Sunlight and Shadow
Sean woke to the rising heat of the she-hound at his side. He felt her growing need as strongly as he felt his own. He moved to her and slid into nature's rhythm as easily as if it were a dance he had long practiced. He lost himself in the thrust and pull of his senses. He could sense the forest coming alive around him, smell the rising of the sun as it began to send shafts of light down into the small glade. He seemed to by hyper- sensitive to everything yet completely centered on just this one moment, this one movement. She shifted her weight and pushed back into him and he flew. He simply flew. There was no other way to describe it. His release was simply beyond description. Holding still until his spirit fell back to rejoin the thunder in his veins, he found himself still gripping her. She was rigid as well. They moved apart and then circled each other. She wrapped her head over his neck and seemed to exhale. Something felt incredibly right and connected. Sean curled his neck around to better cradle her.
The other hounds began to rise, Ian among them. Sean could tell from his gaze that he had not been sleeping as long as the others. It did not matter, he was proud and happy. He nuzzled the she-hound. He thought for a moment that it would be nice to know her name.
The human rose and began to gather his gear, a roll of blankets and such. He tied these up in leather straps and set them off to the side, then he pulled out a bag with what appeared to be dried meat and bread and squatted down, rocking on his toes to chew. The other hounds disbursed, apparently to hunt. Ian encouraged Sean to come. He nudged the she-hound, but she seemed reluctant to go. She moved off toward the man, settling near him. Sean watched for a while, and then turned to go off with Ian.
The hunt was better this time. Sean could smell everything. The scents were pure and crisp and if not exactly what he would have considered clean, they were identifiable. They soon caught what appeared to be squirrel, one apiece, and settled down to devour their morning meal. The morsel did not take long. The meat was wild and tangy in his mouth, and a bit stringy, but good nonetheless. He and Ian finished roughly at the same time. Ian rose to leave, walking at his usual plodding gait away from their makeshift picnic area. Sean let him go about twenty feet and then he set himself. In a low crouch, he watched as Ian went into a lower area as the ground dropped away in a swell. He took off as fast as he could and launched himself in the air. He expected to land right on Ian's back, but he sailed clear over him, landing roughly on the other side. Ian pounced on him. They tussled there on the forest floor, making a loud and fairly obnoxious commotion. When they pulled apart they were both patning from the exertion.
"Time to head back," stated Sean.
"Head back where?" replied Ian.
"To the pack."
"We have no business with that human," Ian noted harshly.
"You don't, but I do," said Sean.
"You mean the she-hound?" asked Ian.
"Of course."
"She will just replace you with another hound if you don't come back. It's her time and she only follows her nature." Ian loooked at him as if he were a small child who could not understand a very simple concept.
"She is more than that," replied Sean coldly. "She carries my seed."
"What?"
"You heard me. I am pretty sure that she won't be in season any more after this morning," said Sean. "I don't know why I know that, but I do. At least I believe my pups have taken root in her womb."
"Do you realize what you are saying?" Ian responded with wide open eyes.
"I think I do. And if you don't mind, I think I should take something back for her to eat. Would you like to help me scare up a rabbit?"
Ian looked at him for a second or two like he had just grown horns. "Of course I will help you hunt. That at least is fun. But I think we should reconsider staying with that human. You saw what he did to that other hound."
"He only did that because the other hound was too wounded to make it out of the forest on his own. I am sure he must be fine, why else would all those hounds follow him around?"
"Maybe he has some kind of talisman that makes then stay close?"
"I don't think so. And it doesn't really matter. I have to go back. If she is having my pups, I have to know. I have to at least see them."
"You don't even know if you will still be a hound when they are born."
"Then I can do everything I can for them now."
Sean stood there, his chin high and backline firm. He was in that moment regal and certain. He was unchallengeable. Ian thought to argue more, but knew from his lines and the look in his eyes that there was no point. And in the end it made little difference. He did not think they could find their own way out of this damn forest.
"Let's hunt," Ian growled as he set off at a trot under the canopy of leaves.
Its Cold Out Here....but Beautiful....
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Participles and Portents (40)
Wine, Wind and Song
Fiona had some misgivings about the upcoming evening, but they had little to do with her own circumstances and much to do with Lin and Roary. She wasn't sure if she was worried that they might rip each other's heads off or that they would not. There was a lot of tension between those two and her motherly senses told her that it could lead places that might not end up for the best, especially under the heightened intensity of the circumstances they found themselves in. She shrugged to herself; perhaps it would do Lin some good. Her daughter could use a good dose of getting her tree shaken, though certainly not in the way they were experiencing now. A little more on the level ground closer to reality would be nice. Fiona said little to the garda as he drove her into the village. He talked on and off about the area, in general acting as a tour guide. When they made it into the village he dropped her off at the bed and breakfast they had stayed at before and waited to make sure that they would accomodate her before leaving to find his own hearth.
She made her way up to the room and sank wearily on the bed. Unwinding her scarf, she sat with it in her hands, playing the material through her fingers as she let her mind drift over the day. There was something tickling the back of her mind from what "Darby" had said, she just could not place her finger on it. She laid the scarf and her coat over the edge of the bed and wandered to the window. From here she could look out over the small village. She could see the mud strip that served as the road leading to the B & B and the back of the line of shops and pubs that were within walking distance. The shops' lights were already off, but the pubs were in business. She supposed if she opened the window she might hear a bit of music swelling the night. It was still just light out enough for a bit of color to linger in the edge of the horizon. She fingered her pebble and thought again of how much she wanted another dance, or perhaps just a walk, anytime at all for that matter. Perhaps that gift was becoming less of a gift over time, as she found herself wanting more as the days progressed, and she had gotten accustomed to pushing the wants out of the way over the years.
She pushed back from the window and slipped her coat and scarf back on. It would get full-on dark soon, and she should walk down for some supper before then. The lady of the house gave her a light, really just a small pen-light, to help her find her way back with, and she set off on the short stroll to town. The wind was not as strong here in town and the night was actually rather pleasant. She took a deep breath and told herself to let the day go, to take this time to just refresh herself.
She chose the first pub she came to. It was a modest place, with a small hearth and a large wooden bar that was relatively full. A few bench-style tables framed the hearth, with a scatter of individual chairs set right at the fire's edge. As the tables were taken, she chose one of the seats at the bar. The man to her right looked up as she took off her scarf and coat and gave her the kind of welcoming smile that said he appreciated what he saw. She smiled back and turned her attention to the menu that the barkeep slid in front of her. It was not a large menu, but the fare was what she had anticipated. She ordered Irish stew and some brown bread to go with it. When she asked for a glass of red wine, the barkeep struggled to contain his mirth. Apparently it was not something that was often ordered here. He rooted around under the bar and came up with a rather dusty bottle of cabernet. He wiped it down and opened it, giving it a sniff as if to test if it had gone wrong. Satisfied that it was not vinegar, he poured her a glass. Fiona gave it a tentative sip. It was rich and spicy and warm on her tongue, and as she smiled her appreciation, the barkeep filled the glass to the brim.
As she nursed her wine and waited for dinner, her appreciative companion leaned over and asked her if she always took wine. She replied that she had never quite picked up a taste for beer or liquor. The man gave her a wink and nodded. "That would be the lady coming out in ye'. I could tell at a glance that ye' were a brau, bonny lass indeed." Fiona wasn't quite sure what a brau was, but she did know bonny was a good thing, so she thanked him for the kind words.
"What is that you are drinking?" she inquired.
"Why this is a black and tan," he replied. "My boyos tell me it's a waste of perfectly good stout, but I like to believe it is a tribute to the blending of cultures, seein' as they make it with an Irish stout and a British ale. Perhaps if more drank the blend, we might actually get around to being more peaceable in the North. Do you think that might work?"
Fiona took in his wide smile and the wild curl of dark hair that fell in the center of his forehead. His dark eyes were clear, not bleary from the drink. She decided she rather liked this stranger.
"I think it is a lot more complicated than a matter of drink. But every small step toward acceptance helps."
"I knew ye' were a lady with more than just a fine set of legs and twinklin' eyes to add to an evenin," he replied with a wicked grin. "What bring's ye' to our fine little establishement?"
"That is a very long and not very believeable story," replied Fiona.
The barkeep came then with her dinner. He brought the bottle of cabernet along and refilled her glass without questioning her intent to drink more.
"I go by Seamus," said the man.
"My name is Fiona," she replied in between spoons of the stew.
Seamus flagged down the barkeep. "Murph, I think I'll have me a bit of the stew as well, if ye' don't mind."
Murphy waved his understanding and set another black and tan in front of Seamus.
"I thought you ordered stew?"
"I did. But Murphy knows me well enough to know me other habits too."
Fiona thought about this. Seamus must be a regular here. She wondered if he was a sot.
"I'm no sot, if that's what ye'r thinkin' lass. I just tend to have my dinner's here most nights with a couple of me' favorites and some tea or coffee to follow it up. Unless the company is grand and I stay a bit longer of course."
"I would never think to judge you," she replied a bit too hastily, making it clear to both of them that she actually had been wondering if he did drink a bit too much and too regularly.
Seamus laughed and took a sip of his beer. 'A lady never does lie well."
That sat in comfortable silence until Murphy brought out Seamus's stew.
"I do love the brown bread," said Fiona.
"They can't really make it anywhere else in the world. Not like they make it here."
"Seamus!"
Fiona and Seamus turned to see a young man with wild red hair and a guitar slung over his shoulder making his way to the bar. He had a huge grin on his face.
"I was hoping I would find you here," said the yound man.
"Of course I'm here, it's dinner time, isn' it. Are ye' back from ye'r wanderin'?"
"For a bit," smiled the boy. "Murph, send me a Guinness, will you?"
"Fiona, this fine strappin' lad is Charles. He thinks he is a modern bard. Been travelin' wide and far tryin' to get folk to listen to his ballads. Has a whole host of songs, he has, all about the travails of the past and some even about our folk tales and the like."
"Fiona, is it?" said Charles, pumping her hand. "I assure you I am better than Seamus lets on. In fact I am set to play here tonight. He pulled a sheaf of paper from his pocket. "I do some for people to sing-a-long with. Why don't you stay and join in?" Murphy slid the stout down to him neatly along the rail and Charles scooped it up. He smiled and turned to Seamus. "I know you'll be in the front leading the group."
As Charles went off to set up, Seamus turned to Fiona. "If ye have no other offers for ye'r hand this evenin' I would be happy to accompany ye' to the musical."
Fiona was caught up in the spirit of the camaraderie and laughter, "That would be lovely, Seamus."
They finished their meal, bantering about politics and culture. He seemed to know a great deal about the early Irish literary revival and its place in the press for an Irish Republic free from British rule. It was a lively discussion and she actually took a few notes for her articles. She thought about adding this pub as a sidebar, a place to stop and mix with locals who also had a passion for literature and its place in history. She had at least one character to write about. Murphy cleaned the plates away and filled her glass again. At this rate she would end up drinking the entire bottle, she thought. She could feel a rather pleasant buzz building from the wine. She wondered if this was what Lin meant when she talked about getting a "swerve-on".
Seamus helped her from the stool and collected her coat and scarf. They made their way over to the hearth and selected two prime seats, which they turned toward the corner where a small stage was set into the nook. Charles was grinning when he saw them take their places. He stepped to the microphone and tested it, then stepped back to his soundboard. "Where did that come from?" wondered Fiona. He played with a few knobs and tried the microphone again, strumming his guitar this time. He made a few more adjustments.
When he was comfortable that he had everything the way he wanted it, he announced himself and invited people to come down and join Seamus and Fiona, naming them personally as if they were old friends. Fiona felt a blush rising to have been singled out in public. Seamus gave her a friendly squeeze on the arm. "It does him good to be able to point out the prettiest woman in the room and invite people to come sit by her," he winked. Fiona's blush rose to the tips of her hair. The wine was in full bloom in her blood stream and she was definitely feeling fine. The area around the small stage filled up, and soon she and Seamus were surrounded by other patrons. It seemed that many had seen Charles before as quite a few greeted him by name and only a handful picked up the leaflets that had the lyrics to the songs on them.
The first few he played were ballads that he sang by himself. Then he played a few old Irish tunes that just about every one knew. He introduced a song that was the story of Diarmuid and Grania, a tragic tale of womanly mischief and heroic feats where love comes very, very close to conquering all. He had the lyrics printed out, though the audience mostly just sang the chorus along with him. It was a rousing song and had everyone singing loudly. Somewhere along the way her glass had mysteriously been topped off again. Murphy was definitely an attentive barkeep. Charles did one or two rebel songs and the obligatory drinking song, all of them songs that the audience could sing along with. He ended with a ballad he had just composed. This was a slow ballad - the Lament of Dierdre. Another of the old Irish tales where love comes close to conquering all in this life and does conquer it in the afterlife. He finished with the plaintive image of the tall tree standing alone within the fingers of the stream that ran toward it, then split around its base only to rejoin on the other side. It was a sad but beautiful image. Fiona found she had a bit of tears in her eyes at the end. Seamus looked at her. "I knew you had a poet hidden in there, and one whose heart would beat to the ache of the Irish heart. Tis hard to love the Irish and harder still not to."
