by Unknown
“God bless you, Brede Ryan” he whispered proud of her nerve. With the food and the trout from Paudy he had enough to last the week. Back on the slope he took the binoculars to check one last time. Before he started to move he raised the glasses... At that moment two soldiers came from the trees heading back.. The Tans were too lazy... It was Stewart. Anyone under his command would do their job. He waited in the rocks, and then slipped back and up the side of the mountain.
Approaching the cave he took a wide circle out and up the slope until he was above the entrance. Here the ground was bare of soil and vegetation, the entrance concealed by a rock overhang. He had a rope concealed in the underbrush. Tying it off the he lowered himself between the entrance and the hedge of Blackthorn that concealed it.
In spite of repeated punishment the cave had been his playground since childhood. Depending on what book he was reading it had been an outlaw hideout, a treasure cave, or a pirates’ lair… There was a main gallery with two inner caves. One led upwards. The other plummeted to the bowels of the earth. At times the drip of water seemed to cover other sounds…
The floor was covered with dry sand. Close by the wall a bed of rushes with a pile of old blankets made his bed. Ashes marked where he kept the fire. Setting the fire he boiled water for tea and ate the boiled eggs as he waited. Winter lingered in the cave. Rolling himself in blankets he settled down. The sun climbed and dipped. A fox came and sat, watching .Strange to see humans in a place forbidden to them...
Fire burned over the country, smoke rising in spirals A murder of crows flew from the East.. In the fields corpses stripped of armour blackened in the sun. Soon the vultures would come They would gorge themselves, and by the time they finished they would be too heavy to fly. Dropping a hand he felt the heat from the axe. He looked behind for signs of pursuit. They were close now. Pressing the heels of his boots to its flanks the horse left the track. Dismounting he led the gelding in circles to cool it down. He led the horse to the stream, dragging it away before it drank too much. Removing the saddle he filled the nosebag with oats from a sack behind the sleeping roll. He drank from his canteen , refilling it at the stream. He ate as he cleaned the crossbow with the spare close to hand. Throwing knives were sharpened with a drop of spit on a whetstone. The shape of a raptor flitted across the face of the moon. Crimson eyes watched from the shadows...
He woke in the chill..Pushing the covers aside he started the fire and put water to boil The trout were cleaned and set to roast on a skillet..Music came from the inner gallery. Rising, he crossed to the opening and stepped over the threshold ... Feet shuffling, murmur of talk, an expectant silence.The sound of horses… Metal jingling on harnesses… A blare of horns and the drum of hooves . It came from the pit. Fear rushed at him . Scrambling away from the edges he bolted from the gallery to the cave beyond. Light beckoned from the entrance. Barbs seized him, ripping into arms and legs. One gashed a cut on his forehead. Blood came into his eyes. He felt pain in his groin. Time passed. Suspended like a fly in a web, movement served only to tighten the hedge’s thorny grip.
Someone moved close. He felt himself released, carried inside. A cloth wiping his eyes. Fingers tracing the cut on his forehead.. He opened his eyes to find himself in the arms of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had dark hair, her face oval, the skin pale, a ruby at her throat, deep red. She wore a flowing gown that shimmered and changed colour. As she leaned over him her breasts hung free inside the cloth. The nipples were large with dark aureoles. In spite of pain he could not take his eyes away. He made to rise; she held him down. Taking his arm she touched the cuts on his fingers and the backs of his hands. She kissed him on the forehead. The bleeding ceased. Placing her fingers over the wound on his groin, she dipped her fingers in the cut and put it to her mouth. She lifted, holding him without effort. Brushing his face with long fingers, his eyes became heavy and closed.
He woke to the sound of laughter fading. It was dark.. He thought of the woman. The way she smiled, her hair, the shape of her face… her breasts. His face was itchy. Rubbing the skin,./ his hand came away with flakes of dried blood…The evening brought a cold breeze. Standing on the mountain he felt a longing deeper than he had ever known. .
Assassins.
