To the Waters and the Wild

by S C McGrath

  “I see you have brought the ceremonial essences,” said Nuala. “Did you have any difficulty obtaining them?”

  “No, I visited Fearghus. He always has any potion or essence necessary for every ceremony. I have also readied the cave with fuel for the fire and have lit the lanterns along the passage.”

  Keelin listened to their exchange and felt her stomach knot with nervous anticipation. She noticed that Deirdre, who usually wore exquisitely tailored dresses of the finest cloth, wore a drab brown linen dress with no adornment whatsoever. Trying to shake off her nerves, Keelin feigned surprise and said, “Deirdre, I would never have believed you owned such a dress, much less that you would wear it.”

  Deirdre looked down at her simple frock with dismay.

  “It is dreadful, isn’t it? I keep it for occasions such as this when I must perform ceremonies in dark and dirty caves, caring little if I stain or damage it irreparably.”

  She looked at Keelin’s lovely blouse and skirt with regret. “If I had known sooner about today’s ceremony, I would have warned you to wear one of your old dresses. I would also have given you some time to prepare your soul.” Deirdre shot Nuala an annoyed glance. Something passed between the two priestesses that Keelin could not read, and she was surprised to see Nuala glance away first.

  “Samhain is but a month away, and one’s sensibilities cannot always be considered,” said Nuala. She hesitated only an instant. “Furthermore, Keelin has a courageous soul. She needs no coddling.”

  “Please do not speak of me as if I were not present,” said Keelin. “I am quite able to speak for myself.” She expected Nuala to bristle at her words. Instead, the high priestess looked pleased and cast Deirdre a triumphant look. “Indeed, you are.”

  “Yes, Keelin, you are our equal and will be treated as such,” said Deirdre.

  Nuala shook her head and approached the mouth of the cave. “No, you are not our equal yet, Keelin. By the end of the day, however, we will know if you are.”

  

  Nuala, Deirdre, and Keelin sat cross-legged in a circle on the cold earth, their hands intertwined. Nuala was reciting a poem in the ancient tongue of The Dagda that spoke of lost heroes and gods, of liberty and peace. The poem was endless and Nuala’s chanting was discordant and eerie. Keelin did not enjoy listening to the ancient language of The Dagda, finding its harsh tone jarring to the ear. The spoken language of Eire, in contrast, had a lyrical, lilting beauty. She let her mind wander far from the cave and Nuala’s tedious recitation. She saw Brian walking along a cliff’s edge. He was singing but she could not discern his words. Instead, she felt an overwhelming sense of isolation and despair. Frightened, Keelin yanked her consciousness back to the cave and realized the chanting had ended. Nuala and Deirdre were looking at her expectantly.

  “Did you not hear me?” questioned Nuala.

  “No . . . I did not.”

  “Then I will ask you again. Do you wish to enter the realm of The Dagda? Will you abide by and uphold the edicts of The Dagda? Will you protect the secrets of The Dagda?”

  Keelin fought back the urge to scream, “No, I do not want such a life!” And then she thought of Caitlin and her uncle Eirnín. She thought of the young men who would fight and die battling the Romhanach. She thought of how her seeing, her power, would help them. “I do. I wish to enter the realm of The Dagda, abiding by and upholding its edicts and protecting its secrets.”

  “Very well, then, we shall continue.” Nuala and Deirdre rose and walked over to where a large pile of kindling and peat lay in the middle of the vast cave, beckoning Keelin to follow. The priestesses lowered their heads and whispered a prayer of gratitude before lighting the ceremonial fire. Keelin wiped her sweaty palms against the fine linen of her skirt and watched the flames, the smell of the smoke blending with the musky dampness in this hidden sepulchre of earth.

  Into the vibrant flames Nuala sprinkled basil for protection, celandine for freedom, and bluebell for truth. She tilted her head up toward the ceiling of the cave and closed her eyes. “May Keelin be protected by the gods, may she seek wisdom and find truth in the world, all in the name of The Dagda.” Then Nuala and Deirdre began circling the fire, swaying in a rhythmic dance, their faces feline and glowing in the amber light.