He rose and went to talk to Charles along with the other patrons. Chalres was enjoying the attention and not particularly worried about packing up just yet. Fiona made her way to the bar to pay for her supper. Murphy just waved her off. "Ye'r fare's already been paid. I was told just to ask ye' not to forget our fine place or the people ye' met here." He slid her a card with Seamus's contact information and the information for the pub on it and walked away.
Fiona turned, uncertain now as to what to do. She thought perhaps she should thank Seamus. But that seemed somehow awkward. In the end she settled for writing a brief note on a napkin and leaving it on their table before she put on her coat. She thanked him for a lovely night, for the dinner and song, and gave him her email address in case he wanted to stay in touch. Then she slipped out the door.
She realized she was a bit more than tipsy when she struggled with her scarf and ended up just looping it around her neck and letting her hair go free. She pulled out the pen-light and made sure she turned on the right road, then slipped it back into her pocket. It was far too much effort to carry it, and she could see in the clear light of the moon. She walked easily, letting the wine bouy her steps. Twirling her pebble in her fingers, she drew up an image of another Irishman in her minds eye. His laughing deep brown eyes, his dark hair smoothed back from his face, the one lock that failed to obey and fell on his forehead. She could see his high brow line and high cheekbones, his wide smile. As his image formed in her mind, she could almost smell him next to her, sense his heat, feel the large rough hand joining hers in her packet where she held the stone.
She remembered then the words that "Darby" had last said, that it was all real. She pulled in a long breath and wrapped her hand around the hand in her pocket. She strolled past the B & B, enjoying the feeling of his presence. "I love knowing that you are always with me," she thought to herself. "It is just so hard sometimes to hold you here." There was no answer to her thought, but she sensed a slight squeeze on the hand in her pocket. "Thank you for finding me," she whispered out loud.
They strolled back toward the B & B, the woman with her hair floating in the wind and the man floating in her mind's eye. She took great comfort in the clear moon and the soft, resilient heat that traversed the path with her. As she made her way into the B & B, she let the image go. "Seamus was right, you know. It is hard to love the Irish, but a damn sight harder not to," she smiled and made her way up to the bed and to sleep.
Fiona had some misgivings about the upcoming evening, but they had little to do with her own circumstances and much to do with Lin and Roary. She wasn't sure if she was worried that they might rip each other's heads off or that they would not. There was a lot of tension between those two and her motherly senses told her that it could lead places that might not end up for the best, especially under the heightened intensity of the circumstances they found themselves in. She shrugged to herself; perhaps it would do Lin some good. Her daughter could use a good dose of getting her tree shaken, though certainly not in the way they were experiencing now. A little more on the level ground closer to reality would be nice. Fiona said little to the garda as he drove her into the village. He talked on and off about the area, in general acting as a tour guide. When they made it into the village he dropped her off at the bed and breakfast they had stayed at before and waited to make sure that they would accomodate her before leaving to find his own hearth.
She made her way up to the room and sank wearily on the bed. Unwinding her scarf, she sat with it in her hands, playing the material through her fingers as she let her mind drift over the day. There was something tickling the back of her mind from what "Darby" had said, she just could not place her finger on it. She laid the scarf and her coat over the edge of the bed and wandered to the window. From here she could look out over the small village. She could see the mud strip that served as the road leading to the B & B and the back of the line of shops and pubs that were within walking distance. The shops' lights were already off, but the pubs were in business. She supposed if she opened the window she might hear a bit of music swelling the night. It was still just light out enough for a bit of color to linger in the edge of the horizon. She fingered her pebble and thought again of how much she wanted another dance, or perhaps just a walk, anytime at all for that matter. Perhaps that gift was becoming less of a gift over time, as she found herself wanting more as the days progressed, and she had gotten accustomed to pushing the wants out of the way over the years.
She pushed back from the window and slipped her coat and scarf back on. It would get full-on dark soon, and she should walk down for some supper before then. The lady of the house gave her a light, really just a small pen-light, to help her find her way back with, and she set off on the short stroll to town. The wind was not as strong here in town and the night was actually rather pleasant. She took a deep breath and told herself to let the day go, to take this time to just refresh herself.
She chose the first pub she came to. It was a modest place, with a small hearth and a large wooden bar that was relatively full. A few bench-style tables framed the hearth, with a scatter of individual chairs set right at the fire's edge. As the tables were taken, she chose one of the seats at the bar. The man to her right looked up as she took off her scarf and coat and gave her the kind of welcoming smile that said he appreciated what he saw. She smiled back and turned her attention to the menu that the barkeep slid in front of her. It was not a large menu, but the fare was what she had anticipated. She ordered Irish stew and some brown bread to go with it. When she asked for a glass of red wine, the barkeep struggled to contain his mirth. Apparently it was not something that was often ordered here. He rooted around under the bar and came up with a rather dusty bottle of cabernet. He wiped it down and opened it, giving it a sniff as if to test if it had gone wrong. Satisfied that it was not vinegar, he poured her a glass. Fiona gave it a tentative sip. It was rich and spicy and warm on her tongue, and as she smiled her appreciation, the barkeep filled the glass to the brim.
As she nursed her wine and waited for dinner, her appreciative companion leaned over and asked her if she always took wine. She replied that she had never quite picked up a taste for beer or liquor. The man gave her a wink and nodded. "That would be the lady coming out in ye'. I could tell at a glance that ye' were a brau, bonny lass indeed." Fiona wasn't quite sure what a brau was, but she did know bonny was a good thing, so she thanked him for the kind words.
"What is that you are drinking?" she inquired.
"Why this is a black and tan," he replied. "My boyos tell me it's a waste of perfectly good stout, but I like to believe it is a tribute to the blending of cultures, seein' as they make it with an Irish stout and a British ale. Perhaps if more drank the blend, we might actually get around to being more peaceable in the North. Do you think that might work?"
Fiona took in his wide smile and the wild curl of dark hair that fell in the center of his forehead. His dark eyes were clear, not bleary from the drink. She decided she rather liked this stranger.
"I think it is a lot more complicated than a matter of drink. But every small step toward acceptance helps."
"I knew ye' were a lady with more than just a fine set of legs and twinklin' eyes to add to an evenin," he replied with a wicked grin. "What bring's ye' to our fine little establishement?"
"That is a very long and not very believeable story," replied Fiona.
The barkeep came then with her dinner. He brought the bottle of cabernet along and refilled her glass without questioning her intent to drink more.
"I go by Seamus," said the man.
"My name is Fiona," she replied in between spoons of the stew.
Seamus flagged down the barkeep. "Murph, I think I'll have me a bit of the stew as well, if ye' don't mind."
Murphy waved his understanding and set another black and tan in front of Seamus.
"I thought you ordered stew?"
"I did. But Murphy knows me well enough to know me other habits too."
Fiona thought about this. Seamus must be a regular here. She wondered if he was a sot.
"I'm no sot, if that's what ye'r thinkin' lass. I just tend to have my dinner's here most nights with a couple of me' favorites and some tea or coffee to follow it up. Unless the company is grand and I stay a bit longer of course."
"I would never think to judge you," she replied a bit too hastily, making it clear to both of them that she actually had been wondering if he did drink a bit too much and too regularly.
Seamus laughed and took a sip of his beer. 'A lady never does lie well."
That sat in comfortable silence until Murphy brought out Seamus's stew.
"I do love the brown bread," said Fiona.
"They can't really make it anywhere else in the world. Not like they make it here."
"Seamus!"
Fiona and Seamus turned to see a young man with wild red hair and a guitar slung over his shoulder making his way to the bar. He had a huge grin on his face.
"I was hoping I would find you here," said the yound man.
"Of course I'm here, it's dinner time, isn' it. Are ye' back from ye'r wanderin'?"
"For a bit," smiled the boy. "Murph, send me a Guinness, will you?"
"Fiona, this fine strappin' lad is Charles. He thinks he is a modern bard. Been travelin' wide and far tryin' to get folk to listen to his ballads. Has a whole host of songs, he has, all about the travails of the past and some even about our folk tales and the like."
"Fiona, is it?" said Charles, pumping her hand. "I assure you I am better than Seamus lets on. In fact I am set to play here tonight. He pulled a sheaf of paper from his pocket. "I do some for people to sing-a-long with. Why don't you stay and join in?" Murphy slid the stout down to him neatly along the rail and Charles scooped it up. He smiled and turned to Seamus. "I know you'll be in the front leading the group."
As Charles went off to set up, Seamus turned to Fiona. "If ye have no other offers for ye'r hand this evenin' I would be happy to accompany ye' to the musical."
Fiona was caught up in the spirit of the camaraderie and laughter, "That would be lovely, Seamus."
They finished their meal, bantering about politics and culture. He seemed to know a great deal about the early Irish literary revival and its place in the press for an Irish Republic free from British rule. It was a lively discussion and she actually took a few notes for her articles. She thought about adding this pub as a sidebar, a place to stop and mix with locals who also had a passion for literature and its place in history. She had at least one character to write about. Murphy cleaned the plates away and filled her glass again. At this rate she would end up drinking the entire bottle, she thought. She could feel a rather pleasant buzz building from the wine. She wondered if this was what Lin meant when she talked about getting a "swerve-on".
Seamus helped her from the stool and collected her coat and scarf. They made their way over to the hearth and selected two prime seats, which they turned toward the corner where a small stage was set into the nook. Charles was grinning when he saw them take their places. He stepped to the microphone and tested it, then stepped back to his soundboard. "Where did that come from?" wondered Fiona. He played with a few knobs and tried the microphone again, strumming his guitar this time. He made a few more adjustments.
When he was comfortable that he had everything the way he wanted it, he announced himself and invited people to come down and join Seamus and Fiona, naming them personally as if they were old friends. Fiona felt a blush rising to have been singled out in public. Seamus gave her a friendly squeeze on the arm. "It does him good to be able to point out the prettiest woman in the room and invite people to come sit by her," he winked. Fiona's blush rose to the tips of her hair. The wine was in full bloom in her blood stream and she was definitely feeling fine. The area around the small stage filled up, and soon she and Seamus were surrounded by other patrons. It seemed that many had seen Charles before as quite a few greeted him by name and only a handful picked up the leaflets that had the lyrics to the songs on them.
The first few he played were ballads that he sang by himself. Then he played a few old Irish tunes that just about every one knew. He introduced a song that was the story of Diarmuid and Grania, a tragic tale of womanly mischief and heroic feats where love comes very, very close to conquering all. He had the lyrics printed out, though the audience mostly just sang the chorus along with him. It was a rousing song and had everyone singing loudly. Somewhere along the way her glass had mysteriously been topped off again. Murphy was definitely an attentive barkeep. Charles did one or two rebel songs and the obligatory drinking song, all of them songs that the audience could sing along with. He ended with a ballad he had just composed. This was a slow ballad - the Lament of Dierdre. Another of the old Irish tales where love comes close to conquering all in this life and does conquer it in the afterlife. He finished with the plaintive image of the tall tree standing alone within the fingers of the stream that ran toward it, then split around its base only to rejoin on the other side. It was a sad but beautiful image. Fiona found she had a bit of tears in her eyes at the end. Seamus looked at her. "I knew you had a poet hidden in there, and one whose heart would beat to the ache of the Irish heart. Tis hard to love the Irish and harder still not to."
He rose and went to talk to Charles along with the other patrons. Chalres was enjoying the attention and not particularly worried about packing up just yet. Fiona made her way to the bar to pay for her supper. Murphy just waved her off. "Ye'r fare's already been paid. I was told just to ask ye' not to forget our fine place or the people ye' met here." He slid her a card with Seamus's contact information and the information for the pub on it and walked away.
Fiona turned, uncertain now as to what to do. She thought perhaps she should thank Seamus. But that seemed somehow awkward. In the end she settled for writing a brief note on a napkin and leaving it on their table before she put on her coat. She thanked him for a lovely night, for the dinner and song, and gave him her email address in case he wanted to stay in touch. Then she slipped out the door.
She realized she was a bit more than tipsy when she struggled with her scarf and ended up just looping it around her neck and letting her hair go free. She pulled out the pen-light and made sure she turned on the right road, then slipped it back into her pocket. It was far too much effort to carry it, and she could see in the clear light of the moon. She walked easily, letting the wine bouy her steps. Twirling her pebble in her fingers, she drew up an image of another Irishman in her minds eye. His laughing deep brown eyes, his dark hair smoothed back from his face, the one lock that failed to obey and fell on his forehead. She could see his high brow line and high cheekbones, his wide smile. As his image formed in her mind, she could almost smell him next to her, sense his heat, feel the large rough hand joining hers in her packet where she held the stone.
