds, me hands slipped and were scraped raw. Feeling exasperated, more from me failure than the pain, I cried out furiously.
This stone, it be so heavy I do not see how I’ll ever be able to budge it. I’ll almost certainly be ensnared here forever! At least then Father cannot require me to submit to his orders. After all, if I be imprisoned here, I not be his burden any longer, which is all he stresses, besides! Besides, ‘tis so famished I be, surely I’ll succumb quite soon!
After tiring of feeling sorry fer meself, and reminded of me alleged mystical lineage, I opted to give the stone another try. I induced meself to evoke all of me hitherto unrevealed powers. I crouched down as low as I be able, and shoved at the stone with all me strength— though not actually expecting anything to happen.
Approaching surrender from exhaustion I was, when to me absolute astonishment, it did shift; though not nearly enough. Still, the slight repositioning be enough to allow me better access under the stone.
That minute accomplishment provided me the willpower to muster the strength needed to conquer this seemingly impossible task. Upon freeing me self, rather than jump up straightaway, motionless I remained fer a moment, awestruck at me formerly unknown ability to substantially move such a weighty piece.
Considering all of this, I proudly beheld the displaced stone at me side, when unexpectedly I detected something within the inner recesses of the gryke. Then, at once I recognised what ‘twas I did study.
What that be down there? Fer a moment I strained me eyes as I peered down into the dark area to discern what it might be.
Oh! Bones ‘tis . . . of a person! How very intriguing!
I examined them fer a while, taking in their form and deterioration.
Human bones. And from the looks of them, they be quite ancient ones, at that.
Really not the faintest idea have I as to how long ‘twas I lingered there reflecting on those bones. Though, quite the impression they did make upon me, of that I do know.
As me eyes rested upon the spot where once another’s eyes had gazed out, I remarked over the size of the small skull.
Evidently, this once belonged to a youth of nearly me same age, or perhaps, a young woman. Possibly because it fit me present dilemmas, I decided it to be a young woman.
Fer how long had she lain here, silently entombed beneath these rocks? Hundreds of years? Or perhaps thousands even? What must her life have been like, so long ago? Was her life more carefree than mine, or was she saddled with perhaps even more burdens in life?
Perhaps a highly revered beautiful priestess she be! Then again, that she could not have been. Fer the magnificent ancient burial sites erected to honour the dead I have seen.
I suppose, then, only just another person she must have been. And her life be not significant enough to be remembered, or apparently to even be marked.
Likely she died in childbirth. Then, I wonder whether it be her first, or whether many children before then she had borne and that be merely the one which sent her to her grave. Imagine, a man caring so little fer his woman that he would expect her to bear child after child, over and over again, until giving life ultimately took hers! How absurd it all be! What be the point of any of it?
Or, just perhaps she had run away from the foul old husband her father sold her off to fer some meagre dowry, to join with her fine young lover, only to be caught and executed fer her treachery. How perfectly horrible! And I believe first they forced her to suffer witness to her courageous lover’s gruesome slaughter, whilst she watched on wailing helplessly! Oh pity her agony!
And knowing she would be next, she must have fought and broke loose, and fled, until . . . Oh, I cannot bear to think of what end must have come her by the hands of those men who had never truly loved her, rather had merely owned her.
As a cow! Is that all we are meant to be? Cows, breeding stock, servants . . . slaves to gratify the perverse carnal appetites of men? Only to endure the degradation of the barrage of assaults to our body with their rod, causing the aching, grotesque swelling of ou
r bellies which could quite likely be the end of us.
Until they grow tired of us, that is, and their lust drives them to hunt out fresher, lovelier flesh to devour; and yet still we be duty-bound to serve them and clean up after their filth. What a nauseatingly revolting arrangement!
And ‘tis this me father would gleefully thrust me into! Be there not any father with love enough fer a daughter to pardon her this merciless fate? I’ll demonstrate to him that I not be the property of any man to be sold and traded!
And with that, bear any more I could not. I clambered up, the boiling tears streaking stains down me soiled face and shuffled away with nary a second glance, scarcely noticing me acquired hobble.
Fully knowing I should proceed toward home, I turned the other way and went deeper still into the serrated terrain of the Boireann. Carried away by me thoughts, I wandered farther than ever I had afore. Previously, I had only gone to the edge of that beckoning region of dangerously beautiful landscape, but not ever deep within it.
