Shadowmagic - Sons of Macha

by John Lenahan

  I crawled to the stern of the barge and then kicked myself, remembering that I hadn’t paid attention when my father was teaching Araf the magic words in Ogham that made the rudder propel the boat. Dad had said I should learn the ancient vocabulary too, but as usual I didn’t listen. Gods I hate it when he’s right.

  I could see the entrance to the Yewlands off in the distance. I maybe could have swum that far if the current was with me, but against it I didn’t think I could make it. I knew instinctively I couldn’t walk along the banks of the river without the yews noticing me. I was literally up you-know-what creek without a paddle. My only other option was to push the barge back into the river and hope the current would eventually take me through the Yewlands without notice. What I would do on the other side was something I would have to deal with when, and if, I got there. This was the least worst of all my options. I hated the thought of abandoning my friends but I really had no way of getting to them even if I had a clue where they were – which I didn’t.

  All my deliberations were for naught, ’cause when I placed one foot on land to push off the barge, every muscle in my body froze up. No, that’s not right, my muscles were fine, I could feel them trying to work. It was my bones. I felt like I was being pushed and pulled from the inside. I tried to yell but as soon as noise began to fly out of my mouth my jaw slammed shut making an audible clack of my molars, which thankfully didn’t crack. With one leg still in the barge and the other on the shore, I stiffened up like a guy in a body-cast from some old black and white comedy movie. I stood like this for a minute, only able to grunt and move my eyeballs and then was mercifully released. I instantly tried to push the barge out but as soon as I tried I was turned into a human board again. Whatever was holding me made me wait for several minutes before I was once again released. This time I dove into the river. My thinking (I admit there really wasn’t much thinking) was that if I could get some distance between me and whoever my puppet master was, I could get away. What happened was that I froze up again – this time in water with a heavy sword around my waist. I dropped like a stone. I hit the riverbed and said loud in my head, OK, I get it. I’ll go where you want me to. I didn’t know if that message went anywhere but I hoped that it went somewhere soon. I had about twenty seconds of air left in me.

  In fact, I had forty seconds’ worth. Just as I thought my lungs were going to erupt blowing my head clean off, I was released and scrambled to the surface gasping and spluttering. I waded to the bank and asked the air, ‘Now what?’

  What was a telekinetic game of hot and cold. Every time I went in a direction that my unseen force didn’t want me to go I froze up, usually falling over. I then had to change direction until I found the way it wanted me to go. This went on for quite a while. I was walking deep into the yew forest. Not good. I racked my brains trying to remember if I had ever heard a story about someone accidentally wandering into the Yewlands and making it out alive. I hadn’t, ’cause I suspected it had never happened. Finally I decided I wasn’t going to play this stupid game any more if it just meant I was prolonging my ultimate demise, so I sat down and refused to move. That’s when my possessor actually took control of my walking. Unkind invisible hands manipulated individual bones in my body forcing one foot in front of the other, and pressing so much strain on my knees and hips that I finally screamed and agreed to continue my guided walk on my own steam.

  Eventually the powers that drove me only had to give my wrist a tweak to keep me in the right direction. All the while I kept a look out for Brendan and Nora. I hadn’t seen what had happened to them. They might have fallen in the water like Araf but if they were in here I worried most about Nora. She was unprepared for this – but then again, so was I. I decided to worry about myself for a while.

  After what seemed like hours I came to a point where my spirit guide would only let me walk into a tree. Ahead was a yew that to me looked exactly like the zillions of ones I had been forced to walk past. I took a deep breath and said to myself this is it. After all I had been through, I was going to be killed alone in the forest by a tree. I pondered the philosophical implications of this. If a man falls over in a forest without making any noise is he really dead? I thought about that for a nanosecond and decided the answer was – yes. I felt a Fergalish smile light my face and wished my old cuz was here with me to share the joke.

  I placed my hand on the bark and said, ‘What do you want?’