  Keelin instinctively moved her body, following the graceful flow of the priestesses, engaging in a primitive dance as ancient as the gods. As Keelin circled the fire faster and faster, she could feel herself lifting off the ground, no longer using her body to move. Even the walls of the cave began to ripple and wave, as if the earth were following her movements. She was sweating now, lightheaded and tingling. She closed her eyes, trying to block the bizarre images, not wanting to faint. When she opened them again, Keelin realized she was no longer in the cave but soaring through a black night, devoid of clouds. She glanced down and saw only the dark shadows of hills and the iridescent sparkle of lakes, all becoming mere specks as she flew farther away from her island home.

  Keelin breathed in the night air, feeling its chill; she explored every one of her senses: the reflection of the moon on her pale skin, the raised hair on her arms, the weightlessness of her body. She could have traveled for hours or days or centuries, she did not know. Keelin eventually noticed the first rays of sunlight begin to break through the blanket of night, promising a new day. The outline of a coast emerged, and she immediately recognized the scenery from her recurring dream. She began her descent to the sharp cliffs of the coastline, expecting to find the cottages and the familiar path and the man whose face was always blurred by distance. This time, Keelin thought, I shall see his face, regardless of whether the gods will it or not. However, as soon as she neared the vista, Keelin was propelled past the cliffs with an intensity so great she was forced to shut her eyes. When she opened them, she was blinded by a white light much brighter than anything she was accustomed to.

  Keelin looked around and found herself hovering above a room with smooth white walls, lit with enormous, blinding lamps suspended from the ceiling. Everywhere were strange boxes of varying sizes displaying moving images, symbols, and lines that were constantly changing. Everything—the lights, the boxes, the images—was focused on the center of the room where a surgery was taking place, yet no surgery Keelin could ever have imagined. The four healers administering to the patient were clothed in plain blue long-sleeved tunics that reached below their knees. Each wore a cap that hid their hair and a small white mask over their nose and mouth, secured with two ties. The patient’s chest cavity was open, and a delicate procedure was being performed on his heart. How was it possible for the heart to be still, not beating, yet the patient lived? Transfixed and disembodied, Keelin suddenly felt the blue tunic against her skin, could smell the astringent odors through the white mask. In a language heretofore unknown, she asked one of the healers for a scalpel and held the finely wrought instrument in her gloved hand. She was no longer observing the surgery. She was performing it! In the next instant, everything went black.

  

  Keelin woke to find herself in the cave with Nuala and Deirdre staring at her.

  “What happened . . . how long was I . . . away?”

  “Only for a short while,” Nuala answered, “but time is continuous.”

  Keelin’s mind was reeling and her stomach unsettled. She looked down at her blouse and skirt, both stained and ruined by the damp clay of the cave. She pushed her hair away from her face and noticed the soot on her hands. Nothing seemed real. She wondered now if she had fainted and only dreamt the magic.

  “What did you see, Keelin?”

  Keelin could hear the urgency and impatience in Nuala’s voice but could not yet respond. Why did Nuala not read her mind? Never in the past had the high priestess shown any reluctance to do so. Keelin wished to be spared the need to speak until she regained her equilibrium, fearing she might vomit. “I . . . read my thoughts, Nuala. I feel quite ill.”

  “Your mind is in a muddle. I can hear nothing,” said
Nuala. The high priestess abruptly stood, and in the fading glow of the ceremonial fire, she looked like a demon. Keelin shuddered and turned her head away from the apparition.

  Deirdre stood also and lightly placed a restraining hand on Nuala’s arm. Then she turned from Nuala and bent down, offering her hand to Keelin. “Here, I will help you up. Let us move outside. You will feel better when you can breathe clean, fresh air.”

  Keelin stumbled out of the cave, holding fast to Deirdre’s hand. They made their way to a grove of oak trees nearby. The oaks formed a natural and hidden amphitheater, with a small meadow nestled in the center of the grove. Once they were within the shelter of the oaks, completely hidden from view, Deirdre led Keelin over to the trunk of a fallen tree and invited her to rest upon it. Nuala, without unhesitating, sat upon the damp grass of the meadow facing Keelin. Deirdre frowned in consternation at the ground but nonetheless sat down next to Nuala.

