by D. S. Murphy
Balor killed Nuadha with his terrible, poisonous eye, but then Lugh threw his spear, destroying Balor’s eye and wreaking havoc on the Fomorian army. After Balor’s death, the Fomorians were defeated and driven into the sea.
My eyes were starting to glaze over. It was difficult to keep all the history straight, if you could even call it history. But it seemed like the Fomorians were another race, and that they did have magical powers of some kind. It also seemed true that there were marriages between the races that led to half-blooded heroes: humans with special powers or abilities. The Tuatha Dé were related to or closely allied with the Fomorians… until the Fomorians used the Tuatha Dé as slaves, and demanded tribute from them. So Lugh rose up against the Fomorian armies led by his grandfather Balor, killed him like David killed Goliath, and freed the Tuatha Dé. If it was the same tribute that had been collected earlier, two thirds of their children, grain and cattle, no wonder they revolted.
“Fomorians, huh?” I’d been so enthralled with the book, I hadn’t noticed Ethan approach until he was standing next to me, reading over my shoulder. I coiled away from him reflexively. He raised his eyebrows, and his long dark hair fell to the sides of his face.
“Didn’t you warn me to stay away from you?”
“I may have been a little harsh.” He smiled, but there was tension behind his eyes.
“You think?” I said.
“Listen, I’m sorry, alright? I was sure you were going to tell the whole school about… the other day.”
“I didn’t tell anyone. They wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”
He nodded. I realized he’d basically just confirmed that he was doing something unusual, instead of denying it like he had before. I thought about what I’d watched him do with the leaf. He definitely had some of the answers I needed, but he’d been such a jerk, I hadn’t thought he’d tell me anything. Maybe if I could earn his trust, he’d let something slip that would help me understand what was happening to me, and how to control it.
“I’m doing research for a school project,” I said, turning the book towards him, “but it’s hard to keep the history straight. The Fomorians were like another race that lived in Ireland before. Do you know anything about them?” I pressed, arching an eyebrow and curling my lips into a grin.
“More than most,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. He grabbed a chair and spun it around, sitting on it backwards. “My mother is kind of obsessed with the history of Ireland, I grew up hearing all the stories and legends.”
“Are they just stories?” I asked. “I can’t tell. They sound mythological, full of supernatural elements. But legends are usually based on something. I mean there were wars, between the Fomorians and the….” I looked back down at the book, “the Tuatha Dé. That part sounds like history. There were probably two groups of people fighting over the land, right?”
“Until the Fomorian leader and his poisonous eye were defeated by the half-blood Lugh.” He grinned and I realized he was teasing me.
“Right,” I said.
We were close enough that I could smell his scent. It was like pine needles, sandalwood and fresh dirt after a rainstorm.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Tuatha Dé Danann, children of the Goddess Danu,” he said.
I looked at him blankly.
“Most people call them the Elven, or Fae.”
Fairies? No freaking way.
“I didn’t see anything like that in the stories,” I said.
“Probably because it’s internet rubbish.” He said. “The Tuatha Dé were powerful warriors, who could do things most people can’t even imagine. But that was a long time ago. These days, they’ve been reduced to tiny, invisible winged beings that can only be seen by sensitive idiots in their gardens.”
That seemed a little harsh, but I didn’t want to contradict him.
“But… why were the Tuatha Dé fighting the Fomorians? They seemed to be allies at first. Bres and Lugh were both the result of unions between both races, but they fought against each other.”
I felt like I was missing something. It couldn’t just be about land.
“Let’s just say that the Tuatha Dé and the Fomorians were dependent on each other, and resented it. Did you read about the training of Cú Chulainn yet?”
“No, what’s that?”
“A medieval text, it’s more famous than this stuff. Cú Chulainn is an Irish hero, kind of like Hercules. He was the son of Lugh, so he still had some Fomorian blood. He finishes his training and goes to look at the sea. While there he sees a great assembly gathered on the beach, and among them, a beautiful woman—the most beautiful he’d ever seen—but all the people around her were crying. He asks her what’s going on, and she tells him that every seven years, the Fomorians demand a tribute: the first-born of the king’s children. And it’s her turn to be sacrificed.”
“Soon they saw a great ship appear over the waters, and the damsel’s people all fled. Not a single person remained except Cú Chulainn. On the ship was a warrior—dark like the devil—and he was laughing.”
“‘Why is he laughing like that?’ asked Cú Chulainn. ‘Because,’ said the damsel, ‘he thinks it’s excellent that you’ve added yourself to the tribute this year.’ Cú Chulainn gets angry, and says, basically, ‘come here and say that to my face.’”
“So the big man comes ashore and reaches out for him, but Cú Chulainn raises his sword and strikes off the man’s head, his first kill after finishing his training.”
“That reminds me of the story of Perseus and Andromeda,” I said when Ethan had finished.
“And that’s the problem with mythology,” Ethan said, nodding. “Most of the cool stories that people could dream up were shared, traded, stolen, and added to make their tales more interesting. So you usually have to dig behind anything too incredible to believe, and look for the historical root.”
“There’s a historical root to that story?” I asked.