  You would think a tree that was older than most dinosaur fossils would be beyond shocking, but I think I puzzled this one. A voice came into my head that was surprisingly pleasant.

  You never know with trees. Some of them just reach into your brain and take what they want to know. Others can’t do that and wait for you to speak or at least think purposefully. With the reputation the yews had and the psychic push and pull I had just been through, I was expecting an unpleasant experience. Instead, my mind was filled with a voice (or a feeling of a voice) that was neither male nor female – or maybe it was both.

  ‘What do I want?’

  ‘Yeah, what do you what? You just pushed and pulled me like a hundred miles and now here I am so what the hell do you want?’

  ‘It is we that should be asking that question of you,’ the tree said, using ‘we’ like it was the ‘royal we’.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘well, I asked first.’

  That was the last thing I got to say for a while. If I can presume to know anything about yew tree behaviour I would have to guess that he/she got tired of this banter and just decided to go straight to the source. Pain and deafening white noise erupted from inside my head. I dropped to my knees, presumably screaming but I couldn’t hear anything over the internal commotion. I started to reach for my head but then stopped ’cause I was afraid that I wouldn’t find any top to my skull. I had a mental image of my brain being exposed and tree branches spinning around in my grey matter like it was soup.

  ‘You are terrified,’ the tree said, ‘yet you jest.’

  ‘You discovered my secret,’ I said through gritted teeth.

  ‘I do not understand you. Explain.’

  ‘Get it over with.’

  I remembered seeing an old gory horror movie where people’s heads exploded and their insides splattered all over the room. I was now sure I was seconds away from decorating the yew forest in the same way. When I didn’t answer the tree, the pressure got worse, something I would have thought was impossible. I remembered the look on Spideog’s face when he realised he would have to go back to the Yewlands to be re-judged. The yews had subsequently found him again worthy but at the time he was sure he was going to die. The pain I experienced was so intense that I knew that if I somehow survived, I would choose death rather than go through this again.

  ‘You wish I should begin the judgement?’ the androgynous voice of the tree shouted in my head.

  ‘Whatever.’

  The bush turned the egg beater in my head up to the frappe setting.

  ‘Once again,’ the tree said, ‘you are speaking in contrast to your true feelings.’

  ‘OK, you want my true feelings? I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to come into the Yewlands, I’m not prepared for a judgement and I don’t want to die. And while I’m at it could you loosen the vice on my head?’

  Surprisingly he/she did and as soon as I could think properly I said, ‘I was unconscious when I entered the Yewlands. Has any of your kind seen my companions?’

  ‘We are yew. We are not here to answer your questions.’

  ‘But the woman that was with me, she is unprepared for judgement. Her son was with me too but at least he was trained by Master Spideog.’

  ‘You speak of the archer?’

  ‘Yes, his name is Brendan. Have you seen him?’

  ‘The archer you call Brendan spoke of Spideog’s death. Is this true?’

  ‘It is,’ I said, ‘I witnessed it.’

  ‘Let us see,’ the tree said and the pain returned with a vengeance. My brain,
like a crappy video movie, fast-forwarded my memories. Stopping, then zooming ahead until once again I was forced to watch Spideog fall. Then the pain in my head subsided, only to be replaced by an ache in my chest.

  ‘He was killed by your knife,’ said the voice of the tree in my head, but only the male voice. In my defence the female voice said, ‘But not by his hand.’

  What followed was a debate in a language (or maybe even a different plane) that I couldn’t begin to fathom. As best I could figure out it was a domestic squabble. Where before the voices of the tree were speaking as one, now the male and female were backing and forthing. As it got faster and seemingly more heated I wondered what would happen if they didn’t come to a conclusion. Can a tree get a divorce from itself? I wondered if there were yew trees all over the forest where the male and female parts hadn’t spoken to each other for centuries.

  Finally the squabble ended. ‘We shall judge you now.’

  ‘What happened to the others?’

  ‘You will be judged.’