She remembered then the words that "Darby" had last said, that it was all real. She pulled in a long breath and wrapped her hand around the hand in her pocket. She strolled past the B & B, enjoying the feeling of his presence. "I love knowing that you are always with me," she thought to herself. "It is just so hard sometimes to hold you here." There was no answer to her thought, but she sensed a slight squeeze on the hand in her pocket. "Thank you for finding me," she whispered out loud.
They strolled back toward the B & B, the woman with her hair floating in the wind and the man floating in her mind's eye. She took great comfort in the clear moon and the soft, resilient heat that traversed the path with her. As she made her way into the B & B, she let the image go. "Seamus was right, you know. It is hard to love the Irish, but a damn sight harder not to," she smiled and made her way up to the bed and to sleep.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Participles and Portents (39)
Stars and Celestial Shifts
As the night settled in on them, it became clear that they would have to do more than just lean against the ticket booth. It would definitely be far too cold for Lin to stay outside. She had gained some color since retreating from the Dun, but her breath still came out with a slight frost to it and her skin still retained a bit of the blue tinge. She did, at least, seem able to carry on a conversation, and for that Roary was grateful. He left her leaning on the far side of the booth and toured around, looking for some way in.
"Bloody rot and damn," he muttered. The building was large enough to have a long window in the rear, but it was higher up than one would expect and not easy to reach. There was only one side door and then the main ticket window. He cast about for something that he could stand on to check to see if the window was locked but there was nothing he could see that would bear his weight. The ticket window was clearly locked - he could see the lock through the glass. That left the door. He could probably jimmy the lock, but he wasn't exactly sure he wanted Lin to know he knew how to do that sort of thing. He thought for a moment; he really didn't have much choice did he? He crouched down and took a good look at the lock. It was simple enough really, not any harder than the one on the cottage door. He fumbled around in his pockets until he found what he was looking for and pulled out his small pocket knife and an old credit card. Checking to make sure Lin was not standing right behind him, he worked the tip of the nail file on the knife into the lock and slid the card into the side of the door. He jiggled the card and the locking mechansim a few times until the card slid smoothly in and then he twisted the handle. He was in. "Strange how simple things can be," he thought. "Especially when they make things more complicated."
He went back to where he had left Lin and motioned to her to follow him. She rose, curious, and walked with him. If she was surprised that the building was open, she did not say anything, she just walked in and looked around the room that was now filtered with light from the risen moon. There was a desk against the ticket booth wall and a small chair. A short sofa hugged the wall with the long window, and a small table sat next to it with a couple of magazines on it and the day's newspaper. On the wall was a rack of tourist pamphlets, and in the corner was a coat rack and a small file cabinet. A small mud-colored blanket was thrown over the sofa, its inelegant lines heightened by the rather hideous aqua shade that could be made out even in the growing dark. The aqua sofa was accented with a hot pink throw-pillow. It appeared that someone was interested in making the place cheery, or at least adding some bright color to the otherwise entirely beige room. There was a box of crackers on the file cabinet and a stump from a loaf of brown bread. Roary encouraged Lin to use the blanket, such as it was, and tuck up on the sofa. He looked around for a way to make coffee and finally discovered the water closet hidden behind the coat rack. "Guess there isn't a lot of room here, or people generally wait for their needs 'til the get home," he thought. Once he opened the door he could see why the place was not prominently in view. The fixtures were definitely antique, and he had a suspicion that he would be in luck if at least the sink were in working order. They would definitely be camping tonight. He tried the tap. No luck. He stepped out and gave Lin the news. She took it calmly enough; at least they were inside, even if they had to take their business outside. He looked in the file cabinet, there was a bit more luck. He found a couple of glasses and a bottle of water. He brought the bread, glasses and water over to Lin and they made do with what they had as their meal for the evening.
Lin tried calling her mother again, but she had run out of battery. Apparently she would have to wait until they got into town to find a way to contact her. As she sat there, she could feel herself getting colder. Which really did not make sense. She was inside, in her coat and wrapped in a blanket. Surely she should be warming now? Yet as she breathed, she could see her breath in the air. She watched as Roary exhaled. There was no frost to his breath. He turned to look at her as the panic grew in her eyes.
They locked gazes. "Dont' ye dare do this to me again, Lin."
Her eyes began to glaze as her lips quivered and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
"Bloody hell," he growled. He was across the room and by her side in two steps. He pulled her roughly to her feet, but her gaze never varied. It was simply locked on something only she could see. He pulled the blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around her, rubbing her arms with it. He begged her to come out of it, to snap out of it. He thought about yelling at her, but gave that idea only a momentary glimmer.
"I dinna know who or what ye are, but ye need to go now," he said as he looked at Lin and yet knew he was no longer looking just at her. "She is not for ye. She has two fine young lads who need her and it's time for ye to go." He thought he could feel the faintest amount of heat in her breath. He began to talk to her of Ian and Sean and Fiona. He reminded her of everything he could think of about the boys and her mother. Her breath was definitely less frosted, yet she remained transfixed. The whiskey had helped in the Dun. He pulled out the flask and tipped it to her lips. A dram poured in and she swallowed. As the fire spread down her throat, her eyes swung to his and clung. She looked so desperate, so afraid. He was not sure what compelled him, he just acted. He pulled her to him and kissed her. Not a soft press of a friend or relative, not even a tentative kiss of a would-be lover, this was a ravaging kiss of one who has been gone too long. A kiss from the lost to the found. He moved his hands into her hair and his lips traveled across her face, kissing the line of her high cheekbone and traveling to her brow to settle one by one on those lovely troubled eyes, only to find themselves clinging again to her lips. He felt her settling into herself - no, that was not the right way to describe it - he felt her settling into him. She alighted onto him through her lips fusing into his. Her pulse increased and he could feel the heat build in her even through the blanket and the coat. He could feel the steady thrumming of her presence as it grew louder and stronger in the room. A low-pitched moan, almost like agony, hissed and a cold streak seared past his ear and around his body like a snaking tendril. Then there was nothing there but the two of them, nothing but the thrumming and the heat and the press of them together in the dark split only by the shafts of moonlight filtered through the shutters into the room.
Wrapped, entangled, enmeshed, enthralled - they found themselves somehow balanced on the small sofa. For her part all Lin could think, see, sense, taste or smell was him. He was everywhere and he was so indescribably enticing. Roary was beyond thought, he was all sensation, all pulsing need. Where and when he had lost the ability to think, he really was not sure. Perhaps it was at the point he knew she was actually kissing him back, or perhaps it was when he actually touched her fully for the first time. It didn't really matter. He was completely within that moment, that miniscule fraction of time, suspended in it. When at last they came together, meeting fully, filling and being fulfilled, it somehow went beyond what either of them intended. Perhaps it was just the moonlight, the setting or the sidhe playing in the shadows. But the full- bodied crescendo, the arc of the joining left them both spent and yet replete.
It was luck then that those same shutters cast the sun's opening glare directly into Roary's eye, urging him to wakefulness. As he glanced down at Lin's sleeping form and realized that the dream had been no dream, he thought, "But certainly not less than a dream after all that," and smiled. He rose and covered her with the blanket. Then he dressed quickly, not sure how the morning light would play out between them. He woke her gently. "I'm thinkin' it would be best if we were not here when they come back," he noted.
Lin looked up at him with a bit of a smile. "Well then, perhaps I should get ready to go." She dressed easily with no sign of caution in front of him, but she made no advances and said nothing about what had passed between them. "Shall we?" she dropped as she stepped out the door.
Roary ran a hand through his unruly mop and followed. He had no idea what had just past between them, if indeed anything had.
As the night settled in on them, it became clear that they would have to do more than just lean against the ticket booth. It would definitely be far too cold for Lin to stay outside. She had gained some color since retreating from the Dun, but her breath still came out with a slight frost to it and her skin still retained a bit of the blue tinge. She did, at least, seem able to carry on a conversation, and for that Roary was grateful. He left her leaning on the far side of the booth and toured around, looking for some way in.
"Bloody rot and damn," he muttered. The building was large enough to have a long window in the rear, but it was higher up than one would expect and not easy to reach. There was only one side door and then the main ticket window. He cast about for something that he could stand on to check to see if the window was locked but there was nothing he could see that would bear his weight. The ticket window was clearly locked - he could see the lock through the glass. That left the door. He could probably jimmy the lock, but he wasn't exactly sure he wanted Lin to know he knew how to do that sort of thing. He thought for a moment; he really didn't have much choice did he? He crouched down and took a good look at the lock. It was simple enough really, not any harder than the one on the cottage door. He fumbled around in his pockets until he found what he was looking for and pulled out his small pocket knife and an old credit card. Checking to make sure Lin was not standing right behind him, he worked the tip of the nail file on the knife into the lock and slid the card into the side of the door. He jiggled the card and the locking mechansim a few times until the card slid smoothly in and then he twisted the handle. He was in. "Strange how simple things can be," he thought. "Especially when they make things more complicated."
He went back to where he had left Lin and motioned to her to follow him. She rose, curious, and walked with him. If she was surprised that the building was open, she did not say anything, she just walked in and looked around the room that was now filtered with light from the risen moon. There was a desk against the ticket booth wall and a small chair. A short sofa hugged the wall with the long window, and a small table sat next to it with a couple of magazines on it and the day's newspaper. On the wall was a rack of tourist pamphlets, and in the corner was a coat rack and a small file cabinet. A small mud-colored blanket was thrown over the sofa, its inelegant lines heightened by the rather hideous aqua shade that could be made out even in the growing dark. The aqua sofa was accented with a hot pink throw-pillow. It appeared that someone was interested in making the place cheery, or at least adding some bright color to the otherwise entirely beige room. There was a box of crackers on the file cabinet and a stump from a loaf of brown bread. Roary encouraged Lin to use the blanket, such as it was, and tuck up on the sofa. He looked around for a way to make coffee and finally discovered the water closet hidden behind the coat rack. "Guess there isn't a lot of room here, or people generally wait for their needs 'til the get home," he thought. Once he opened the door he could see why the place was not prominently in view. The fixtures were definitely antique, and he had a suspicion that he would be in luck if at least the sink were in working order. They would definitely be camping tonight. He tried the tap. No luck. He stepped out and gave Lin the news. She took it calmly enough; at least they were inside, even if they had to take their business outside. He looked in the file cabinet, there was a bit more luck. He found a couple of glasses and a bottle of water. He brought the bread, glasses and water over to Lin and they made do with what they had as their meal for the evening.
Lin tried calling her mother again, but she had run out of battery. Apparently she would have to wait until they got into town to find a way to contact her. As she sat there, she could feel herself getting colder. Which really did not make sense. She was inside, in her coat and wrapped in a blanket. Surely she should be warming now? Yet as she breathed, she could see her breath in the air. She watched as Roary exhaled. There was no frost to his breath. He turned to look at her as the panic grew in her eyes.
They locked gazes. "Dont' ye dare do this to me again, Lin."
Her eyes began to glaze as her lips quivered and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
"Bloody hell," he growled. He was across the room and by her side in two steps. He pulled her roughly to her feet, but her gaze never varied. It was simply locked on something only she could see. He pulled the blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around her, rubbing her arms with it. He begged her to come out of it, to snap out of it. He thought about yelling at her, but gave that idea only a momentary glimmer.
"I dinna know who or what ye are, but ye need to go now," he said as he looked at Lin and yet knew he was no longer looking just at her. "She is not for ye. She has two fine young lads who need her and it's time for ye to go." He thought he could feel the faintest amount of heat in her breath. He began to talk to her of Ian and Sean and Fiona. He reminded her of everything he could think of about the boys and her mother. Her breath was definitely less frosted, yet she remained transfixed. The whiskey had helped in the Dun. He pulled out the flask and tipped it to her lips. A dram poured in and she swallowed. As the fire spread down her throat, her eyes swung to his and clung. She looked so desperate, so afraid. He was not sure what compelled him, he just acted. He pulled her to him and kissed her. Not a soft press of a friend or relative, not even a tentative kiss of a would-be lover, this was a ravaging kiss of one who has been gone too long. A kiss from the lost to the found. He moved his hands into her hair and his lips traveled across her face, kissing the line of her high cheekbone and traveling to her brow to settle one by one on those lovely troubled eyes, only to find themselves clinging again to her lips. He felt her settling into herself - no, that was not the right way to describe it - he felt her settling into him. She alighted onto him through her lips fusing into his. Her pulse increased and he could feel the heat build in her even through the blanket and the coat. He could feel the steady thrumming of her presence as it grew louder and stronger in the room. A low-pitched moan, almost like agony, hissed and a cold streak seared past his ear and around his body like a snaking tendril. Then there was nothing there but the two of them, nothing but the thrumming and the heat and the press of them together in the dark split only by the shafts of moonlight filtered through the shutters into the room.