The second moon lifted above the horizon. Once upon a time the moon was a child; a naughty boy watched over by his sister. Charged by their mother to keep him out of mischief, he teased her by running away. One day the boy ran into the Forest, daring his sister to catch him. He ran so far that when he stopped he was lost. He cried and called out but he had gone too far. His sister wandered the woods calling his name, and crying. Mother would beat her. Hearing their cries the God of the Land sent a plea to the God Beyond the World who changed them into moons and fixed them in the sky. The boy never frightened his sister again. Scorpio was rising, the sign of doctors and poisoners.
A soft breeze caressed her face as she strolled with her husband on a beach of black volcanic sand . Gasping she sat down, arms around her midriff. Her husband knelt by her, his face a mask of concern. Marcus lifted the cloth above her thighs... Each night he massaged her with oil which, the old lady that sold it to them had promised would ease the marks of pregnancy. Work roughened hands turned to velvet as he eased the tension in her back and shoulders..
She wore a light cotton shift and open toed sandals The beach at night was their place for lovemaking. In the last months, conscious of her expanding girth, they had resorted to their home beyond the dunes. They returned by the path through scrubland to the woods beyond. The house stood on a rise behind trees.
They were approaching the end of the path when footsteps came behind. Two men followed on the sand. A third stood waiting on the dunes, outlined against the stars. Armour glinted in the moonlight. Marcus put his hand in the small of her back. “Get to the trees and hide”. Mira stopped confused. “Move, he growled, his anger breaking through her confusion. Her feet sank in the sand. Stepping from her sandals she began to walk as quickly as her bulk would allow. A shout made her look back. One of them was charging at her husband, a sword raised. Moving inside the arc of the blade Marcus threw a fistful of sand in the face of his attacker. While the swordsman struggled to clear his eyes Marcus handled a length of driftwood and smashed it on the killer’s helmet.. There was no time to finish the first; the second was closing. Picking the weapon out of the sand he blocked an overhand cut and darted the blade at his opponent. The assassin stepped back then lunged, blade carried low. Marcus trapped the sword. Disengaging with a turn of the wrist he slashed at his attacker . Blood spurted in the sand.
“Marcus”,
He looked across. “Get down”. A snap came from behind her. Something struck her husband in the chest. “No”, she screamed. Stumbling back, she reached the place where he had fallen. In the moonlight blood poured from his mouth, bubbles forming at his lips. His breathing made a sucking noise. He lifted a hand to her face with a look that would live in her soul for the rest of her days.
Sand shifted under the weight of a foot. Looking up, a tall figure armoured and caped, stood outlined against the night. He held a crossbow aimed at her husband. She flung herself across his body. A hand gripped her hair and wrenched her back with contemptuous ease. Ignoring her, the killer turned to fire at her husband. Catching the glint of a blade she reached for it. Alerted by the attempt the killer turned. For a moment they looked at each other. Eyes in shadow he moved his hand in a tight arc and punched her in the stomach. Her world exploded in pain.
Black Moll
“Hey you” He looked about in a haze of pain….
“Open that gate after you” A wizened little man stood in tweed jacket, breeches , heavy boots, with a blackthorn stick .It was McGinty. Jack looked down the hill; he was on the old fellow’s land. “Haven’t I enough to be worrying about, without annoyin’ their equals. Haven’t I?” He said, brandishing the cudgel. McGinty came of a line of faction fighters.
“What day is it?”<
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McGinty waved the club. “What day is it, indeed? Look around you and tell me what day d’ye think it is.”
Every gate and half gate were open. The gate at the boreen, the gate to the farmyard, the door of the main house, the dairy and all the gates on the meadows; none were closed. Ribbons were tied to trees. McGinty’s boots were white with ash .The smoking remains of fires in the lower field, cows grazing around them. It was May Day, the festival of Spring. Bonfires had been lit at sunrise, the cattle driven between the flames to protect them for the coming year...