  ‘I don’t want to be judged, I’m not ready to be judged. I want to know what happened to my friends.’

  ‘If you will not be judged then you must eat of the fruit.’

  A bough laden with red berries drifted before my face as I felt the bones in my arm and hand reach for the poisonous fruit.

  ‘Who died and made you god?’

  The push on my arm stopped as the male voice said with a sneer, ‘We are before the gods. We have been makers of gods.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t make Lugh.’

  ‘What do you know of Lugh?’ the tree demanded but didn’t wait for an answer. Once again the pain dropped me to my knees as my encounters with the Oracle of Mount Cas were replayed for me and the timber sticking into my brain.

  When it was done I felt the female tree ask, ‘Why would Macha take the child?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You will be judged,’ they both said.

  ‘I’m not ready.’

  ‘No matter,’ the yew replied, ‘we must know what you know.’

  This wasn’t like the memories that flash before your eyes when you think you are going to die. I’ve been that close to death enough times since arriving at The Land to know what that is like. No, this remembering was like re-experiencing my life over again. Not just the sights and sounds and smells but also the emotions. The warmth of my father’s embrace, the sting of bullying at school, the pain of constantly moving home and the abandonment of friends. The loneliness of being the new kid. The excitement of that first kiss, puberty – oh gods, not again. The attack in my living room that changed my life for ever. The terror of Cialtie. The discovery of my mother – her first approving smile. The other smile – Fergal’s smile and then no … Fergal’s death. I knelt, paralysed, re-living my life and all the way through, stabbing like knives and caressing like velvet, were my emotions. My loves, my hates, my losses. Essa, Araf, Tuan, Spideog, Frank, Jesse, Brendan, Ruuuuuby.

  When it ended I was in shock. Like when I killed my first person (an event I just replayed seconds ago) I was unable to think. I was unable to … be. I was emotionally spent, not even able to weep.

  ‘What can we give you?’ the tree spoke into my throbbing head.

  I hardly heard the question. I fell prostrate on the ground. ‘I don’t ever want to go through that again,’ I moaned.

  ‘Very well,’ the tree replied, ‘from this day forth, you, Conor of Duir, have safe passage through Ioho.’

  I rolled over on my back and looked up at the branches and needles blocking out the sky. I tried to imagine ever coming here again and knew I never would. At least not alone. ‘And any of my travelling companions?’

  ‘And all that travel with you,’ the tree said without hesitation.

  I rolled over and propped myself up on all fours. Then, making sure I didn’t touch the tree, I tried to stand. I was wobbly but intact. I felt the tug of the yew and placed my hands once again on its rough bark.

  ‘You have given us much to contemplate, Prince of Hazel and Oak. We would like to give you a gift but you are unworthy of a wand or bow.’ The female voice then spoke. ‘We have seen that you often fight with banta. Accept this with our blessing. May it serve you well.’ The familiar sound that I now know is moisture being sucked from wood, followed by a crack, preceded a large branch falling from the tree. I picked up the staff and cracked off the smaller branches that were withering even as I looked at it. It wouldn’t take much work at all to make this into a proper banta stick. I guess I was supposed to say thank you but instead I placed my hand again on the trunk and asked, ‘Where are my companions?’ But the tree ignored me. I could feel a deep internal conversation that made me feel like I was a long-forgotten annoyance.

  I tried to remember which direction I had come but couldn’t. That was a lifetime ago. I tried touching another tree to at least get directions, but it seemed that free passage also meant screw you. I was ignored. I wondered what would happen if I decided to carve my initials in one of these trees – would it ignore me then? I almost took out the Lawnmower and put that thought to the test but decided against it. I had just survived a yew judging unprepared – pushing my luck might be foolish. I closed my eyes, spun around and then started walking in the direction I was facing. It was as good a way to go as any.