Wrapped, entangled, enmeshed, enthralled - they found themselves somehow balanced on the small sofa. For her part all Lin could think, see, sense, taste or smell was him. He was everywhere and he was so indescribably enticing. Roary was beyond thought, he was all sensation, all pulsing need. Where and when he had lost the ability to think, he really was not sure. Perhaps it was at the point he knew she was actually kissing him back, or perhaps it was when he actually touched her fully for the first time. It didn't really matter. He was completely within that moment, that miniscule fraction of time, suspended in it. When at last they came together, meeting fully, filling and being fulfilled, it somehow went beyond what either of them intended. Perhaps it was just the moonlight, the setting or the sidhe playing in the shadows. But the full- bodied crescendo, the arc of the joining left them both spent and yet replete.
It was luck then that those same shutters cast the sun's opening glare directly into Roary's eye, urging him to wakefulness. As he glanced down at Lin's sleeping form and realized that the dream had been no dream, he thought, "But certainly not less than a dream after all that," and smiled. He rose and covered her with the blanket. Then he dressed quickly, not sure how the morning light would play out between them. He woke her gently. "I'm thinkin' it would be best if we were not here when they come back," he noted.
Lin looked up at him with a bit of a smile. "Well then, perhaps I should get ready to go." She dressed easily with no sign of caution in front of him, but she made no advances and said nothing about what had passed between them. "Shall we?" she dropped as she stepped out the door.
Roary ran a hand through his unruly mop and followed. He had no idea what had just past between them, if indeed anything had.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Participles and Portents (38)
Past and Presents
Fiona was happy to have the day to herself. She felt rough about the edges and needed some time alone. The wind was just as rough as it had been the last time she had visited. She tightened the twist of her scarf around her head and neck and began the stroll through the grounds. She kept her gaze purposefully fastened upon the rocky outcroppings and away from the other people that milled along. There were not that many visitors today, she noted. A good thing for her, probably not so good for Irish Tourism overall. She walked slowly, taking her time, letting her mind wander. The images flickered between laughing visages of the boys, to lingering hands entwined, to the gaping maw of the sea and back to the somewhat desolate view in front of her. How anything this truly lovely could seem so desolate she wasn't really sure, but that was how it appeared to her at this moment, in this time. She clutched her little pebble, rubbing it with her fingers as if somehow it would bring some light into the day. As she neared the "main attraction," she noticed that most of the people seemed to be drifting away. That was fine with her.
It must be nearing lunch time; in fact, she did feel a bit hungry herself. Perhaps she would just make a quick circuit or two and then find a place to eat. Lin and Roary would take some time getting back, but she could certainly get a ride into Doolin if necessary to occupy her time. She wandered up to the main entrance chamber, staying well back from the rope that kept unwanted visitors out. Peering into the darkness she wondered if she really had ever stepped beyond that portal, but she knew she had. If nothing else, that much she knew. She made her way slowly round the ancient tomb. The wind was a bit less fierce, almost playful as she made her way around. She found herself feeling a bit less troubled, not lighthearted by any means, just somehow less entrenched in the ache. As she closed on the third circuit she almost fell over an old man who seemed to just be sitting there in front of the portal. "Excuse me." she breathed. "I did not mean to stumble over you. I guess I was not watching where I was going."
"Seems more like ye' were lookin fer' where ye' ha' been and where ye are going to be all at the same time. Now that's enough to make a head spin no matter who ye' be, I be thinkin," said the man as he rose to his feet.
His comments would have startled her had his coutenance not been more startling. He looked almost exactly like someone from an old movie that Lin used to watch incessantly as a child. "Darby, Darby O'Gill," she thought. "I think that's the name of the man from the movie, maybe even part of the title."
"What ever are ye' lookin' at, lass?"
"Oh, forgive me again. I was just thinking that you reminded me of someone," Fiona mumbled hastily.
"People are always tellin' me that," said the man. "Now, what I am wonderin' is why a fine woman such as yerself would be out and about on such a day with no escort?"
Flustered, Fiona answered, "I am not really on my own. My daughter and our, well, our traveling companion went over to the Isle and I elected to stay here."
"Well, I can see ye' have a mind o' yer own. But I am thinkin' ye' haven't found what ye' were lookin' fer'. Have ye'?"
"Do I know you?" queried Fiona, trying to politely but firmly let the man know he was getting a bit too personal.
"No, not directly. But I have had the pleasure of meeting some of your kin. Great boyo, that Ian. Big dreams and all, mite too set on being heroic, if ye' ask me. But I don't suppose ye' did. As I was mentionin' I don't think ye' quite found what ye' were lookin for here. Gifts like that, well, they seldom get given twice, ye' know. It won't matter who you've got a link to, lass. But you might find another way in. A closer way. Seems to me there's a love of hounds and the like in your family. Ye' just might want to think on yer' own history a bit, that's all I have to say." He stuck a pipe that seemed to come from nowhere in his mouth and looked up at Fiona expectantly.
Her thoughts raced. "This is completely and totally, utterly absurd. When could this man have met Ian? And what would ever make him think Ian wanted to be a hero. Sure Ian loved heroic legends, but to be a hero?" Fiona looked back up. The little man was walking away. "Please don't go yet," she whispered.
The man turned, "I can't help ye' anymore than I have. It's not here. He's not here either. But you are, and you brought your past and your family's past with you. Try to let that guide you a bit, that and your little stone should do the trick." With that he started to walk away again. Then he turned, "Ah, and Fiona?"
"Yes?" she looked up, startled that he knew her name. "It's all real when you let it be." He took a few more steps and then was simply gone.
She stood there for a long time; she did not really notice the time passing until a garda came to ask her to leave.
She made her way back down the path, still filled with a total sense of disquiet. "What did he mean?" she kept asking herself. As she made her way past the final gates that closed behind her, she felt a buzz in her pocket. She pulled out her phone. "Great," she thought. "A text message. When would Lin learn that she simply did not like text messages. Phones were not meant to be typed on, they were for talking." She read the message and grew tense. She wasn't sure, but she had a good idea that the area they were at on the Isle was probably not surrounded by inns and they would have made the boat if something were not wrong. She certainly hoped they weren't hurt. It didn't make sense that they would choose to stay there unless they had found something, and if they had, they would have called. She noticed that the last of the garda was leaving the lot. She ran then to catch him. She was going to need that ride into Doolin after all.
Fiona was happy to have the day to herself. She felt rough about the edges and needed some time alone. The wind was just as rough as it had been the last time she had visited. She tightened the twist of her scarf around her head and neck and began the stroll through the grounds. She kept her gaze purposefully fastened upon the rocky outcroppings and away from the other people that milled along. There were not that many visitors today, she noted. A good thing for her, probably not so good for Irish Tourism overall. She walked slowly, taking her time, letting her mind wander. The images flickered between laughing visages of the boys, to lingering hands entwined, to the gaping maw of the sea and back to the somewhat desolate view in front of her. How anything this truly lovely could seem so desolate she wasn't really sure, but that was how it appeared to her at this moment, in this time. She clutched her little pebble, rubbing it with her fingers as if somehow it would bring some light into the day. As she neared the "main attraction," she noticed that most of the people seemed to be drifting away. That was fine with her.
It must be nearing lunch time; in fact, she did feel a bit hungry herself. Perhaps she would just make a quick circuit or two and then find a place to eat. Lin and Roary would take some time getting back, but she could certainly get a ride into Doolin if necessary to occupy her time. She wandered up to the main entrance chamber, staying well back from the rope that kept unwanted visitors out. Peering into the darkness she wondered if she really had ever stepped beyond that portal, but she knew she had. If nothing else, that much she knew. She made her way slowly round the ancient tomb. The wind was a bit less fierce, almost playful as she made her way around. She found herself feeling a bit less troubled, not lighthearted by any means, just somehow less entrenched in the ache. As she closed on the third circuit she almost fell over an old man who seemed to just be sitting there in front of the portal. "Excuse me." she breathed. "I did not mean to stumble over you. I guess I was not watching where I was going."
"Seems more like ye' were lookin fer' where ye' ha' been and where ye are going to be all at the same time. Now that's enough to make a head spin no matter who ye' be, I be thinkin," said the man as he rose to his feet.
His comments would have startled her had his coutenance not been more startling. He looked almost exactly like someone from an old movie that Lin used to watch incessantly as a child. "Darby, Darby O'Gill," she thought. "I think that's the name of the man from the movie, maybe even part of the title."
"What ever are ye' lookin' at, lass?"
"Oh, forgive me again. I was just thinking that you reminded me of someone," Fiona mumbled hastily.
"People are always tellin' me that," said the man. "Now, what I am wonderin' is why a fine woman such as yerself would be out and about on such a day with no escort?"
Flustered, Fiona answered, "I am not really on my own. My daughter and our, well, our traveling companion went over to the Isle and I elected to stay here."
"Well, I can see ye' have a mind o' yer own. But I am thinkin' ye' haven't found what ye' were lookin' fer'. Have ye'?"
"Do I know you?" queried Fiona, trying to politely but firmly let the man know he was getting a bit too personal.
"No, not directly. But I have had the pleasure of meeting some of your kin. Great boyo, that Ian. Big dreams and all, mite too set on being heroic, if ye' ask me. But I don't suppose ye' did. As I was mentionin' I don't think ye' quite found what ye' were lookin for here. Gifts like that, well, they seldom get given twice, ye' know. It won't matter who you've got a link to, lass. But you might find another way in. A closer way. Seems to me there's a love of hounds and the like in your family. Ye' just might want to think on yer' own history a bit, that's all I have to say." He stuck a pipe that seemed to come from nowhere in his mouth and looked up at Fiona expectantly.
Her thoughts raced. "This is completely and totally, utterly absurd. When could this man have met Ian? And what would ever make him think Ian wanted to be a hero. Sure Ian loved heroic legends, but to be a hero?" Fiona looked back up. The little man was walking away. "Please don't go yet," she whispered.
The man turned, "I can't help ye' anymore than I have. It's not here. He's not here either. But you are, and you brought your past and your family's past with you. Try to let that guide you a bit, that and your little stone should do the trick." With that he started to walk away again. Then he turned, "Ah, and Fiona?"
"Yes?" she looked up, startled that he knew her name. "It's all real when you let it be." He took a few more steps and then was simply gone.
She stood there for a long time; she did not really notice the time passing until a garda came to ask her to leave.
She made her way back down the path, still filled with a total sense of disquiet. "What did he mean?" she kept asking herself. As she made her way past the final gates that closed behind her, she felt a buzz in her pocket. She pulled out her phone. "Great," she thought. "A text message. When would Lin learn that she simply did not like text messages. Phones were not meant to be typed on, they were for talking." She read the message and grew tense. She wasn't sure, but she had a good idea that the area they were at on the Isle was probably not surrounded by inns and they would have made the boat if something were not wrong. She certainly hoped they weren't hurt. It didn't make sense that they would choose to stay there unless they had found something, and if they had, they would have called. She noticed that the last of the garda was leaving the lot. She ran then to catch him. She was going to need that ride into Doolin after all.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Participles and Portens (37)
Wet Stones and Old Places
Fiona mused as they drove. It did not seem all that probable that they would find much by backtracking. This wayward westerly wind did not seem like the best of ideas to her, yet they had determined to at least track down the major sites that Ian had listed in his journal as tied to the Sidhe. The first was a Cathair, also known as a Lis or Dun. For this they would be traveling back toward Poulnabrone for they needed to cross over to the Aran Isle to the fortress of Dun Aenghuis. She did not expect to find anything here. It was really a place of war and of man. She did not see how the Sidhe would choose to make this a lasting home. But the books said it was a possibility, and so they were to go. She wanted to stay behind on the shore. To pass the day at Poulnabrone. She knew it was unlikely, but she had hopes of another time in the stars. And if she couldn't have that, perhaps a brief glimmer of hope or a glimpse of unexpected knowledge that would aid her in this bizarre quest. They had long since given up on the harsh music favored by the boys and settled into the more peaceful sounds delivered by the music that swelled from Roary's selections. He was an odd man. His being here was rather odd actually, Fiona mused. He seemed so completely caught up in all that was happening, yet she couldn't really figure out why. What was so pressing to him in this matter? How was it personal to him? Other than his prior dealings with Aiofe, what compelled him to abandon his shop, his life, to take on this absurd quest? For absurd this quest must seem to anyone who was not actually in the midst of it. She tried to ease her shoulders down from their tightended and scrunched position. It was a bad habit she knew, that screwing up of the shoulders and curling in of the blades. It might feel that you were protecting yourself in some meaningless way, but all it really caused was a pain in the neck and eventually a migraine.
As they neared Doolin, she launched into her explanation for why they should split up and cover more territory. She was surprised when neither Lin nor Roary even questioned her decision. Roary just continued on to drop her off at her destination. They arranged a time to meet and promised to keep their cellulars on vibrate so they could communicate.
