by Pat O'Shea
He held out the milk can and listened to the sounds the water made as it rushed in to fill it.
When the can was almost brimful, he dropped it in alarm and it clattered on the clean washed stones on the ground. He made three or four hasty backward jumps and he stared at the falling water with fright.
Through the movements of the falling waters, there was another, a different movement; and a head was suddenly there, the head of an Eel.
It was enormous!
Fear gripped Pidge. Unable to move, he stared into the water with horror. The whole of his body was trembling while a small part of his mind hoped desperately that the water had somehow exaggerated the head’s size; but when it swayed and moved out of the flow to look down at him, he saw it quite clearly. It was huge, bigger than the head of a calf, and the terrified Pidge knew that no freshwater eel should be so big. He couldn’t help but stare at the mouth, seeing the way that the bottom jaw came out under the top jaw to curve upwards at the front, and he saw the bone formation that went all around the edge and looked like hard lips. As if in a dream, he noticed that the skin under the jaw was yellowish white with olive tinges and that the skin on the face had a sheen to it that was bright. The face looked very old and the eye that he could see, was silver with dark flecks. The eye moved in its socket as the Eel looked down at the boy.
As soon as the eye moved, Pidge was ready to run; but when the Eel spoke, Pidge struggled with his terror and stood, trembling.
‘Do not be afraid,’ it said. ‘The Dagda is my father.’
At the first sight of the head, Pidge’s heart had given a ferocious twist inside his chest and now it was knocking around inside him so that he could hardly breathe.
‘Fill your vessel with water, and leave with me that which is a burden to you, that I may bind him in my own strong coils; even though I may not hold him for very long,’ the Eel said. The voice was slow and deep. It seemed to have a quality of gentleness. But still Pidge stood woodenly for he was incapable of movement now. He knew that the Eel was talking about the page from the book and he fought to get his breath.
The Eel spoke again.
‘I see that you are fearful and in dread at my size and to hear me speak. Do not spend yourself on trifles such as these, for many amazements may confront you, and your store of bravery will wear away uselessly on matters of no consequence. Where is your burden? Come closer!’
But Pidge didn’t move.
A long sigh like the wind in the reeds escaped from the Eel.
‘Take your courage from The Dagda and come near to me. Be not afraid, I shall not harm you.’
A timid bravery came into Pidge and he took a step forward.
‘Where is your burden?’ the Eel asked again.
Pidge’s mouth felt as dry as dust.
‘I have it locked in iron,’ he whispered, his voice collapsing. The words all came out as if broken in bits because now his heart seemed to be jumping in his throat.
His hand shook as he held out the little case that Tom had made for him.
‘That is well,’ the Eel said.
Pidge forced himself to speak again.
‘Why is it well? What is this all about?’ he asked, his question ending on a sort of squeak.
‘The one you first released and then imprisoned is Olc-Glas, a thing of poison and terror. Those who desire him and seek for him, pretend at present to be less than they are—to deceive you and others. Because of this deceit they cannot touch iron, for all that they have evil power. As for an explanation? You are needed. Be content with that for now. A time will come when more will be told.’
Suddenly Pidge wanted to ask many more questions but the Eel’s authority was so striking that he thought he had better not.
‘Beware of the One who is Three, She who is also They—for she will be angry that she comes too late. Tell her nothing,’ the Eel said sternly.
‘Tell who nothing?’ Pidge had to ask in spite of all.
‘I do not know how she will name herself, or how she will come, or what form she will take; but she is The Mórrígan and her second and third parts are Macha and Bodbh. She is The Battle Goddess. She is Scald Crow. She is Queen of Phantoms. She feeds on the miseries of humankind.’
Pidge waited until it became plain that the Great Eel wasn’t going to say anything more. All at once, he was calm; he knew that he was in the presence of a friend.
‘Who are you, please?’ he asked.