“Sure,” Ethan said. “The Fomorians still ruled a lot of humans, and demanded sacrifices, even after they were driven out of Ireland. Cú Chulainn stopped it. That’s why he’s a hero. But he probably couldn’t have done it if he was just a normal human. He did it because, like his father, he had Fomorian blood.”
There was a heavy pause, and Ethan gave me a pointed look, as if he was trying to communicate something. Whatever it was, I didn’t get it. None of this made any sense. And I couldn’t see how these fantastical stories had anything to do with me.
“I’m Ethan, by the way.” He held out a hand, introducing himself as if we were strangers. I realized we’d never been formally introduced, so I shook his hand.
“Clara,” I said, trying not to smile at our mock civility. I was surprised by how comfortable I was with him. His punk rock act and bad attitude had put me off at first, but after listening to him recount Irish legends, it was hard to see him as anything other than a book geek.
But my stomach churned with suspicion. Why was he being so nice to me all of a sudden, when he’d always been such a jerk before? Was it the way I looked now? Was he hitting on me? Or was this something else?
“When is your report due?” he asked.
“Huh?” I said.
“Your paper, for school—?”
“Oh, um, it’s a long term project. A couple weeks I guess.”
“You should come over to our house, talk to my mom. She knows everything, and has a whole shelf full of old books you can’t find anywhere else.”
He’s inviting me home to meet his mother?
That didn’t mesh with the bad boy biker I’d pinned him for. Maybe all the chain and leather was just a screen to keep people out. Sebastian had warned me to be careful who I trusted, but right now Ethan seemed like the safer bet.
“Thanks for the offer… I’ll think about it, in case I don’t find what I’m looking for.”
If only I knew what I was looking for.
***
After third period I stoppe
d in the washroom. I spent more time studying myself than was strictly necessary, but I just couldn’t get over my new appearance.
“Looking for your horns?” a voice said behind me. Roisin. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll show up soon.” There were dark circles under her eyes. She came closer and stuck a finger in my face. “I know it was you,” she whispered. “At the match. I don’t know how you did it. But I know.” She looked manic. Unsettled. I felt her paranoia wrap around us like an inky cloud.
I swatted her hand away. “You spilled that Coke on me, on purpose, and now you’re accusing me of—what, having magical powers? Even if I could have done something like that, don’t you think messing with me might be kind of stupid?” I tossed my backpack over my shoulder and stormed out of the bathroom, leaving her behind me with her mouth open.
During the last period I was momentarily surprised to find a priest at the head of the classroom, but then I remembered Religious Education was part of the curriculum here. I wondered if I should have prepared something, and quickly brought up the school’s website on my phone for a description of the class. Apparently its aims were to help ‘young people develop a positive sense of themselves and their beliefs, along with a respect for the beliefs and values of others, while presenting students with chances to develop their personal understanding and enhance their spiritual and ethical awareness.’
That didn’t sound too bad. Then I noticed the name of the teacher and my blood ran cold. Father Murphy. I looked up at the man in front of the classroom. He was young, in his early forties probably. I sighed a breath of relief. He couldn’t be the same Father Murphy that had disappeared along with my grandmother, he was way too young for that. Plus, wasn’t Murphy like the most common name in Ireland? He was wearing a long black cassock and the traditional white collar. I realized suddenly I should probably know what that meant. What was he, Catholic? Protestant? I didn’t know much about the religion of Northern Ireland, except that people took it very seriously. I’d have to be careful not to say the wrong thing.
“Last week I asked what you thought the most ethical religion was, and why,” Father Murphy said when class began. His hair was almost bright red, and clashed comically with his serious outfit. “Let me be clear, the answer isn’t to decide that one religion is more ethical than any other; it’s just an interesting departure point to keep in mind as we look at the history of religious movements and the leaders that started them. I want you to leave aside, for a moment, any personal beliefs you have about one religion being right or true, and I want to look at each religious system in terms of Bentham’s Utilitarianism. In other words, which is the most practical? Which has the most measurable benefits to the widest number of people? What does each religion say about morality and right action, and do the actions of believers of that religion follow the code of conduct? Is there space for disobedience? What happens when someone acts wrongly? Punishment? Forgiveness? Are there exceptions to the rules?”
This is not was I was expecting, but Father Murphy’s enthusiasm held me captive. He walked around the classroom with his hands behind his back, and his eyes shone with excitement.
“For example, most religions have a code of conduct that applies to equals, but is often withheld to large groups of people, especially those of other cultures or races, on the grounds that they are outsiders, and so aren’t protected by the rules of the religion. It’s tempting to think that things have changed since the crusades, when thousands of Christians flocked to the Holy Lands, pillaging their way through Muslim territories. But here in Ireland, we have very recent, very violent examples of how conflict can be justified and exacerbated by religious belief. So again, I ask… does belief cause racial and cultural violence? Or does it simply fail to prevent it?”
We spent the next hour in small groups, talking about the ethics of religion—or at least other people did. I kept my mouth shut. My parents had never really been into religion, and I’d never thought much about it. I didn’t feel inclined to start now.