Then they were off, and she was left , alone. Alone. That was a very large word. She smiled briefly remembering something Ian had said when he was just four years old. He had come to her and said, "Nana, I know a big and little word," beaming with pride. She had said, "How is it possible for it to be both at the same time?" "Trust me, it just is. Do you want to know it?" "Of course," she had replied, not having any idea what to expect. When he had looked at her with his pure blue eyes and said very solemnly and clearly, "My word is Love," she had simply looked at him as if a sunbeam had turned into a shaft of pure gold right in front of her eyes. He had such a beautiful soul that boy, yes, he most certainly did. Now she had both a big and small word too, and hers was achingly less beautiful, but still potent, hers was, Alone. If she was thankful for anything at this time, it was that the boys were at least together. Perhaps Old King Lir had felt that same consolation, yet at the same time it left him completely bereft and naked to the abrasions of that word himself. Tired of contemplating, Fiona moved on to purchase her ticket and begin her investigations of the site.
The wind held a sharp chill on the vessel that carried them over to the Isle. Lin did not even contemplate brushing Roary away when he pulled her into the shelter of his arms and tucked her under his chin, blocking the majority of the gusts. She actually just savored the small feeling of safety it gave her, being braced and embraced by this man. Strange how he seemed to have her rythym down so well. There was a sort of click now that they were not at each other's throat that was almost too easy to slide into. It felt wonderful and yet made her a bit edgy just because it felt too easy. She felt a tug of wind on her hair and tucked a stray strand back behind an ear. Absently wiping a bit of wet from the corner of an eye, she pushed deeper into the cocoon he offered and gave herself over to the safety and warmth. There would be time enough for unease later.
They made land and he released her. Somehow the distance felt more wrong than right, but there was no way to change that without breaching walls that should not be breached, probably ever, so Lin said nothing. By mutual and unspoken assent they made their way to a tea shop and found something steamy to sip while they looked at the map. The Isle was not excessively big, and clearly the fortress was the major attraction. There was a bus that would take them to the ticket access to the fort. They made their way through the village noting the shops that sold the local goods, mostly sweaters and the like that the Isle was famous for and a few bed and breakfasts. The bus dropped them off and they paid the two-euro fee per visitor. The hike to Dun Aenghuis was steeply uphill and took roughly half an hour. As they toured the grounds they soon learned that this was not the military fortress that Fiona had assumed. It was a place of Druidic rites and religious ritual. They also found that a neolithic tomb was near the Lis itself. They wandered around the spacious grounds until, finally, Lin stopped. She was standing there, staring back at the mainland. She just stood for several moments, the wind tugging her hair and sending wild tendrils to dance behind her. Then she turned to him and asked, "Did they light the fires here?" He looked at her puzzled. They had not been talking about fires, he had no idea where the question came from. Then he looked at her again and he noticed that she seemed a bit farther away than usual, as if she was caught in a dream or locked in a memory. "I believe that the Druids here used to light the bonfires for the seasonal festivals, yes," he replied cautiously.
"I don't think we will find what we need here," said Lin. "I don't think our Sidhe were consulting much with the Druids. I think they were a lot less tame than that, older and more of the earth and the old ways than even the Druids were." Than she turned and walked away.
When Roary caught up with her, she was standing still beside the wall, the camera in her hand completely forgotten. He turned her toward him. Her face was so pale as to be almost ashen, lips bearing a decided tinge of blue. She was freezing, but it was not that cold out. When she breathed, the breath hung in the air with the cold she expelled from her lungs. Something was definitely not right. He gathered her to him and held her. He needed to get her somewhere else and quickly. He noted that it seemed most of the people were heading back toward the exit. It was time to leave; even the heartiest of the tourists seem to be winding their way back down the incline. He needed to warm Lin up before they started the chilling journey back. Just wanting to get her out of the wind for a moment, he turned her toward the opening in the Dun. He wondered if he could find anyone still there, any help at all.
A few kids, college-aged it looked like, were just leaving. One of them, noticing his apparent alarm, approached and stopped to ask Roary what was gong on. Roary noted that Lin seemed overly cold. The young man smiled, mumbled something about never leaving home without "it" and handed him a small flask. Roary opened it and gave it a quick sniff. It smelled like whiskey, and rather good whiskey at that. He asked the boy if he could buy it from him. The boy named a price, and Roary quickly paid it. The student looked at him curiously as the price was clearly over the top, but hurried off before he could change his mind.
Roary nodded a quick thank-you as the group moved off and took a silent Lin by the hand, urging her further into the curve of the fort and out of the wind. He took a sip from the flask. It tasted fine, not the best, but certainly not awful enough that she would choke on it. He pressed the flask to her lips and she took a small sip. Her eyes flashed a brief warning as her throat convulsed on the heat of the liquor. She sputtered and shook. He reached out and held her. What was he doing? They were going to get stuck here on the island over night and whatever had gotten to Lin was here. Why wasn't he rushing to get her away from this place? He turned to make for the exit, tugging her behind him. He eased her out the small doorway and walked with her as if she were china. She said not a word as they made their way in a stumble-footed progress down the incline and back to the gate. What had taken a half hour to climb took almost twice as much to travel in reverse. One would have thought that going down would have been faster. But Lin kept stopping and turning back, as if she were somehow linked to the Dun.
When they made it to the outside wall and the ticket area, his hopes were dashed. They had missed the last bus. There was no way they would be making it to the town in time for the ferry back to the mainland. He pulled her over into the relative safety of the ticket house frame and poured a bit more whiskey into her unwilling mouth. "Well, apparently that type of Irish fire put a dent in the cool of yer innards," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
Lin looked up blankly. "What is that stuff and what are you talking about, and while you are at it, why are we still here?"
Roary looked more than a bit bemused. "We are still here because you were a frigid mummy for about the last hour and we have missed our lovely bus and I believe our boat back to civilization. Don't you remember turning blue and silent on me?"
Lin stared at him. "No. And just what is my mother supposed to do while we are lazing about over here?"
"I don't think you quite get the situation. Your ma is likely to find a place to sleep just fine, and a warm one at that. We how'er' will have to make do wi' what is here. I doubt there's much to recommend, unless ye think ye have it in ye to hike it into town," he fairly snorted at her.
Lin ignored his indignant comments and flipped open her phone. She had a few bars anyway. She called Fiona, no answer. She left her a text message explaining the situation and that she should taxi to Doolin for the night; they would call when they got to shore in the morning. Lin looked up at Roary, tears in her eyes, "We really don't have time to do this, you know. We need to be finding whatever it takes to bring my boys home."
He broke when he saw her like that. He held the flask out to her and kneeled. "This is not the best tastin' but it will warm ye a bit," he offered. Lin took it from him and gingerly swallowed a few sips.
"We need to figure out what we are doin' now," he said.
Fiona mused as they drove. It did not seem all that probable that they would find much by backtracking. This wayward westerly wind did not seem like the best of ideas to her, yet they had determined to at least track down the major sites that Ian had listed in his journal as tied to the Sidhe. The first was a Cathair, also known as a Lis or Dun. For this they would be traveling back toward Poulnabrone for they needed to cross over to the Aran Isle to the fortress of Dun Aenghuis. She did not expect to find anything here. It was really a place of war and of man. She did not see how the Sidhe would choose to make this a lasting home. But the books said it was a possibility, and so they were to go. She wanted to stay behind on the shore. To pass the day at Poulnabrone. She knew it was unlikely, but she had hopes of another time in the stars. And if she couldn't have that, perhaps a brief glimmer of hope or a glimpse of unexpected knowledge that would aid her in this bizarre quest. They had long since given up on the harsh music favored by the boys and settled into the more peaceful sounds delivered by the music that swelled from Roary's selections. He was an odd man. His being here was rather odd actually, Fiona mused. He seemed so completely caught up in all that was happening, yet she couldn't really figure out why. What was so pressing to him in this matter? How was it personal to him? Other than his prior dealings with Aiofe, what compelled him to abandon his shop, his life, to take on this absurd quest? For absurd this quest must seem to anyone who was not actually in the midst of it. She tried to ease her shoulders down from their tightended and scrunched position. It was a bad habit she knew, that screwing up of the shoulders and curling in of the blades. It might feel that you were protecting yourself in some meaningless way, but all it really caused was a pain in the neck and eventually a migraine.
As they neared Doolin, she launched into her explanation for why they should split up and cover more territory. She was surprised when neither Lin nor Roary even questioned her decision. Roary just continued on to drop her off at her destination. They arranged a time to meet and promised to keep their cellulars on vibrate so they could communicate.
Then they were off, and she was left , alone. Alone. That was a very large word. She smiled briefly remembering something Ian had said when he was just four years old. He had come to her and said, "Nana, I know a big and little word," beaming with pride. She had said, "How is it possible for it to be both at the same time?" "Trust me, it just is. Do you want to know it?" "Of course," she had replied, not having any idea what to expect. When he had looked at her with his pure blue eyes and said very solemnly and clearly, "My word is Love," she had simply looked at him as if a sunbeam had turned into a shaft of pure gold right in front of her eyes. He had such a beautiful soul that boy, yes, he most certainly did. Now she had both a big and small word too, and hers was achingly less beautiful, but still potent, hers was, Alone. If she was thankful for anything at this time, it was that the boys were at least together. Perhaps Old King Lir had felt that same consolation, yet at the same time it left him completely bereft and naked to the abrasions of that word himself. Tired of contemplating, Fiona moved on to purchase her ticket and begin her investigations of the site.
The wind held a sharp chill on the vessel that carried them over to the Isle. Lin did not even contemplate brushing Roary away when he pulled her into the shelter of his arms and tucked her under his chin, blocking the majority of the gusts. She actually just savored the small feeling of safety it gave her, being braced and embraced by this man. Strange how he seemed to have her rythym down so well. There was a sort of click now that they were not at each other's throat that was almost too easy to slide into. It felt wonderful and yet made her a bit edgy just because it felt too easy. She felt a tug of wind on her hair and tucked a stray strand back behind an ear. Absently wiping a bit of wet from the corner of an eye, she pushed deeper into the cocoon he offered and gave herself over to the safety and warmth. There would be time enough for unease later.
They made land and he released her. Somehow the distance felt more wrong than right, but there was no way to change that without breaching walls that should not be breached, probably ever, so Lin said nothing. By mutual and unspoken assent they made their way to a tea shop and found something steamy to sip while they looked at the map. The Isle was not excessively big, and clearly the fortress was the major attraction. There was a bus that would take them to the ticket access to the fort. They made their way through the village noting the shops that sold the local goods, mostly sweaters and the like that the Isle was famous for and a few bed and breakfasts. The bus dropped them off and they paid the two-euro fee per visitor. The hike to Dun Aenghuis was steeply uphill and took roughly half an hour. As they toured the grounds they soon learned that this was not the military fortress that Fiona had assumed. It was a place of Druidic rites and religious ritual. They also found that a neolithic tomb was near the Lis itself. They wandered around the spacious grounds until, finally, Lin stopped. She was standing there, staring back at the mainland. She just stood for several moments, the wind tugging her hair and sending wild tendrils to dance behind her. Then she turned to him and asked, "Did they light the fires here?" He looked at her puzzled. They had not been talking about fires, he had no idea where the question came from. Then he looked at her again and he noticed that she seemed a bit farther away than usual, as if she was caught in a dream or locked in a memory. "I believe that the Druids here used to light the bonfires for the seasonal festivals, yes," he replied cautiously.
"I don't think we will find what we need here," said Lin. "I don't think our Sidhe were consulting much with the Druids. I think they were a lot less tame than that, older and more of the earth and the old ways than even the Druids were." Than she turned and walked away.
When Roary caught up with her, she was standing still beside the wall, the camera in her hand completely forgotten. He turned her toward him. Her face was so pale as to be almost ashen, lips bearing a decided tinge of blue. She was freezing, but it was not that cold out. When she breathed, the breath hung in the air with the cold she expelled from her lungs. Something was definitely not right. He gathered her to him and held her. He needed to get her somewhere else and quickly. He noted that it seemed most of the people were heading back toward the exit. It was time to leave; even the heartiest of the tourists seem to be winding their way back down the incline. He needed to warm Lin up before they started the chilling journey back. Just wanting to get her out of the wind for a moment, he turned her toward the opening in the Dun. He wondered if he could find anyone still there, any help at all.
A few kids, college-aged it looked like, were just leaving. One of them, noticing his apparent alarm, approached and stopped to ask Roary what was gong on. Roary noted that Lin seemed overly cold. The young man smiled, mumbled something about never leaving home without "it" and handed him a small flask. Roary opened it and gave it a quick sniff. It smelled like whiskey, and rather good whiskey at that. He asked the boy if he could buy it from him. The boy named a price, and Roary quickly paid it. The student looked at him curiously as the price was clearly over the top, but hurried off before he could change his mind.
Roary nodded a quick thank-you as the group moved off and took a silent Lin by the hand, urging her further into the curve of the fort and out of the wind. He took a sip from the flask. It tasted fine, not the best, but certainly not awful enough that she would choke on it. He pressed the flask to her lips and she took a small sip. Her eyes flashed a brief warning as her throat convulsed on the heat of the liquor. She sputtered and shook. He reached out and held her. What was he doing? They were going to get stuck here on the island over night and whatever had gotten to Lin was here. Why wasn't he rushing to get her away from this place? He turned to make for the exit, tugging her behind him. He eased her out the small doorway and walked with her as if she were china. She said not a word as they made their way in a stumble-footed progress down the incline and back to the gate. What had taken a half hour to climb took almost twice as much to travel in reverse. One would have thought that going down would have been faster. But Lin kept stopping and turning back, as if she were somehow linked to the Dun.