‘I am the Lord Of The Waters,’ said the Great Eel, and reaching his head forward, he took the iron case between his jaws. He pulled backwards and upwards into the dark place from where the water surged and in a moment, he vanished from sight.
‘Wait!’ Pidge cried. ‘Who is the Dagda?’ But he was too late. There was no answer.
He stared for a few moments longer at the dark place, his mind filled with the image of the Great Eel and the brief sighting he had had of the body that swelled amazingly from just behind the head, when the Eel had reached forward to take the iron case.
Knowing now that the Voice in the chimney had been real, he filled the milk can and turned to go back to the others.
He was only mildly surprised to find that Brigit was sitting by herself, when he returned.
‘They’re gone,’ she said. ‘They told me to tell you they were sorry but they had to go.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘I don’t know, unless they were frightened by the dogs.’
‘Dogs? What dogs?’
‘They were barking over there,’ she pointed to the mainland, ‘and they really sounded terrible; barking and snapping and growling. It’d give you a pain just to hear them. Boodie and Patsy just stopped what they were doing and they said to tell you they were sorry but they had to go. Boodie got our picnic ready, look! They said to eat it and leave the things in the bag and put it near the waterspout. Was there a water-spout, Pidge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Not far away. What happened then?’
‘They went away. They were gone in a flash. You’d think they were on wheels.’
‘What else?’
‘A big pack of dogs tried to get into the water to swim over here. And do you know, Pidge? You’ll never guess! The two swans came again and they were fighting the dogs. And then, all of a sudden, another swan came and he was really fierce.’
‘A third swan?’ Pidge interrupted with a quickened interest.
‘Yes. He rushed at the dogs and beat them back to land, all by himself, really. He was standing on the water and beating his wings so fast and hard that at times you’d think there were two hundred swans out there. Look! The swans are still there but the fight is over now.’
Three swans were gliding backwards and forwards, watching a strip of the opposite shore.
‘It’s a pity you missed it,’ Brigit concluded, ‘it was the best fight I ever saw!’
Then she beamed with pleasure and said:
‘Look what we’ve got! Presents from Boodie and Patsy and it’s not even Birthdays or Christmas and we already had presents from Tom Cusack, as well! What do you think of that? Isn’t it just great? And we thought it would be so slow and empty today! This is for you.’
She handed him a packet.
He opened it and inside he found an ordinary glass snowball ornament; the kind one shakes to make snow fall on a miniature alpine scene. In finest copperplate handwriting, on the label attached to it, was written:
There was something else as well as the snowball. A leather pouch. Embroidered on it in silver thread was:
He looked inside and discovered clusters of ripe hazel-nuts.
It’s only nuts, he thought. We can get those ourselves when they’re ripe.
Then it flashed through his mind that they were freshly ripened and not from last year’s saving; they were pale and they still had crimson markings. Older nuts were brown all over and he wondered where these had come from? Maybe from another land where they rip
ened earlier, he decided.
‘What did they give you?’ he asked.
‘Patsy’s own penny whistle,’ she said proudly, ‘and a box of sweets. But I can’t open it. It’s stuck.’
Pidge tried the lid. It was stuck fast. He turned the box over and saw a manufacturer’s imprint:
The Old firm
Secret Sweets
Not to be opened until Swapping Day
Brigit was thrilled.
‘Oh, I love secret sweets,’ she said.
‘How do you know? You’ve never had any before.’
‘Well, I’ve got some now and now I know. I wonder when Swapping Day is?’
‘I’m sure we’ll find out later,’ Pidge answered abstractedly.
He was thinking about the dogs now and wondering why they had tried so hard to get to the island. It must be that page again. It couldn’t be anything else. Although it was now out of his hands and in the care of the Lord Of The Waters, he felt uneasy. What if they thought he still had it? Suppose they came back? What would he do if a whole pack of dogs attacked them? They might be torn in bits before the dogs found out that the page was gone.