A girl in my group raised her hand. “I think your question is kind of misleading,” she said to Father Murphy. “All humans sin, we can’t help it, but it doesn’t matter who sins the most or what causes them to sin. All that matters is which religion offers redemption. We owe a debt for our lives, a debt that could only be paid with blood—and that’s what Jesus did for us.”
I stifled a groan. I did not need to hear about Jesus right now. I had bigger fish to fry.
“But the system of blood sacrifice and atonement started long before Jesus,” Father Murphy said. “Under Hebrew law, almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins. Traditionally, the whole idea was that humanity had been taken hostage by Satan in the garden, and the devil needed to be paid ransom. But that fell out of favor, and in the 11th century, a monk named Anselm displaced the devil entirely and made the payment of Jesus’ blood about a debt to God’s honor. But the passages in the Bible describe the payment given to a captor, to release a captive.”
Blood sacrifice. Atonement. Redemption. I couldn’t help thinking about Bedelia. Derry had called the murder ritualistic. I didn’t believe in any of this stuff, but a lot of other people did. Was Bedelia sacrificed for something? Killed to pay some kind of debt? After class, one line kept repeating in my head like a chorus. Without the shedding of blood, there can be no forgiveness of sins.
14
All this mythology felt overwhelming, and was probably a waste of time. Seriously, what did my family, or me, have to do with the ancient warring races of Ireland? It suddenly seemed more important than ever to find out what really happened to my mother. I kept coming back to the facts.
Colin was possibly my mother’s boyfriend, who had been killed the night she disappeared. My grandmother Phyllis also disappeared under mysterious circumstances. And now there was me. The threatening messages, the mysterious incidences that defied logic. It gave me goosebumps every time I thought about it. Was there some kind of family curse I should know about? If the Tuatha Dé took over Ireland by defeating the Fomorians, and they had some kind of supernatural powers because of their Fomorian blood, is it possible that there were still descendants in Ireland to this day? If so, is it possible that my grandmother and mother had been caught up in some kind of… supernatural race war?
It sounded ridiculous. But on the other hand, history seemed to be repeating itself. One girl was already dead, and I didn’t want to be the next. I’d been carrying the photograph with me everywhere, but was mostly too scared to ask anybody. That had to change. Of course I should have just asked Aedan, but every time we were alone together, I could feel his persistent melancholy. Even if that note my mother left him hadn’t been the whole truth, I didn’t want to make things worse for him. I could go back and talk to Liam again, but wasn’t sure what that would accomplish.
At school, I practiced reading people’s emotions, and I was getting pretty good at it. I could sift through a crowd, matching moods and feelings with particular speakers. It excited me when they said one thing but felt another. I never knew how much people lied.
After History class one day, I decided to put it to use. I waited around and showed my mother’s picture to Mr. Halpern.
“I saw on the faculty website that you went to school here,” I said, “I think you must have been classmates with my mother.”
He took the photograph from me and adjusted his glasses. “My oh my,” he sighed. “This takes me back.”
“Do you recognize the kids in the photo?”
“Sure, that’s Liam. I still see him every few weeks at the pub in Portballintrae. That’s Colin Blake, Barbara Dubbs and… Oh.” He looked me over with fresh eyes. “This is your mother? Branna Daly? I didn’t make the connection until just now, but you look so much like her.”
I could feel traces of his adolescent longing as he thought about my mother. Was everybody in love with her? “Do you know where Barbara is now? Or
Colin’s family?”
“Barbara moved away for college I think, and never came back, as far as I know. Overseas, last I heard. The Blakes live a short drive from here, towards the coast. I don’t know much about Colin’s family, I was never close to your mother or any of these kids. You might say we ran in different circles.”
“Do you know how Colin died?”
Mr. Halpern looked around apprehensively, then sat down at his desk. “I heard the rumors, of course, but I’m not sure it’s proper for me to be repeating them all these years later.”
“Please, I’m just trying to understand why my mother left Ireland. Was there some connection between her and Colin? Were they dating?”
“Well, like I said, I wasn’t exactly on friendly terms. But yeah, I suppose they were. Or everybody thought they were. That last year, they hung out all the time. They skipped classes, got whatever they wanted. We thought they were cool. Teen rebels, you know. But, most of the other kids were also afraid of them, and I suspect the faculty was too.”
“Afraid of them? Why?”
“Nothing, just rumors, you know how kids talk. Special powers and nonsense like that. There were some things that went on, that seemed unexplainable. Whenever something happened that defied logic, somebody would say ‘Where are Colin and Branna?’ It was kind of a running joke.”
“And the day Colin died?”
“There was always something suspicious about that case, actually, but the family hushed it up. They didn’t want an investigation. Family matter, they said. He was buried on private land. Awful stuff, his own mother found the body. The next day Branna was gone as well. Her father swore she’d left earlier, so she couldn’t have had anything to do with it, but of course the police tried to track her down for questioning. But since the family didn’t want to force the issue, and Branna was gone anyway, everybody just kind of moved on.”
My fingers were twitching. I wanted to be taking notes. This wasn’t exactly new information, but it did put things in a new light.