When they made it to the outside wall and the ticket area, his hopes were dashed. They had missed the last bus. There was no way they would be making it to the town in time for the ferry back to the mainland. He pulled her over into the relative safety of the ticket house frame and poured a bit more whiskey into her unwilling mouth. "Well, apparently that type of Irish fire put a dent in the cool of yer innards," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
Lin looked up blankly. "What is that stuff and what are you talking about, and while you are at it, why are we still here?"
Roary looked more than a bit bemused. "We are still here because you were a frigid mummy for about the last hour and we have missed our lovely bus and I believe our boat back to civilization. Don't you remember turning blue and silent on me?"
Lin stared at him. "No. And just what is my mother supposed to do while we are lazing about over here?"
"I don't think you quite get the situation. Your ma is likely to find a place to sleep just fine, and a warm one at that. We how'er' will have to make do wi' what is here. I doubt there's much to recommend, unless ye think ye have it in ye to hike it into town," he fairly snorted at her.
Lin ignored his indignant comments and flipped open her phone. She had a few bars anyway. She called Fiona, no answer. She left her a text message explaining the situation and that she should taxi to Doolin for the night; they would call when they got to shore in the morning. Lin looked up at Roary, tears in her eyes, "We really don't have time to do this, you know. We need to be finding whatever it takes to bring my boys home."
He broke when he saw her like that. He held the flask out to her and kneeled. "This is not the best tastin' but it will warm ye a bit," he offered. Lin took it from him and gingerly swallowed a few sips.
"We need to figure out what we are doin' now," he said.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Participles and Portents (36)
On Coming or Going
The pack stood in silence. The human hovered for a moment over the large carcass as if deciding if he had done the right thing. Then he moved off casually, gun gripped low in his hand and tipped toward the ground. If the hounds had been looking they might have noticed that the human was unusually moved by this loss. He leaned heavily against the tree that had sheltered him during the mating rituals, propping the gun and holding his hat in his hands. He had not expected to lose an old friend today. He supposed that the hound had come to mean that to him having been with him so long. "Damn if that young one isn't good though," he thought. "Something odd about that pair, but interesting too."
He glanced up watching as the other hounds surrounded the body. He noticed that the blonde hound had approached and not a member of the pack had denied him. That was also odd.
Ian was drawn to the body. He needed to understand why the man had killed the hound. He half expected the pack to challenge him, but it appeared that there was no fight left after all that had just happened. Sean and the she-hound seemed wrapped in their after-glow or stunned by the ending. Either way, neither of them were doing more than heaving next to each other and looking at the scene as it unfolded. He couldn't really blame them. Especially Sean, that had to be quite a way to become a man, or hound, or whatever that rite of passage was for him in this sense.
He was close enough now to see the older hound's body. He circled it slowly. He could see where the bullet had gone through the head. It was a clean kill, so the hound had not suffered from that. When he walked full to the other side he finally discovered why the human had killed him. The hound's rear leg was cocked off at a very odd angle and the bone splintered and poking through just above what he would think of as a knee if it pointed the right direction. The man had pulled that trigger because the hound could not be saved. When Sean had thrown him into the tree, that leg had literally shattered. It was a humane gesture as things went, he supposed. He wondered what the proper respect would be for a hound like this. In the old tales the hounds that were favored by the Chieftains were buried in the mounds or later burned at pyre in recognition of their status and their service. He supposed this human was no Chieftain, but it seemed like this hound was a leader in his own right.
Ian turned and began to dig. After a while the younger hound that had challenged the now deceased one joined him. It appeared that what he was doing was making sense to at least one member of the pack. The two hounds dug together until they tired. When they stepped back two others stepped in and continued the digging. And so it continued.
The human watched as the blonde began what could only be some arcane rite of passage from the old days of Chieftains and the Fiannas. He was amazed when his pack joined in. He was even more stunned when the young grey that had bested his hound came over with the she-hound and the two of them also helped in the digging. Finally the hounds all stood back from what was now obviously a grave. They stood in a line and waited. The human took his cue and walked slowly over. He carefully lifted the large hound and walked him into the grave, easing him down. When he walked out, he picked up a handful of dirt and spread it out over the hound. As he did so, the entire pack and the two new hounds began to bay. The sound rose up through the wood, rich and thick and mournful. He moved back a few paces and the pack fell to putting the dirt back in its place.
When the old hound was laid fully to rest, the pack circled and lay down in a ring around the new dirt. Apparently they would be there for the night. "That was the way of the old custom?" he wondered. "It's obviously the way mine will be resting this night. May they protect your travels well, old friend." He moved off to find his gear and settle for the night himself.
The pack stood in silence. The human hovered for a moment over the large carcass as if deciding if he had done the right thing. Then he moved off casually, gun gripped low in his hand and tipped toward the ground. If the hounds had been looking they might have noticed that the human was unusually moved by this loss. He leaned heavily against the tree that had sheltered him during the mating rituals, propping the gun and holding his hat in his hands. He had not expected to lose an old friend today. He supposed that the hound had come to mean that to him having been with him so long. "Damn if that young one isn't good though," he thought. "Something odd about that pair, but interesting too."
He glanced up watching as the other hounds surrounded the body. He noticed that the blonde hound had approached and not a member of the pack had denied him. That was also odd.
Ian was drawn to the body. He needed to understand why the man had killed the hound. He half expected the pack to challenge him, but it appeared that there was no fight left after all that had just happened. Sean and the she-hound seemed wrapped in their after-glow or stunned by the ending. Either way, neither of them were doing more than heaving next to each other and looking at the scene as it unfolded. He couldn't really blame them. Especially Sean, that had to be quite a way to become a man, or hound, or whatever that rite of passage was for him in this sense.
He was close enough now to see the older hound's body. He circled it slowly. He could see where the bullet had gone through the head. It was a clean kill, so the hound had not suffered from that. When he walked full to the other side he finally discovered why the human had killed him. The hound's rear leg was cocked off at a very odd angle and the bone splintered and poking through just above what he would think of as a knee if it pointed the right direction. The man had pulled that trigger because the hound could not be saved. When Sean had thrown him into the tree, that leg had literally shattered. It was a humane gesture as things went, he supposed. He wondered what the proper respect would be for a hound like this. In the old tales the hounds that were favored by the Chieftains were buried in the mounds or later burned at pyre in recognition of their status and their service. He supposed this human was no Chieftain, but it seemed like this hound was a leader in his own right.
Ian turned and began to dig. After a while the younger hound that had challenged the now deceased one joined him. It appeared that what he was doing was making sense to at least one member of the pack. The two hounds dug together until they tired. When they stepped back two others stepped in and continued the digging. And so it continued.
The human watched as the blonde began what could only be some arcane rite of passage from the old days of Chieftains and the Fiannas. He was amazed when his pack joined in. He was even more stunned when the young grey that had bested his hound came over with the she-hound and the two of them also helped in the digging. Finally the hounds all stood back from what was now obviously a grave. They stood in a line and waited. The human took his cue and walked slowly over. He carefully lifted the large hound and walked him into the grave, easing him down. When he walked out, he picked up a handful of dirt and spread it out over the hound. As he did so, the entire pack and the two new hounds began to bay. The sound rose up through the wood, rich and thick and mournful. He moved back a few paces and the pack fell to putting the dirt back in its place.
When the old hound was laid fully to rest, the pack circled and lay down in a ring around the new dirt. Apparently they would be there for the night. "That was the way of the old custom?" he wondered. "It's obviously the way mine will be resting this night. May they protect your travels well, old friend." He moved off to find his gear and settle for the night himself.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Participles and Portents (35)
Sticks and Mud
The air was heavy with the scent of it. The two hounds stood, backs arched, noses in the wind. "What is it?' wondered Sean. "I don't know," replied Ian, "but it is not good. I think we should just keep moving, and quietly." They padded through the brush as softly as possible, scenting for signs of trouble, listening for sounds that would mean the forest was at peace with itself. They left the water's edge far behind them, traveling deep into the interior of the woods. The canopy was heavily laced above them, with only tiny shafts of light spearing through to break up the darkness and bring growth to the green carpet beneath. Here was a world of lichen, mushroom and heavy earthy scents; finally the sounds of the woods were back. The aching silence was gone and in its place was the steady heartbeat of the natives.
Sean caught the scent of a rabbit nearby. "I'm hungry," he noted.
"Not yet," replied Ian. "I just don't feel quite right yet."
"This place smells fine," said Sean. "The other animals are fine, well, except those that have scented us."
"You do smell pretty loud," cracked Ian.
Sean lifted his large paw to cuff Ian and what ensued was a brief and spirited scuffle. The tension they had been carrying for the last couple of hours seemed to lift as they rolled and played in the soft moss carpet.
"Okay, let's hunt," growled Ian. "Though all we have ever caught is fish. I am not sure you can thump a rabbit on the tail and I can just catch it."
"I am sure we can work out something," replied Sean.
They let instinct take over then, working together to follow scent trails until they reached a burrow. Ian circled, trying to find the rear entrance. "Try howling into the entrance or pushing your paw in. Maybe I can catch one as they come out the rear."
"Why don't you push your paw in?" asked Sean. "I am in no hurry to have mine bitten by some rabid rabbit."
"Just howl then,"
"If I howl, then the whole forest will know we are here," said Sean.
"Do you have a better idea?"
"No."
"Well?"
"Bloody H," and then he let out a long, low ominous sounding howl with his nose pressed up next to the burrow entrance. A rabbit paw shot out and clawed him swift and hard right in the snout. He yipped and backed up. Angry, he grabbed a stick with his teeth and shoved it into the burrow, stirring it about. There was a rustle of sound from within. "Get ready."
Two small rabbits shot from the rear in a quick dash, followed by a larger rabbit. Ian was caught off guard by the speed of the small ones, but managed to get his teeth into the back leg of the last one. "Come help."
Sean raced around in time to see the larger rabbit kick Ian with its free rear leg. It caught him hard and square just under the eye, and blood welled up where the nails had raked his cheek. Sean moved in and clamped down on the rabbit's neck, twisting quickly. The ugly snap surprised him as much as Ian and they both dropped their quarry.
"Your nose is bleeding."
"So is your cheek."
"Not much of a meal for that much effort. I think I prefer fishing."
Just then Sean caught movement from the corner of his eye coming from the rear of the burrow. Another rabbit was slowly making its way out. It was obviously lame. He watched as it labored to make its way out. He considered for a moment letting it go. But Ian reacted first, turning and catching it up by the neck, twisting as he had done and creating that quick and brutal snap.
"Probably stringy with age, but at least enough for both of us now."
Sean looked at his brother for a moment. He wondered if Ian had even considered letting the old rabbit go. Then he let the thought slide. It was time to eat. They picked up their kill and moved to a comfortable site under a large tree. The rabbits took no more than a few minutes to disappear. The fur was a nuisance, though the bones were rather fun to crunch. Hunger satisfied. the hounds sat for a moment, at one with themselves and the woods.
"That is new," said Sean. "I have never scented anything like that before, have you?"
"No, but I know what it means, and I think we should try to avoid it."
"Avoid it? Are you crazy? That she-hound is calling me, and I am going to find her," replied Sean with a relish that made Ian distinctly uneasy.
Sean loped off through the woods at a steady pace. He clearly had the scent though they were not that close. Ian followed, his head filled with heat and feelings of strength, his strides starting to feel more like the pounding of his blood in his veins. He could only imagine what this felt like to Sean. It was a very heady feeling and one that was hard to suppress, that is, if one even wanted to. He wasn't quite sure why he did.
As more of the woods gave way to their pursuit, Ian noticed that Sean did not even turn a head at the easy prey that ran across his path as he tracked his new intent. It was a good thing they had eaten recently or he might have been tempted to hunt rather than keep track of his brother. No, that wasn't really true, he was drawn to this scent himself. What he would do when he got there, well, that was another story. At least he hoped it was a different story. The scent was getting stronger now, wafting over the two hounds in waves, making their nerves stand on end and triggering the release of some sort of hormone that gave them an extra edginess. Sean growled low in his throat and sent Ian a glance that clearly meant, "Stay out of my way." Ian, in turn, found himself unable to control the responding growl that indicated Sean would have to mind his own distance.
