Manannan’s Magic
Michèle McGrath
Copyright © 2013 by Michèle McGrath
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the author.
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Front cover artwork:
Copyright © Sheri McGathy 2014
All rights reserved
No part of the cover image may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the illustrator.
Written in English (UK)
ISBN: 978-0-9576327-0-7
Published by Riverscourt Publishing
To John Edwin,
friend, lover, husband, supporter.
My rock amid stormy seas.
With all my love.
Manannan’s Magic
1
Renny’s Story
He came in a long prowed boat, sea mist trailing after him like a swirling silver cloak. I was collecting seaweed on the shore when his ship entered the bay. Its prow sliced through the waves, though the sails hung limply and no one rowed. My own people's boats are stubby, unlike this elegant craft, and all at once I felt afraid. I ran, stumbling, to where some thorny bushes grew and threw myself down behind them. From between their branches, my heart pounding, I peered out. Had I left any footprints? Would the basket I had forgotten in my haste betray me? The cliffs rose high above, too far away to offer me an easy escape. My only chance was to hide.
The boat grounded high on the sand and a man leaped ashore. Tall and bearded, his black hair was flecked with grey. He wore a tunic and trews of some rich material and a gold torc gleamed about his neck. His good clothes were stained and torn as if he had come a long way across the sea. The jewelled hilt of a sword protruded through his cloak and he carried a staff in his hand. He held this lightly and he did not use it for support. Perhaps it served some other purpose.
I stiffened as a dog jumped down beside him. Huge, grey and shaggy, like no creature I had ever seen before. It stood as high as my shoulder and my people say I am tall. The dog sniffed the cold air and looked around keenly. I shrank behind the rocks, hoping it would not catch my scent, mixed among all the others. The dog's nose wrinkled, but it neither moved nor barked.
The man turned, gazing out to sea. Then he sighed. For a long time, neither of us stirred. Cramp began to twist my legs. Soon I would have to change position or cry out with pain. Before I could do either, he turned and strode away towards the hills. His dog followed at his heels, and the mist swallowed them both in its whiteness.
I did not move for a long time, although my curiosity was stronger than my apprehension. I waited for him to return, hoping to find out what he would do next. The minutes dragged by and he didn't come. I kept looking at his boat, lying abandoned on the shore. Everything had a stillness that made me sure no one else was aboard. Yet I hesitated to leave my hiding place. After all, the man might return at any time. True, I should be able to outrun him. I am young and swift. I could lose him easily, because nobody knows this place better than I do. Even so, I had a strange fancy he might still catch me, despite my knowledge and speed.
I knelt a moment longer, plucking up my courage. My father, Oshin, is the headman of our village. He must be told immediately if we meet a stranger and I had to report this man’s arrival to him. Oshin is a stern man, who only wants facts not feelings. He would not thank me for telling him half a tale. Whatever the danger, I had to discover as much as possible before I went back to the village.
Forcing myself to my feet, I picked my way silently along the rocks towards the vessel. Still nothing moved. Encouraged, I waded through the shallows until I was able to peer over the side. I was poised every minute to flee but had no need to do so. The boat was empty. It seemed narrow and lacking shelter. No goods or tools were stacked against the carved posts, no oars, not even a water jar. There was nothing at all. What manner of man voyages to a strange place in such an empty boat? The thought made me shiver and want to escape. I hurried to the rocks on the far side of the beach. Although that path is longer, I didn't want to meet the stranger returning. I had seen enough now to tell my father. He would be able to act as he thought fit.
I usually try to avoid Father if I can, for we don't get on. He spares little time for me; I am the daughter he did not want. He was very angry at the birth of yet another useless female. He would have to house and feed me for years until I became valuable to him. The situation was made worse by the fact nearly eight solstices passed before my mother quickened with child again. If Conal had been a girl, Mummig once told me, she intended to smother her. She did not want to face Father's wrath again. Fortunately, Conal's the son he always wanted. Just as well. Mummig had such a bad time bearing him; she could have no more children. So there are only the three of us, Brede, Conal and me.
When I reached our village, which people call Ballabeg or 'the little place', I gritted my teeth and went to find Father. Fortunately, I did not have far to go. He was sitting by the fire talking to old Jole, as my mother served them with their noontime broth.
“What kind of man is he, Renny?” Father barked, after I gasped out my story. “Describe him!”
“Like no one I've ever known”' I replied truthfully. “He carried a sword, but he didn’t seem to be a warrior. He was dressed as a merchant. He had a long cloak that would hinder him in a fight. He wore a gold torc like a prince's, but his clothes were ragged.” I went on to describe his dog, and old Jole nodded.
“There are many such beasts over yonder,” he said, pointing to the west. In his youth, he had been a famous traveller. He often told us tales of the fabulous places and creatures he had seen. Now one of them had appeared before me. My father, though, had no interest in dogs, whatever their size. He watched me closely through narrowed eyes.
“You’re frightened of this man,” he said. “Why?”
“His boat came right onto the shingle. There was no breeze and no one was rowing. No goods were aboard, yet everything was salt-stained. The sails were torn, as if from a long voyage. The man himself,” I paused, searching for the right words. “He seemed the kind of person who’d seen and done many things which others have not. I can’t give you a reason why I'm afraid of him, but he's different,” I ended lamely.
“Where did he go?”
“Into the hills by the mountain path.”
“Then I’ll follow, speak with him and find out why he’s here.” He rose and dismissed me. I scurried away, thankful not to answer any more of his questions.