  Keelin immediately began to feel better. She breathed in the damp, sweet-smelling air and the fogginess of her mind cleared. Preferring to sit on the ground as well, she slid off the tree trunk and leaned her back against it. Soon her stomach stopped its frightful lurching.

  “Well,” she began slowly, “it was all very strange.” She paused, not sure how to describe what had happened and whether the priestesses would even believe her. “I closed my eyes while dancing in the cave, fearing I would faint. When I opened them again, I found myself flying swiftly through the night air, away from Eire. As dawn approached, the same scenery in a dream of mine appeared—the beautiful coastline and the high granite cliffs.” Keelin then described the strange room and surgery in as much detail as she could remember, marveling afresh at what she had experienced.

  Nuala and Deirdre listened intently. When Keelin was finished, the priestesses exchanged a glance. Then the high priestess looked at Keelin, her gray eyes gleaming. “You are one of us, easily able to pass into the realm of the Otherworld. You are of The Dagda.”

  “So I truly experienced these wonders . . . I was not sure. I feared you would not believe me.”

  “Of course we believe you,” said Deirdre.

  “When did I enter the Otherworld? I felt . . . odd as I danced round the fire.”

  With uncharacteristic solicitude, Nuala explained, “You became faint because you had entered the Otherworld. You must have closed your eyes at the precise moment you left the confines of the cave.”

  “Did you enter the Otherworld with me?”

  “Yes, Keelin,” said Deirdre. “We accompanied you.”

  “This is madness,” muttered Keelin to herself. She couldn’t recall any changes to her surroundings as she danced. She frowned, trying to remember. That was not exactly true. She had felt a strange chill hit her, even though she had been sweating from the heat of the fire and her dancing.

  “I felt suddenly cold and then lightheaded. I am not sure if the chill hit me before or after the walls of the cave began to move.”

  Nuala nodded. “You felt the chill as you entered the Otherworld, and you undoubtedly felt ill because of the scarcity of life-nurturing air within it. One’s body feels robbed of substance and oddly buoyant within its boundaries. The mind is, at first, sluggish and faint. It will take you some time to adjust to the strangeness of the Otherworld. Soon, though, you will be able to enter and leave at will, with no ill effects.”

  “I did not see either of you once I left the cave. Why?”

  Keelin, even in her somewhat befuddled state, sensed a certain hesitancy in both priestesses to answer her question. Finally, Deirdre said, “We would have stayed with you had we been able. We were not. When you left the cave and disappeared through time, you were alone. You traveled to one of your future lives, not ours.”

  “Neither of you ever mentioned the possibility of time travel within the Otherworld. Why?”

  “I told you time was of little consequence within the Otherworld. I saw no need to explain more . . . then.” Nuala’s tone was dismissive as she shifted her gaze uneasily from Keelin.

  “Well, I need to know and understand now. What are both of you not telling me?”

  Nuala’s fingers lightly touched her ruby pendant. “Deirdre, tell Keelin. She will learn the truth soon enough.”

  Deirdre hesitated, then spoke. “Keelin . . . we are aware of no one who has traveled to a future life during a ceremony to test affinity for the Otherworld. There are only a few of us within The Dagda who have ever traveled through time. In truth, we have done so only during Samhain and with the magic of our Dagda cloak to aid us. It is then that the boundaries between life and death are broken, as are the barriers of time, allowing the souls of the departed to pass through the sacred passage tomb and be reincarnated. For reasons only the gods know, it is also during Samhain when a select few of The Dagda can travel to the future. We have no control over the life we visit, being always pulled to the same place and time. I can only believe it represents a future existence in which we achieve the ultimate realization of our souls. Of course,” said Deirdre, glancing at Nuala, “this is only my belief.”

  “You have each traveled to your ultimate life?” Keelin addressed both priestesses but she looked directly at Nuala.