Something inside me longed to reach the edge of the deep green sea, so that I may breathe its salty mist into me soul fer the first and feel its vitalities coursing through me. Nevertheless, I knew I would not be able to attain that distance in the remainder of this day. Such an excursion would take half the entirety of the day, likely even atop the back of an aiteann. In silence, I vowed to endeavour it soon, to receive the gifts of the sea as a virgin surrenders her gift to that first lover.
I chuckled to meself at the thought of climbing atop our old workhorse, Morrissey, to ride all day over the ambiguous terrain. I admitted to meself he probably be too cumbersome in size to nimbly surmount the faces of those crags. More feasible a goat would be! Yet not nearly as meaningful with which to share such an event. I truly did love that old aiteann! He quite possibly be me best friend in all this world!
And if an inanimate object could serve as a friend, beyond doubt it would be me fiddle. It had served me loyally fer most of me living years, and had sustained me through various arduous days. Many a time, strumming the strings of me fiddle had been me only comfort through the trying times of me childhood. Then having reached the dawn of me adolescence, I believed I would surely turn to it more than ever.
I began to play, as grudgingly I revolved meself round to proceed home. As ‘twas the same each time I caressed its strings, the tune soothed me as only it be able. As though its ceil extended deep into the caverns of me soul to encompass it in its mystical embrace so long as I enabled it to live through me fingers. At times, it seemed as if it be it which kept me fingers moving intuitively.
A symbiotic relationship, that from which both beings benefitted. One could not survive without the other.
The synergy generated be prevalent throughout me being as instantaneously the notes transformed into their distinctive marvelously vibrant hues swaying in me mind, creating its extraordinary masterpiece bursting of every colour conceivable, along with several I have never actually experienced in this world with me outward eyes.
I close me eyes to receive the profound effect of this miracle, as I delight in the total surrender to all me senses as the cadence cycles with the blood pumping through me veins, the tranquil waves of its ambient sensation reaching to all the cells in me body with each successive pulsation of me heart.
And though a solid lass I surely be, on countless occasions I have been roused to tears and the manifestation of deeper emotions than ever I knew the potential existed. ‘Tis fer this reason me passion lies in me music. It most certainly captivates the deepest desire and greatest need, the motivating energy of me existence.
When at last I opened me eyes again and waited fer the return of their focus to the outside world, all I could see were more beautiful colours, somewhat softer this time, seeming to paint the sky above me. Then I grasped the setting of the sun ‘twas and I had better make haste in returning home before darkness swept the land completely.
Still awaiting the widespread alertness of me physical body, I lie there fer a moment before I be able to spring up and dart home, distinguishing the odd sensations it produced. I rather enjoyed the sensations I experienced sliding into it much more than tumbling out.
Slight before dark I did arrive at the gate and through the pasture I ran hurriedly, becoming acutely aware of the throbbing in me foot. To the barn I rushed, praying me father had not already been out, and upon finding me absent presently seen to the animals.
To me relief, the animals were inside stirring about most impatiently. Haste I made in dispensing their dinner, saving Morrissey fer last so that I may chat with him a bit.
When I turned the corner to where he stood, he looked up at me with obvious relief. I ambled over to him and placed the hay in his manger.
Aislinn! Where have you been? I have been so worried about you!
Sorry I be, Morrissey. I should not have kept you waiting. I be upset and required a long day away from me father.
I do wish you did not have to tolerate his harsh treatment of you.
So then, were I to run away, might you accompany me?
That I not be sure of, as you know we would both be the recipients of yer father’s wrath then.
Precise you be, Morrissey. I could not rightly subject you to that.
“Aislinn?” The distress be evident in Mama’s voice as she came into our view. “Lass, where have you been? Fretted meself sick I have over yer long hours away!”
“Ma, I implore you do excuse me!” I disclosed to her me repentance. “I only be on the Boireann fer the greater of the day, strumming me fiddle and reflecting upon me thoughts.”
“I do understand you must have been dreadfully upset after last night,” she started sympathetically. “Still, do you believe remaining out beyond twilight will be the manner in which to please yer father?”