This was the time for the Shee to ride out in the world they once ruled . During their progress they would seek out handsome men and lovely women to seduce into returning with them. Fine men to lie with old crones who would use magic to look like comely maidens….strapping girls to warm the bed of a Faery chieftain. On that day of the year all gates were to be left open lest they hinder their progress. Misfortune would come to any careless enough to forget.
“I’m sorry Paddy, I wasn’t thinking.”
McGinty’s face changed. Temper cooling, he saw the state of the boy; clothes torn and bloody. Face caked in blood…
McGinty peered into Jack’s face. He stank of magic. Somewhere on the mountain he had met with the Folk.. And something else. Something deadly. He would have to be minded in case he wandered off and got himself lost. McGinty wished Moll were back
“Come on up to the house. You’ll drink tay; of course you will”. Taking Ryan by the arm he led him away. Moll had decorated the lintels, door and windows with May flowers. The fire was out. It would be lit when she came home. There were Rowan trees planted around the house. A trial to witches ,their kind would avoid it. Underneath were clumps of Houseleek, close relatives of garlic, they were a better charm than the trees. Useful for anything that came looking for blood. Moll had planted them in pots.
The half door stood open. On the facing wall, hanging from a nail, was an iron Crucifix wrapped with Rosary beads.. Underneath a font, with holy water from a well on their land. The well came up by a Mass rock where the people came to meet their priest in the years when the English attempted to drive the Roman faith out of Ireland.
“Where’s Moll?”
“She’s away over the glen with a cure for sick childer.”
They talked about the raids by the Tans, the exploits of the Boys, as the I.R.A. were known. McGinty was as cross as a bag of cats. For all that he was kind and brave as a lion. A turf fire , fresh baked bread The smells reminded him of all the years he had known in this house.
The sound of a pony and trap came from the yard .McGinty peered out. “T’is herself”.Molly McGinty came in with a basket of flowers . She was a handsome woman, of medium height with a strong build. Her hair was red with gold highlights... In her time she had been the finest looking girl in the Parish.. They called her Black Moll because of her strange ways, visiting places no one should go near; in the woods at dawn picking herbs…
Women shunned her until their children got sick. Then it was “The blessin’s of God on you Moll” and “God look down and bless you Molly McGinty”. Later when they passed her on the road they wouldn’t look to see what side of it she was walking on...Moll doted on Ryan as only a childless woman could.
“God bless you, John Ryan. “
“And you ,Moll”.Crossing to her husband she embraced him . McGinty patted her arm, peaceful now that she was home. The men of the area would bed her but they wouldn’t marry her. She had been twenty , he was forty six when they met.. It was a happy union. Moll made no secret of her affection for the Oul Fella, as she called him. As for McGinty the sun rose and set by her.
Moll crossed to where he sat by the fire. Crouching before him she took his hands in both of hers, looking deep into his eyes.” What way are you?”
“I’m grand. Moll.” She looked at the dried blood, the torn clothes, then at McGinty who shook his head. “I fell in the bushes”
.“Did you indeed John and where might that be?”
Ryan looked down. “Poulnafulla.”There was a hiss of annoyance from McGinty
“Is that where you’re hiding?”
He nodded. “No one goes there or talks about it. I’m safe”
“John I told you to stay away from Poulnafulla. Nothing is safe there. Neither man nor beast”
“I know you did Moll. Up to now I would have laughed at you. I did laugh at you.” As he gazed into eyes full of worry a stench wafted from the doorway. A puck goat stood at the half door chewing on one of McGinty’s shirts. Moll held her gaze on Jack“Paddy McGinty hunt that yoke of a goat out before I hit it with the hatchet” McGinty jumped to his feet as if launched from a spring. The goat was dragged to the far side of the yard where McGinty tied him to a column of the hay barn.
“He’s only a goat”. Said McGinty as he sat down. “So are you”. McGinty chuckled. “ Find something to do, she ordered. McGinty left the kitchen once more.Moll stood, bringing him to his feet. “Take off your clothes, I want to see where you’re hurt” Ryan hesitated.