  Nuala raised an eyebrow. “I traveled to my future life several times when I was young and foolish. Almost everything captivated me. Man will create the most remarkable and magical conveniences, some of which, I must admit, left me awestruck. However, I was never given more than a glimpse, a few seconds to take in the vision before I was hurled back to the present.”

  Deirdre nodded. “My experience was very similar to yours, Nuala. The glimpses into my future were always brief and, seemingly, without purpose. Enticing, miraculous, but ultimately useless in living my present life.”

  “But I not only viewed my future life, I was living in it,” marveled Keelin. “I spoke in a strange language, handled the surgical instruments, and performed the surgery. What does it mean? Are there no others of The Dagda like me?”

  “There was one priest who, it is said, could pass easily between his present and future lives,” offered Deirdre. “However, he is long dead and few speak of him now. Perhaps, you, Nuala . . .”

  Keelin eyed Nuala expectantly. “Did you know him? Can you tell me anything about his life?”

  “I can tell you nothing about him,” said Nuala. “You must find your own answers. Come, we should head back to the cottage. It will soon be dark.” Nuala stood and offered Keelin her hand. Surprised, Keelin took it and rose, facing both priestesses.

  “So it seems I am doomed to be different, even from those of The Dagda.”

  “You are not different from us, Keelin,” said Deirdre, “only more gifted.”

  

  CHAPTER sixteen

  

  think I will join you and your family for the evening meal tomorrow night if I may,” said Deirdre as she and Keelin walked back to Nuala’s cottage from their favorite place near the mouth of the gorge. The shadows of dusk darkened the narrow path and the air had grown chilly and damp. It had been several days since the ceremony in the cave and the rhythm of Keelin’s days went on as before. Nuala had departed for Tara shortly after the ceremony, leaving Keelin to visit and treat patients every morning and pass her afternoons with Deirdre. Yet, Keelin knew she would never be quite the same. Her experience in the Otherworld had freed her. She no longer resented being, admittedly, different. Somehow, learning she was different even from those of The Dagda had given her confidence. After the Romhanach were defeated, she was determined to choose her own path and destiny.

  “Of course you may,” said Keelin, surprised. In the early days, Keelin had frequently invited Deirdre to dinner but she rarely accepted. “Dear Keelin,” she would say, “I would like nothing better than to dine with you and your family, but unfortunately my evenings are rarely my own.” Nuala’s ardent and tireless devotion to her obligations as a priestess was easy for Keelin to understand; Deirdre’s cheerful dedication
was more difficult. Nonetheless, the young priestess was steadfast in her commitment to The Dagda and the people of Eire and Keelin respected her for it.

  “You have had news of Déaglán’s impending arrival? Or have you been following his progress from Tara via the Otherworld?” Keelin teased, knowing full well she, herself, would shamelessly use her power in such a way.

  Deirdre laughed. “I admit I am not above such amusement but there is never enough time. Instead, I have felt Déaglán’s presence for days. Truthfully, I have sensed the nearness of his soul.”

  “You hear the souls of the dead as well and converse with them, do you not?” asked Keelin, though it was more of a statement than a question. She had guessed her friend’s other “gift” some time ago but had said nothing, reluctant to talk of death and dying.

  “Yes, I do, since I was a child,” answered Deirdre simply.

  “I am sure I would not like that.”

  Deirdre shrugged slightly and smiled, taking no offense. “I am accustomed to hearing the voices of the dead, while you, as a healer, are accustomed to seeing the suffering of the living. We are not so very different in our desire to alleviate pain, whether it is of the body or the soul.” Deirdre knitted her brow. “I am not sure how to explain my gift, but I can feel my thoughts and words soothing others, the healing power of my mind giving them some respite from sorrow and anxiety.”

  “I feel the same thing with my hands,” said Keelin. “I can lessen my patients’ pain by simply touching them. My hands are more powerful than my eyes when determining an injury or disease.” Keelin looked at her small, delicate hands outstretched in front of her, marveling at their power.

  “We are peculiarly special,” said Deirdre airily, pirouetting gracefully on the grassy pathway.