“I simply do not care to please him, Ma!” I snapped, as always feeling slighted by her allegiance to him.
Thoughtful she be fer a moment, and I appreciated that she did not wish to bring about another futile quarrel. As she was staring down thinking on what to say to me next, her head she abruptly jerked up.
“What in God’s name became of yer foot, lass? The flesh be virtually hanging off it!”
Fer a moment I considered whether I should divulge to her the happenings of that afternoon; though, in the end I decided against it, fearing to only concern her further.
“Oh, ‘tis nothing, really, Ma. Just stumbled when I be climbing and scraped it upon the rocks,” I fibbed to her. Still, there be a part of me which yearned to tell her of the young woman’s skeleton I had discovered. I wished we could sit and have a lengthy chat about what I be feeling as I sat there deliberating over the remains of that ill-fated young woman. Yet, in light of the events of the previous night, not sure I be that was the grandest idea.
Consequently, ‘twas greatly to me dismay when she broached the following topic.
“Aislinn, you know, you surely could be such a appealing lass,” she fussed, trying to sound persuasive, “if only you were to take some bit of interest in how you present yerself.”
Perplexed, I simply stared at her, from the first not grasping the point of her words. “Whatever do you speak of, Mama?” But then, not a moment sooner than these naïve words had leapt off me tongue, so did I comprehend where this be headed. “Ma . . .” I groaned, rolling me eyes, but she promptly interrupted me complaining.
“Sweet child, so much you have to learn,” she cooed to me. “Do allow me to guide you into yer womanhood. I promise it not be all that you dread.”
“Oh Mother! I would reason that of all folk, you would know I give not importance to such things! I be not as Deirdre, who cares fer little else ‘cept her vanity. I accept the fact pretty I may not be, and really bother me in the slightest it does not! Not a use have I fer such things! ‘Tis not as though beauty would enrich me performance!”
“Oh, Aislinn,” her voice heavy with sorrow, “’tis not to say you not be álainn. Only t
hat you might play it up some and truly stand out . . .” She paused a moment before continuing. “. . . and use it fer appealing to a lad you would.”
“And I presume I have made me absence of intention clear on that matter, Mother,” I spoke determinedly. “I refuse discussion of it any further.” With that said, I rose and walked away to finally put some food in me belly.
Chapter Four
The winter beyond that day, I be passing the holiday at the house of me cousins, Deirdre and Finn. Deirdre be two years me elder, and quite dissimilar to me, as ‘twas all she could dream of, to know love and what her fate would be therein. The whole of her existence fixed upon her vanity, which she did consider her greatest asset, and her most guaranteed instrument with which she possessed to attract the finest match.
An old love charm there be of which countless young girls were eager to test the powers. That night, she coerced me into sneaking out to fulfill it. In her most elated manner, she described to me the particulars of this foolish ritual.
“Gather we must, these herbs under the glow of the full moon of this New Year . . .”
Glancing me way, she took notice of the disinterested expression I wore and promptly became irritated that I not be captivated by her details of the ritual we were supposedly so fortunate to enact.
“Aislinn!” she barked. “Engaged in this you should be! This which could prove to be the most fateful moment of your entire life as of yet!”
“’Tis sorry I be, Deirdre, I do know how much this does mean to you. I’ll take heed.”
“It should mean everything to you, as well, Aislinn. Much as you may think you do not heed this now, someday soon you shall, as marry and have children you will, as all of us will. This is our privileged duty and a blessing it be!”
Overcome with these words I be, weariness consuming me instantaneously.
I feel utterly strangulated . . . restrained . . . entombed. Me life that will NOT be, simply fer being born a lass, that I’ll not have dreams of me own to dote upon! Give me life over to serving a man I’ll NOT! Allowing him to disfigure me by the swelling of me belly with his infectious seed repeatedly ‘til I succeed in giving him sons, I’ll NOT! Spend me days closed inside the dreary four walls of his home, to sweep his floors, to work the dough and bake the bread fer him and his brood, I’ll NOT! Fer the only light of day I will see and the only breeze upon me skin to feel whence I fetch water from his well fer their bath, or toil over the washboard to scrub their filth soiled garments, I’ll NOT!
Cailín (Lass) (Anam Céile Chronicles) Page 3