Moll put her fists on her hips.“John Ryan, I was washin’ your arse before you knew you had an arse. Strip yourself”. Moll went into the scullery. She returned with towels, bandages and a biscuit tin. Most of the cuts were on the front. Except for the forehead and groin none of them needed more than cleaning and a dab of iodine. Moll stitched the flap of skin over his eye. She hissed when she saw the cut on his groin.
“You could have died”
He told her what had come to pass at the Cave of Blood. Moll handed him a dressing robe Walking to the door, she called her husband. The old fellow came in from the yard where he had been tending the puck.
“Tell it again”
Jack recalled the events, this time in more detail. When he finished McGinty looked at his wife. “Who was she?”
“Not one of the folk, I know that much… She has a taste for blood….Not of the Shee but she has standing among them. She passed through the veil at the place and time she needed to find him. I’m worried about the blood. Now that she has tasted him there is no place where she won’t be able to find him. Not in this world, not on the other side”
“Is she a daughter of the Little Sun?”McGinty asked.Moll shook her head,
“This was a beautiful woman, beyond words”. Jack interjected.
“Describe her”.He told them. He did not mention her breasts but he blushed and Moll saw it.
The grandfather clock chimed in the hallway. Without notice the day was settling to evening. Moll lit the fire and started to make supper. It allowed her a chance for thinking. She had raised the boy after his mother had passed. She looked long at him where he sat talking to McGinty. He had not come from her body but she doubted if she could love him more. Adding flour to the mixing bowl she kneaded dough, strong hands moving as her mind worked. Of all the days in the year Beltane was the time when the membrane between worlds became thin enough to let creatures of magic cross over . Most of them were harmless, if avoided.
“I am going out for a while” She said taking a shawl from the back of the door “I will make supper when I get back. McGinty looked after her as she went. This was part of her custom on Mayday. He knew who she had gone to see.
The evening brought mist on the glen. It swirled from the heights down into the farmyard, sidling by the walls, creeping through doors. Wrapping herself in the shawl she started up the track. Soon the yard and house were lost in the murk. As she went her footsteps were muffled. It became cooler. She was sweating as she came out of the mist at the top of the mountain. She walked through a stretch of mountain bog where the people would soon be cutting turf . In the Summer McGinty would fetch Paudy O Callaghan from the town to foot the turf. In return Paudy would do his utmost to eat them out of house and home. Beside his own turf McGinty built another, smaller rick to light the fire of the Widow Carmody, who lived down the glen Emerging at the top she had a clear view out to the Atlantic. She sat on a slab of flat rock. As the
sun dipped someone sat beside her. An old woman dressed in black, her face covered.
“Hallo Mother”.
“Hallo Moll” The old lady replied. “Only you know I sit here of an evening. Yet you rarely come to see me”
“Because I don’t want to be drawn into your world. Did you see the boy?
“I did, he is well”
“Mother, he is not well, He was hurt and now he is under enchantment by a bitch that came with the Shee” Moll told the Hag everything that had passed.
“All men are under the enchantment of women in some way or other, as we are by them. It is the magic of life. What is it you seek? “
“I want to know about her. Who is she and what does she want with the boy?”
“He is not a boy,” said the Hag. “He is a warrior. He fights for my land and I love him for it. As to her she is one of great power. She has marked him for service in her world. Not as a lover...One of her kind would not spend herself to cross the Void for the sake of lust. She would have all her appetites call for at her side”.
“Can you stop this?”
“Moll, you have to understand… there is a balance. If one is taken another returns. If one gives service on one side, it must be repaid on the other. If one goes, one will come, or several. The balance will be kept”
“Can you protect him?” Moll asked in desperation..
“The night he came into the world I sat by him while his mother slept. He told me his dreams. He will be great. He will walk with demons and be served by them. In their way they will love him. If I sought to intervene on her side it would give her leave to interfere on mine. I can’t have that. What must be, must be”