‘We must go home now,’ he said decisively.
‘We’re not going now, are we, when we are having such a fine old time? I can’t believe my ears!’ Brigit said in surprise.
‘It’s not all nice, is it? What about those dogs?’
‘So what about them?’
‘I think something very serious is happening and they might be part of it.’
‘What? Tell me.’
‘I don’t know if I should.’
‘Oh! I suppose I’m too much of a baby to know about anything serious?’
‘It’s not that, Brigit. I don’t know if you’re meant to know, that’s all.’ He looked unhappy.
‘Aw Pidge, cheer up! Tell me and you won’t have to worry by yourself. Who cares if I’m meant to know or not? There isn’t a law against me knowing, is there?’
Pidge glanced round him. The island didn’t seem to be the familiar safe place it always was before. There were too many places where an enemy could hide.
‘We must be safe and not overlooked. We ought to be somewhere secret.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know.’
They thought about it for a while, Pidge’s mind still half-engaged in thinking about the dogs. Then Brigit’s mind went straight to the answer.
‘I know!’ she cried brightly. ‘Out on the lake! If we were out on the lake no one could hide near us; no one could hear what we say!’
‘You’re right! That’s it! We’ll put the stuff back in Boodie’s bag and leave it near the waterspout; and then we’ll row out a bit and you can hear everything. I’ll be glad to get it off my chest.’
Brigit was thrilled and excited by the waterspout. She wanted to stay and dabble with it for a while but Pidge said that they should hurry and get out on the lake as soon as possible. He looked up at the dark place but there was no sign of the Great Eel.
‘Isn’t it the loveliest waterfall you ever saw?’ Brigit said. ‘You could wash your hair under it.’
‘Yes, you could.’
‘Isn’t it funny how it just suddenly appeared? It wasn’t here ever before, was it?’
‘No. Come on! I’m sure there’s going to be a storm.’
‘All right—just let me have one more minute with my hands under this lovely waterfall—’
‘Brigit! Stop it and come on!’ Pidge interrupted her as forcefully as he could. ‘Do you want to hear about this serious thing or don’t you?’
‘Oh, all right, but it’s a pity to leave it though, isn’t it?’
She followed him back along the track turning to look over her shoulder at the waterfall with every second step she took.
Halfway between the island and the mainland, Pidge stopped rowing. He told her the whole story, right from the very beginning in the bookshop in Galway. She listened, her face alive with interest and fascination, and it changed from mood to mood as Pidge talked. It was just like the sky on an unsettled day.
‘I think it’s wonderful,’ she said when he had finished. ‘I hope and pray that some more things happen and I’m in it with you.’
‘But it could be dangerous,’ he said seriously.
Brigit shrugged her shoulders.
‘What do I care,’ she said. ‘I’m not afraid of danger.’
‘Well, you would be if you had any sense.’
‘Ho! Would I, indeed!’ she said and she grinned.
And Pidge was very glad that he had told her, for the sharing had lifted some of the weight off his mind. It made him feel better just to look at her cheeky grin. It’s her nature to be light-hearted and doesn’t it come in useful at times, he thought.
The heat of the day bore down heavily on them. It seemed to be getting even hotter. To the west of them, the lake was a vast expanse of shimmering bronze. If he gazed at it for too long, the effect would be entrancing, hypnotic.
The swans were gone, he noticed.
He dipped his oars and began to row to the mainland.
They had dragged in the boat and were walking back along the boreen, feet trailing in the dust. Trickles of sweat were running down Pidge’s back like rain on a window-pane. Brigit’s forehead glistened and her hair was curling in little damp ringlets at her temples. She was looking down at her feet; looking at the way the dust was gradually covering her sandals as though sprinkled with talcum powder. She saw a fat worm on the ground, whiplashing in silent pain.
‘Oh! Look at this poor worm, Pidge!’ she cried.
‘A bird must have dropped it,’ he said. ‘It’s dying from the heat.’