  Even though every cell in my body told me to be quiet, I shouted out, ‘BRENDAN, NORA,’ but eventually stopped. Not only because it felt so wrong to be making noise in here, but also because I’m sure if they heard me they would be too afraid to answer. Getting out of this forest was the only plan of action I could think of.

  The day stretched on. The heat seemed to somehow radiate down from the closed green canopy. The air smelled of moss and didn’t move. I had a mental image of filling a balloon with this air and when I got out, watching it sink. Late in the day I heard water and then made it to the river. I began to walk back the way I had come. I must have been upriver from where the boat was beached, either that or somebody had stolen it, ’cause I didn’t once see it on my travels. All the while the yews ignored me. It was a strange feeling. Almost like being in a forest back in the Real World.

  The sun was low with twilight threatening when I reached the sentinel yews at the entrance of the Yewlands. I had a choice of walking around deep into the forest or climbing the root-covered boulder on the riverside. As much as that tree scared me, I decided to test my freedom of the Yewlands and scrabbled up onto the arthritic roots of that ancient tree. The yew knew I was there. I could feel him/her but I wasn’t stopped or interfered with. At the top of the boulder I was rewarded with the sight of Araf and Nora sitting next to a small fire. I shouted to them and received an enthusiastic wave back.

  I had so many questions for them but I never got to ask them. As I climbed down I was startled by what I thought was a large yellow insect. It buzzed past my ear and as I watched it fly by it looped in mid-air and came back at me. As it came towards my face I raised my hand to swat it. At first I thought it was a bee or wasp that had stung me but when I looked at the back of my hand I saw it was another gold amulet. I withdrew it from the flesh of my hand; it was shaped like a small tornado. I recognised it immediately. It was almost identical to the one my mother had once given me, except hers didn’t have a pin on the end. It was a rothlú amulet, and as soon as I recognised it it kicked in. After that, everything was pain.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Hermit of Thunder Bay

  Pain. Imagine each cell in your body being removed then scrubbed with a wire brush before it was popped back into place. That’s the feeling you get from a rothlú spell. I never thought I would be nostalgic about pain, but I remembered the last time I had this all-over body ache – my cousin was stealing my shoes. This time there was no tug on my foot to wake me. I opened my eyes the tiniest of cracks. I had no idea where I was but if it was daytime and out of doors, then the light was certainly going to be painful. Luckily when I opened my eyes I
was greeted with gloom and deep shadows. I decided to give moving a try and discovered it wasn’t a good idea. I dropped my head back onto whatever I was on and slipped back into unconsciousness.

  It was just as gloomy when I awoke again but this time, moving was only excruciating as opposed to being beyond the threshold of consciousness. I seemed to be lying on a pile of fresh straw in what I first thought was a dungeon. I crawled over to the only source of light. It was a candle infused with sparkling gold dust, Leprechaun-made – so I knew at least I wouldn’t be without light for a couple of years. Next to the candle was a shot glass with something that smelled mighty powerful. All of my instincts told me to leave it alone, but when I thought about it (which was difficult with the fife and drum band playing inside my head) I figured that if whoever got me here wanted me dead, I’d already be in the ground. I held my nose and knocked it back. My toes actually curled and my head tilted to a forty-five-degree angle. A full sweat broke out on my forehead and, even though there was no one there, I said the immortal words, ‘Haba yazza.’ When my vision cleared and the impulse to vomit passed, I felt much better.

  I was in a cave. I guessed that was better than a dungeon. I grabbed the candle and, careful not to let it blow out, I explored the perimeter looking for an exit. After two trips around, I sat down, confused. There was no way out. I went around again – this time slowly looking for a hidden door or a crack or anything but there was nothing. I must have been dropped in from above, but the walls were so smooth there was no way of climbing or seeing what was up there. That’s when a memory hit me that filled me with panic. What if there is no way out? I remembered my father warning me that a rothlú spell could transport someone to the edge of a cliff. What if it stuck me in the middle of a cave that has no exit? What if I’m doomed to sit and thirst to death in a dark cave?