They closed in on a small clearing, and there she was. She was beautiful. Tall and graceful with a long lean back and full haunch. She was a brindle-colored wolfhound with wildly swirled hazelnut eyes. The fullness of her heat was on her and there were already two male hounds facing off in the battle to have her. Their senses tuned to the she-hound and the battle raging over her, neither Ian nor Sean paid any notice to the man standing in the copse just a few paces away patiently watching the scene unfold. He, however, had noticed them and was intrigued to see the two males traveling together. He lit a pipe and leaned into a tree, his gun propped beside him. The two wolfhounds bore down on each other, the largest of the two rearing up to wrap his foreleg over the other's neck and bear him down, gripping an ear in his teeth. He pulled savagely at the ear, drawing blood but releasing before any real damage was done. The object was to win the lady, not harm his pack-mate. The smaller hound lunged upward from his lower position, nipping at the chest of the larger hound and thrusting his hind legs trying to throw it off. He caught only the smallest fraction of the larger hound's haunches, a glancing blow. It was enough to get himself clear and upright again. The two hounds circled, the smaller knowing already that he was beaten, yet unwilling to just walk off so soon. He needed to make a good showing here if he was to mate at all this season. The larger hound, as if sensing this, tucked his head giving the smaller an opportunity to charge and grab him by the neck. The younger one seized the opportunity, scoring the coup, just before the larger one managed to somehow flick his neck and kick upward with his front joints at the same time, causing the smaller hound to loosen his jaw grip, expel all his breath, and fall heaving to the ground. The match was over.
The larger hound began to stride over to the panting she-hound. He was taking his time, strutting with pride. Ian tried to reason with Sean, but there was no stopping him. The young grey leapt from the wood and intercepted the larger hound just feet before he reached the female. To say that he had angered the older hound would have been an understatement. The hound was furious and made to attack on the spot. "Is it not custom to give ground to the female?" asked Sean. Being called on courtesy by this new and unknown upstart only made matters worse. The larger hound reeled and moved back to the fighting area. Heaving with anger, he pawed the earth, waiting as Sean took his time to pad over. The human was standing now, watching this new turn of events with evident interest. "Why is the young pup taking his time?" he wondered. "Usually they race right in and get the snot whipped out of them."
By the time Sean was in position, the larger hound was practically frothing at the mouth with anger and frustration at being waylaid on his way to be with the she-hound. No sooner had Sean stepped into the ring than he charged him, his large golden eyes fixed on Sean's in pure malice. As he came within the last foot, he dropped his head to move into biting position, and that is when Sean simply moved a few paces out from his prior position. The larger hound's teeth smacked together painfully as they came down through thin air. He felt the weight of the younger, though not necessarily much smaller, hound fall on his back. It was not a standard move. It felt like he was trapped under a tree. In fact, Sean had thrown what he thought would have been called a "pile-driver" in wrestling terms back home, though he wasn't quite sure he had pulled the elbow part off correctly since he didn't really have elbows any more. Sean felt the reassuring gasp and grunt as the older hound hit the ground and the wind sailed out of him. He moved quickly, getting a nip in on the ear as he had seen in the earlier fight, and then stood back and waited for the larger hound to get to his feet.
Ian stepped closer to the fighting ground. "What is Sean doing?" he wondered. "He could have ended it there." The human pressed closer as well. This was a most unusual fight. Was the new dog being chivalrous? Was that really a wrestling move he'd just witnessed? The larger hound rose, not at all certain about what was happening. He knew he stood a good chance of losing this fight and if he did, then this newcomer would probably take on leadership of the pack, if the human let him stay. He couldn't have that. He didn't really care who led, as long as they cared about the pack. He didn't know this newcomer though and that meant he had to fight to protect the pack and not just his position in it. He did the only thing he could think of, he went for a throat attack. They weren't really allowed in these forms of combat where all you were doing was fighting for dominance but if he had to kill to keep balance, he would. Sean read the change in the wolf hound's stance. He was going to be leaping at him. It did not seem likely that he was going to try and jump over him. From all the fights he had seen on the Nature Channel, that meant a throat attack. He could only think of one thing to do. If he could do it in this body.
The hound began his charge. Moving slowly at first, he waited until he saw the young hound rise to his rear-legs and then he increased his speed to initiate the leap and the throat attack. As soon as the larger hound increased speed, Sean reversed his position, rolling down onto his shoulders and thrusting his rear legs as high as they could go. The larger hound was already in mid-leap when he saw there would be no throat to tear. The area just below his chest and above his stomach caught on the up-lifting back paws of the younger hound as they rose higher into the air and he was thrown full body into the tree behind them. A loud snap was heard as the larger hound's body hit the tree and then silence.
Ian went to Sean. He circled him. There were no marks; he was not injured. For a moment the other hounds watched, wondering if another battle was in the making. But Ian simply walked away. The human took note of this and pondered its significance. Again, he had never seen anything like it. Sean shook himself clear of the dust and debris from the fight and loped over to the she-hound. She was tremoring, so deep was the need that was on her. He could feel it rising in himself. They stared briefly into each other's eyes and then moved into nature's rhythmic dance.
Sean was taken to a place within himself he did not know existed. It was fevered, it was frenetic, it was exalted and it was, in the end, infinitely calm. While he could not say he felt replenished--indeed he felt emptied--he could say he felt serene. Just as he floated through this sensation he heard a sharp, harsh crack explode through the evening. The scent of sulphur flooded his senses. He looked up to see a human pulling a gun barrel up from the ground. There before him lay the remains of the hound he had bested for this moment of bliss.
The air was heavy with the scent of it. The two hounds stood, backs arched, noses in the wind. "What is it?' wondered Sean. "I don't know," replied Ian, "but it is not good. I think we should just keep moving, and quietly." They padded through the brush as softly as possible, scenting for signs of trouble, listening for sounds that would mean the forest was at peace with itself. They left the water's edge far behind them, traveling deep into the interior of the woods. The canopy was heavily laced above them, with only tiny shafts of light spearing through to break up the darkness and bring growth to the green carpet beneath. Here was a world of lichen, mushroom and heavy earthy scents; finally the sounds of the woods were back. The aching silence was gone and in its place was the steady heartbeat of the natives.
Sean caught the scent of a rabbit nearby. "I'm hungry," he noted.
"Not yet," replied Ian. "I just don't feel quite right yet."
"This place smells fine," said Sean. "The other animals are fine, well, except those that have scented us."
"You do smell pretty loud," cracked Ian.
Sean lifted his large paw to cuff Ian and what ensued was a brief and spirited scuffle. The tension they had been carrying for the last couple of hours seemed to lift as they rolled and played in the soft moss carpet.
"Okay, let's hunt," growled Ian. "Though all we have ever caught is fish. I am not sure you can thump a rabbit on the tail and I can just catch it."
"I am sure we can work out something," replied Sean.
They let instinct take over then, working together to follow scent trails until they reached a burrow. Ian circled, trying to find the rear entrance. "Try howling into the entrance or pushing your paw in. Maybe I can catch one as they come out the rear."
"Why don't you push your paw in?" asked Sean. "I am in no hurry to have mine bitten by some rabid rabbit."
"Just howl then,"
"If I howl, then the whole forest will know we are here," said Sean.
"Do you have a better idea?"
"No."
"Well?"
"Bloody H," and then he let out a long, low ominous sounding howl with his nose pressed up next to the burrow entrance. A rabbit paw shot out and clawed him swift and hard right in the snout. He yipped and backed up. Angry, he grabbed a stick with his teeth and shoved it into the burrow, stirring it about. There was a rustle of sound from within. "Get ready."
Two small rabbits shot from the rear in a quick dash, followed by a larger rabbit. Ian was caught off guard by the speed of the small ones, but managed to get his teeth into the back leg of the last one. "Come help."
Sean raced around in time to see the larger rabbit kick Ian with its free rear leg. It caught him hard and square just under the eye, and blood welled up where the nails had raked his cheek. Sean moved in and clamped down on the rabbit's neck, twisting quickly. The ugly snap surprised him as much as Ian and they both dropped their quarry.
"Your nose is bleeding."
"So is your cheek."
"Not much of a meal for that much effort. I think I prefer fishing."
Just then Sean caught movement from the corner of his eye coming from the rear of the burrow. Another rabbit was slowly making its way out. It was obviously lame. He watched as it labored to make its way out. He considered for a moment letting it go. But Ian reacted first, turning and catching it up by the neck, twisting as he had done and creating that quick and brutal snap.
"Probably stringy with age, but at least enough for both of us now."
Sean looked at his brother for a moment. He wondered if Ian had even considered letting the old rabbit go. Then he let the thought slide. It was time to eat. They picked up their kill and moved to a comfortable site under a large tree. The rabbits took no more than a few minutes to disappear. The fur was a nuisance, though the bones were rather fun to crunch. Hunger satisfied. the hounds sat for a moment, at one with themselves and the woods.
"That is new," said Sean. "I have never scented anything like that before, have you?"
"No, but I know what it means, and I think we should try to avoid it."
"Avoid it? Are you crazy? That she-hound is calling me, and I am going to find her," replied Sean with a relish that made Ian distinctly uneasy.
Sean loped off through the woods at a steady pace. He clearly had the scent though they were not that close. Ian followed, his head filled with heat and feelings of strength, his strides starting to feel more like the pounding of his blood in his veins. He could only imagine what this felt like to Sean. It was a very heady feeling and one that was hard to suppress, that is, if one even wanted to. He wasn't quite sure why he did.
As more of the woods gave way to their pursuit, Ian noticed that Sean did not even turn a head at the easy prey that ran across his path as he tracked his new intent. It was a good thing they had eaten recently or he might have been tempted to hunt rather than keep track of his brother. No, that wasn't really true, he was drawn to this scent himself. What he would do when he got there, well, that was another story. At least he hoped it was a different story. The scent was getting stronger now, wafting over the two hounds in waves, making their nerves stand on end and triggering the release of some sort of hormone that gave them an extra edginess. Sean growled low in his throat and sent Ian a glance that clearly meant, "Stay out of my way." Ian, in turn, found himself unable to control the responding growl that indicated Sean would have to mind his own distance.
They closed in on a small clearing, and there she was. She was beautiful. Tall and graceful with a long lean back and full haunch. She was a brindle-colored wolfhound with wildly swirled hazelnut eyes. The fullness of her heat was on her and there were already two male hounds facing off in the battle to have her. Their senses tuned to the she-hound and the battle raging over her, neither Ian nor Sean paid any notice to the man standing in the copse just a few paces away patiently watching the scene unfold. He, however, had noticed them and was intrigued to see the two males traveling together. He lit a pipe and leaned into a tree, his gun propped beside him. The two wolfhounds bore down on each other, the largest of the two rearing up to wrap his foreleg over the other's neck and bear him down, gripping an ear in his teeth. He pulled savagely at the ear, drawing blood but releasing before any real damage was done. The object was to win the lady, not harm his pack-mate. The smaller hound lunged upward from his lower position, nipping at the chest of the larger hound and thrusting his hind legs trying to throw it off. He caught only the smallest fraction of the larger hound's haunches, a glancing blow. It was enough to get himself clear and upright again. The two hounds circled, the smaller knowing already that he was beaten, yet unwilling to just walk off so soon. He needed to make a good showing here if he was to mate at all this season. The larger hound, as if sensing this, tucked his head giving the smaller an opportunity to charge and grab him by the neck. The younger one seized the opportunity, scoring the coup, just before the larger one managed to somehow flick his neck and kick upward with his front joints at the same time, causing the smaller hound to loosen his jaw grip, expel all his breath, and fall heaving to the ground. The match was over.
The larger hound began to stride over to the panting she-hound. He was taking his time, strutting with pride. Ian tried to reason with Sean, but there was no stopping him. The young grey leapt from the wood and intercepted the larger hound just feet before he reached the female. To say that he had angered the older hound would have been an understatement. The hound was furious and made to attack on the spot. "Is it not custom to give ground to the female?" asked Sean. Being called on courtesy by this new and unknown upstart only made matters worse. The larger hound reeled and moved back to the fighting area. Heaving with anger, he pawed the earth, waiting as Sean took his time to pad over. The human was standing now, watching this new turn of events with evident interest. "Why is the young pup taking his time?" he wondered. "Usually they race right in and get the snot whipped out of them."
By the time Sean was in position, the larger hound was practically frothing at the mouth with anger and frustration at being waylaid on his way to be with the she-hound. No sooner had Sean stepped into the ring than he charged him, his large golden eyes fixed on Sean's in pure malice. As he came within the last foot, he dropped his head to move into biting position, and that is when Sean simply moved a few paces out from his prior position. The larger hound's teeth smacked together painfully as they came down through thin air. He felt the weight of the younger, though not necessarily much smaller, hound fall on his back. It was not a standard move. It felt like he was trapped under a tree. In fact, Sean had thrown what he thought would have been called a "pile-driver" in wrestling terms back home, though he wasn't quite sure he had pulled the elbow part off correctly since he didn't really have elbows any more. Sean felt the reassuring gasp and grunt as the older hound hit the ground and the wind sailed out of him. He moved quickly, getting a nip in on the ear as he had seen in the earlier fight, and then stood back and waited for the larger hound to get to his feet.