‘We must save its life!’ Brigit said dramatically.
‘We’ll find somewhere damp.’
Pidge bent down and picked up the worm.
‘It’s all covered in dust, poor thing,’ Brigit said.
Pidge looked round for a damp place to put the worm. The grass verges were dry and parched and useless. Lying against a small stone was a solitary white wing feather, speckled with droplets of blood now dried brown.
‘One of the swans got hurt in the fight,’ he said.
‘Oh no!’ Brigit cried, full of concern.
‘It’s all right, Brigit,’ Pidge said. ‘Look, only a few little drops of blood. It wasn’t hurt badly.’
‘All the same,’ Brigit said, her face instantly pugnacious, ‘I don’t want them to be hurt at all. I’d like to get my hands on the bully-dog that done it.’
‘Did it,’ Pidge replied automatically.
He thought of a small coppice a little way further on, where there was a tiny stream running like a ribbon of music. The stream came out under the boundary wall of the little wood and ran alongside the road in the ditch. The earth would be soft and moist and the worm could easily burrow in and be safe.
‘We’ll put it by the stream,’ he said.
They had just finished covering the worm with damp grass and moss, when they heard the murmur of low voices coming from inside the coppice. Brigit’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to say something but Pidge stopped her by putting his finger to his lips and shaking his head in warning. He motioned that they must get in closer. They crept in close to the wall.
One voice was talking:
‘And so, it was defeat. A third one fought. The victory was with the Daughter and Sons of the Twelve Moons.’
‘This time, Findepath!’
‘And which of us is brave enough or foolish enough to take the news to Macha and Bodbh? Great indeed will be their anger! What will our punishment be, when we report that we were too late?’
‘Not too late, Findepath.’
‘How so, Lithelegs?’
‘Is it not well-known that the Lord Of The Waters must rise to the temptation of the Brandling Breac?’
‘Lithelegs speaks truly,’ said a third voice. ‘But the Breac must be offered in the shifting-time; when morning changes
to the second quarter of the day or when night changes to the fourth of the fours.’
‘Greymuzzle! You are truly well-taught in Mouth Knowledge!’ said the first voice, (must be Findepath, thought Pidge) ‘Speak further!’
‘The day is theirs but the night is ours. So, it must be at middle-night when we are at our fullest strength and The Dagda’s people are low.’
Then other voices spoke:
‘Wolfson speaks! It is true that we are not at our best in the light hours. Greymuzzle is wise!’
‘Fowler speaks! Because of this alone did the White Walkers, who are the Sons and the Daughter of the Twelve Moons, defeat us!’
‘But who is to do the telling of this defeat to The Queens? It is Silkenskin who asks.’
‘What were the words spoken to us? “Have a care and keep a good watch!” It was thus did Scald Crow speak!’ said yet another voice.
‘Well does Rushbrook remember! I, Swift, remember also The Mórrígan’s final words: “Do not fail on your peril! Let not Olc-Glas by you—or it will be the worse for you!” And even now, Olc-Glas is in the jaws of the Lord Of The Waters, imprisoned in iron!’
(‘They’re talking about that green snake on that page I told you about,’ Pidge whispered.
‘Who are they?’ asked Brigit.
‘I don’t know,’ whispered Pidge again.
‘They have funny names, and do you hear the daft way they talk?’ Brigit said and she began to giggle.
‘Sssshhhh!’ said Pidge.)
‘A question, Findepath!’
‘I hear you, Fierce.’
‘Would it not be pleasing to The Mórrígan, Scald Crow and The Queen of Phantoms for us to kill the two-legged cubs, who are like gnats in one’s eye or two specks of sand between one’s teeth, and meet again in the ending of this day and seek then the Lord Of The Waters?’
Other voices approved:
‘It would please The Mórrígan indeed!’
‘There is but one middle-night to each day and think how she would delight in not waiting one more day.’