Ian stepped closer to the fighting ground. "What is Sean doing?" he wondered. "He could have ended it there." The human pressed closer as well. This was a most unusual fight. Was the new dog being chivalrous? Was that really a wrestling move he'd just witnessed? The larger hound rose, not at all certain about what was happening. He knew he stood a good chance of losing this fight and if he did, then this newcomer would probably take on leadership of the pack, if the human let him stay. He couldn't have that. He didn't really care who led, as long as they cared about the pack. He didn't know this newcomer though and that meant he had to fight to protect the pack and not just his position in it. He did the only thing he could think of, he went for a throat attack. They weren't really allowed in these forms of combat where all you were doing was fighting for dominance but if he had to kill to keep balance, he would. Sean read the change in the wolf hound's stance. He was going to be leaping at him. It did not seem likely that he was going to try and jump over him. From all the fights he had seen on the Nature Channel, that meant a throat attack. He could only think of one thing to do. If he could do it in this body.
The hound began his charge. Moving slowly at first, he waited until he saw the young hound rise to his rear-legs and then he increased his speed to initiate the leap and the throat attack. As soon as the larger hound increased speed, Sean reversed his position, rolling down onto his shoulders and thrusting his rear legs as high as they could go. The larger hound was already in mid-leap when he saw there would be no throat to tear. The area just below his chest and above his stomach caught on the up-lifting back paws of the younger hound as they rose higher into the air and he was thrown full body into the tree behind them. A loud snap was heard as the larger hound's body hit the tree and then silence.
Ian went to Sean. He circled him. There were no marks; he was not injured. For a moment the other hounds watched, wondering if another battle was in the making. But Ian simply walked away. The human took note of this and pondered its significance. Again, he had never seen anything like it. Sean shook himself clear of the dust and debris from the fight and loped over to the she-hound. She was tremoring, so deep was the need that was on her. He could feel it rising in himself. They stared briefly into each other's eyes and then moved into nature's rhythmic dance.
Sean was taken to a place within himself he did not know existed. It was fevered, it was frenetic, it was exalted and it was, in the end, infinitely calm. While he could not say he felt replenished--indeed he felt emptied--he could say he felt serene. Just as he floated through this sensation he heard a sharp, harsh crack explode through the evening. The scent of sulphur flooded his senses. He looked up to see a human pulling a gun barrel up from the ground. There before him lay the remains of the hound he had bested for this moment of bliss.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Participles and Portents (34)
Morning Grog
With morning came no relief. Fiona shifted uneasily in the bed, not quite ready to admit to being awake. She dreaded opening her eyes to the new day and the continued nightmare that had become her reality. Slowly and with careful precision she pried one eye open just enough to reach out and grasp the star-shaped pebble that rested on the bed table next to her. Holding it tightly in her palm, hand against her heart, she lay on ber back letting the light tease her closed lids. She wasn't quite sure why, but this gave her some measure of peace. She just had to believe that the occupants of the place that had given her this gift were not capable of such terrible mischief that they would take her grandsons away forever. She knew there was a way to unlock this puzzle. With a line of grim determination set in her forehead, she slowly rose and put on her wrapper and slippers. With her pebble tucked safely in the chest pocket of the robe, she made her way out to the kitchen to start up some coffee. She had decided that she would initiate the day with a bit more American ritual than they were used to, just to see if it would help jog them into more actionable thoughts. She paused for a moment when she saw Roary on the sofa in front of the now spent fire. He was definitely too big for that piece of furniture. One leg was thrown up over the back and the other dangled precariously off the side, his head thrown back at an odd slant and his arms fully distended, one pointing over his head and the other trailing the ground. He looked like he was just untangling himself from a wrestling match, especially with the blankets all askew. "At least he's asleep," she thought, slipping as quietly as she could into the kitchen and starting on the coffee. She put that on to brew and mixed up a batch of biscuits. She took her time with the ingredients, enjoying the kneading of the dough before she rolled and cut and spaced them out for the baking.
As she put them in the oven, Lin joined her in the kitchen. Fiona put a finger to her lips and pointed at the sleeping figure on the sofa. Lin suppressed a laugh and whispered, "Doen't look like a bomb could wake him." Fiona had to stifle her own giggled response.
The two women set about the making of the rest of the morning's repast. Lin cooked up rashers of bacon, while Fiona sliced and arranged a fruit tray for the table. "Probably time to wake him to see if he would like any eggs," said Lin. "Not me," replied Fiona. "Never know how a man's going to take to being shaken awake." "In that case, if the scents of coffee and bacon don't work, he can eat it all cold," said Lin, as Roary began to stir. He managed to make it to the table as the plated dishes were being served up. Fiona set a mug of coffee in front of him. She eyed him as if she expected him to ask for tea, but Roary said nothing, just added a bit of milk and drank the coffee as if it were ambrosia. "Lo' this is good," he mumbled. They filled their plates and ate in relative yet companionable silence.
Afterwards, as Roary helped Lin clear the plates and insisted on helping wash up, they began to discuss their plans. It seemed there was a lot of ground to cover. They each had places they wanted to check out and while some continued along the West coast, others would take them to the Southern edges, and if followed, one would lead fairly far to the North. Roary also wanted to do some additional research that might help them settle on which places would be the best to go to first. Finally, they decided that they would take the time to go to his shop and pull what they could in terms of additional books, but going into Dublin to try and access more records was out unless they really ran dry. They all agreed that the keys had to be somewhere in what the boys had already keyed into and somehow must connect to the Sidhe. It was agreed then that they would start out heading West and then move South, rather in a zigzag pattern, covering as many of the likely and perhaps unlikely sites as they could and looking up the known people who had dealings with the Sidhe in the towns they crossed through. It was likely that this last might be a complete waste of time, but you never really knew. Most people had dismissed Roary's experiences as childhood dreams and, had they known of the more recent encounter, would have put it down to a bit too much of the drink. Yet there was a possibility they might find someone who could point them in the right direction. Of course, they would also be looking for two hounds who were not quite hounds as well. It would do Lin's heart a world of good to have the boys with her, even if they couldn't talk to her in their present form.
They had packed as lightly as they could not knowing how long they would be gone when it occurred to Lin that they had a serious issue. What were they going to do about the swan? They could not just go off and leave it alone. All of their efforts would be for nothing if the poor thing wasn't seen to. It was still not well enough to brave the waves and try to feed itself, let alone fly. They looked at each other for long moments. It was clear that no one wanted to stay behind; perhaps even clearer was that they really could not afford to have anyone stay behind. They would need all of their combined knowedge and fortitude to fathom this riddle and do so quickly. But what could they do for the bird? In the end it was Fiona who came up with the suggestion. Why not ask the barkeep if he would help? He knew all of them. He certainly knew the history, myth and legend of the area, and he seemed to have a big heart. They could tell him the whole story or just tell him they needed to go after the boys and there was the sick bird needing his help.
They opted to only explain that they needed to go after the boys. In their version, the two youngsters had gotten it into their heads to run off to Dublin and they needed to go find them before they got into all sorts of trouble. Roary was going with them to help in the search as he knew the boys, too, and could expand the field. If Padraic was not quite taken with the story, he did not comment on it. He simply agreed to meet Lin and Roary by the strand after the lunch hour to be trained in the care of the bird. If he had known what he was getting himself into, he would probably have showed them the door right then. But a promise is a promise, he thought ruefully as he fed the bird its seaweed and lightly touched its long neck.
"Don't be gone too long now," he said. "I've a business to run. I canna' be here takin' care of yon' bird for any length of time."
"We'll be back as soon as we find what we need," assured Lin.
They parted at the path. When they got to the cottage, Fiona had locked it securely. They climbed in the car with Roary at the wheel and Lin in the backseat. With an air of calm defiance, Fiona plugged in Ian's iPod and turned on U2 to start the journey.
With morning came no relief. Fiona shifted uneasily in the bed, not quite ready to admit to being awake. She dreaded opening her eyes to the new day and the continued nightmare that had become her reality. Slowly and with careful precision she pried one eye open just enough to reach out and grasp the star-shaped pebble that rested on the bed table next to her. Holding it tightly in her palm, hand against her heart, she lay on ber back letting the light tease her closed lids. She wasn't quite sure why, but this gave her some measure of peace. She just had to believe that the occupants of the place that had given her this gift were not capable of such terrible mischief that they would take her grandsons away forever. She knew there was a way to unlock this puzzle. With a line of grim determination set in her forehead, she slowly rose and put on her wrapper and slippers. With her pebble tucked safely in the chest pocket of the robe, she made her way out to the kitchen to start up some coffee. She had decided that she would initiate the day with a bit more American ritual than they were used to, just to see if it would help jog them into more actionable thoughts. She paused for a moment when she saw Roary on the sofa in front of the now spent fire. He was definitely too big for that piece of furniture. One leg was thrown up over the back and the other dangled precariously off the side, his head thrown back at an odd slant and his arms fully distended, one pointing over his head and the other trailing the ground. He looked like he was just untangling himself from a wrestling match, especially with the blankets all askew. "At least he's asleep," she thought, slipping as quietly as she could into the kitchen and starting on the coffee. She put that on to brew and mixed up a batch of biscuits. She took her time with the ingredients, enjoying the kneading of the dough before she rolled and cut and spaced them out for the baking.
As she put them in the oven, Lin joined her in the kitchen. Fiona put a finger to her lips and pointed at the sleeping figure on the sofa. Lin suppressed a laugh and whispered, "Doen't look like a bomb could wake him." Fiona had to stifle her own giggled response.
The two women set about the making of the rest of the morning's repast. Lin cooked up rashers of bacon, while Fiona sliced and arranged a fruit tray for the table. "Probably time to wake him to see if he would like any eggs," said Lin. "Not me," replied Fiona. "Never know how a man's going to take to being shaken awake." "In that case, if the scents of coffee and bacon don't work, he can eat it all cold," said Lin, as Roary began to stir. He managed to make it to the table as the plated dishes were being served up. Fiona set a mug of coffee in front of him. She eyed him as if she expected him to ask for tea, but Roary said nothing, just added a bit of milk and drank the coffee as if it were ambrosia. "Lo' this is good," he mumbled. They filled their plates and ate in relative yet companionable silence.
Afterwards, as Roary helped Lin clear the plates and insisted on helping wash up, they began to discuss their plans. It seemed there was a lot of ground to cover. They each had places they wanted to check out and while some continued along the West coast, others would take them to the Southern edges, and if followed, one would lead fairly far to the North. Roary also wanted to do some additional research that might help them settle on which places would be the best to go to first. Finally, they decided that they would take the time to go to his shop and pull what they could in terms of additional books, but going into Dublin to try and access more records was out unless they really ran dry. They all agreed that the keys had to be somewhere in what the boys had already keyed into and somehow must connect to the Sidhe. It was agreed then that they would start out heading West and then move South, rather in a zigzag pattern, covering as many of the likely and perhaps unlikely sites as they could and looking up the known people who had dealings with the Sidhe in the towns they crossed through. It was likely that this last might be a complete waste of time, but you never really knew. Most people had dismissed Roary's experiences as childhood dreams and, had they known of the more recent encounter, would have put it down to a bit too much of the drink. Yet there was a possibility they might find someone who could point them in the right direction. Of course, they would also be looking for two hounds who were not quite hounds as well. It would do Lin's heart a world of good to have the boys with her, even if they couldn't talk to her in their present form.
They had packed as lightly as they could not knowing how long they would be gone when it occurred to Lin that they had a serious issue. What were they going to do about the swan? They could not just go off and leave it alone. All of their efforts would be for nothing if the poor thing wasn't seen to. It was still not well enough to brave the waves and try to feed itself, let alone fly. They looked at each other for long moments. It was clear that no one wanted to stay behind; perhaps even clearer was that they really could not afford to have anyone stay behind. They would need all of their combined knowedge and fortitude to fathom this riddle and do so quickly. But what could they do for the bird? In the end it was Fiona who came up with the suggestion. Why not ask the barkeep if he would help? He knew all of them. He certainly knew the history, myth and legend of the area, and he seemed to have a big heart. They could tell him the whole story or just tell him they needed to go after the boys and there was the sick bird needing his help.
They opted to only explain that they needed to go after the boys. In their version, the two youngsters had gotten it into their heads to run off to Dublin and they needed to go find them before they got into all sorts of trouble. Roary was going with them to help in the search as he knew the boys, too, and could expand the field. If Padraic was not quite taken with the story, he did not comment on it. He simply agreed to meet Lin and Roary by the strand after the lunch hour to be trained in the care of the bird. If he had known what he was getting himself into, he would probably have showed them the door right then. But a promise is a promise, he thought ruefully as he fed the bird its seaweed and lightly touched its long neck.
"Don't be gone too long now," he said. "I've a business to run. I canna' be here takin' care of yon' bird for any length of time."
"We'll be back as soon as we find what we need," assured Lin.
They parted at the path. When they got to the cottage, Fiona had locked it securely. They climbed in the car with Roary at the wheel and Lin in the backseat. With an air of calm defiance, Fiona plugged in Ian's iPod and turned on U2 to start the journey.
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