My father quickly gathered some of our men together, and went in search of the stranger. All strangers are a threat in times like these. Even if they come alone, they may be in league with the raiders who harry our shores. No one is allowed to walk in this land without permission. My father must detain anyone who tries to do so and bring him before the king.
Yet, to me, this man did not seem to be that sort of threat. He had more the air of a fugitive than a spy. It was as if others followed hard upon his tracks to harm him. Then I wondered why I had such an odd thought. It might have been because of the way he had sighed when he gazed out to the sea. Perhaps tiredness and sadness had overwhelmed him, at the end of a journey he did not want to make. The impression seemed important to me, in some strange way, and I remembered my fancy long afterwards.
My father had respected my uneasiness for once, because our men carried swords rather than staves. Mummig and I stood in the doorway, watching them go. I felt anxious about what would happen.
“I hope they won't ha
ve to fight.” I spoke the thought uppermost in my mind.
Mummig twisted a cloth between her fingers, as she does when she is worried. She murmured, “He is one man and they are many. In a fight, he’d be easily beaten.”
“I'm not sure.”
She glanced at me, her eyes widening with surprise and sudden alarm. “What are you saying?”
“I'm not certain,” I repeated. “This man appeared strong. I don't think he’d be easily taken, unless he wanted to be. I can’t explain why, yet I know it's true. Who knows how he or his dog would fight if they were challenged? I'm uneasy. I don't want anyone to be hurt. He hasn't done us any harm.”
“He's landed here without permission.”
“As far as we know. Perhaps he already has way-leave, or he has gone to seek it from the king.”
“He might have,” Mummig said thoughtfully, “we will see. Our men are seasoned warriors. You don't need to worry about them.” She seemed calm enough, although she never stopped twisting the cloth between her fingers. I wondered if I'd made her apprehension worse.
I said no more, yet I was surprised to realise I was afraid not just for our warriors. Although they are my close kindred, I worried about the stranger too. He had only his dog with him; if it came to fighting, he would be heavily outnumbered. I did not know him; I had seen him only once in my life. How odd to be concerned about his fate.
Darkness fell before the men returned and we discovered we had worried for nothing. Their search had proved fruitless. They didn't find the stranger. The men were tired and hungry and we hurried to serve them the meal we had prepared. When he had eaten, my father gathered us round him, and he told us what had happened.
“This man must have passed beyond the boundaries of our land. We searched for hours but we couldn't find the least trace of him.” He peered at us to watch the effect of his words on us. “I've sent messengers to the elders in the other villages. They can watch out for him. The king has been warned too, therefore our duty is done for now. Until the man returns to our land, he's not our problem.” Everyone nodded, and their shoulders relaxed, as if their tension had been relieved. “Keir and Mian will guard his boat and tell me as soon as he returns. When he does, I’ll speak with him.”
He looked sternly in the direction of my young brother, Conal, who has not yet passed his eighth year. He is the one who usually leads the village children into mischief. I sometimes think Conal believes he must do so; it is his right as the headman's son.
“I don't want this man harassed by children,” my father said meaningfully. Conal and his friends have played too many tricks on unwary strangers in the past. They give directions which lead people into bogs, or send them miles in the wrong direction. It’s one of their favourite sports. They always appear eager to help. Who wouldn’t believe such innocent children? Conal hung his head and avoided my father's eyes.
“We don’t know anything about this man,” Oshin cautioned. “He might be a beggar, a vagabond or even the bearer of important messages to the king. No one else is to seek for him; no one is to speak to him. If you catch sight of him, bring me word,” he repeated carefully, making sure there should be no doubt or excuse. “I alone will question him.” He stared over at Conal, and added, “In this, I intend to be obeyed by all of you.” When he speaks in that tone, even Conal understands he must do as he is told.
Father ordered Keir and Mian, both young men and fast runners, to watch the boat in turns. They did not see the stranger return. When one slept, the other supposedly kept a moonlit vigil. If Mian cooked, Keir guarded the beach below. No sentry had ever been more vigilant. No shepherd ever looked after their flock more keenly, or so they said. Yet, one morning, when the sun rose over the horizon, the boat had disappeared.
For a long time, I wondered what had happened to the stranger from the sea. I could not get him out of my mind, and his face stayed in my thoughts. I was afraid of him, yet the fear had a delicious thrill. I was intensely curious. I wanted to know his name and the reasons for his coming. Above all, I needed to understand why he had aroused such strong emotions in me. I am not usually fey, but I had a strong feeling that one day we would meet again and, when we did, my life would change. For better or for worse, I did not know.
2
We heard nothing more about the stranger for some weeks. He had been almost forgotten, except by me. Even the gossip ceased. Then, one wet afternoon, everything changed abruptly. We were sitting around the fire with our spinning. Old Margaid started repeating a tale she had heard in the market that day. A magician had come to live among us, she told everyone. People were going to him for healing spells. Her eyes widened and she lowered her voice, as people do when they speak of forbidden things.
“Never. I don’t believe it,” said Verona, one of my mother’s friends. She shook her head.
“Why should someone like that come here?”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“Who says so?” insisted Verona, stopping her spinning for a moment to look at her.
“Lilee, if you want to know.”
“And you believe her?”
We all snorted with laughter, for Lilee is renowned for her tales. This is true especially of the ones she has made up. Yet rumours like this are an excellent subject to amuse everybody on a gloomy afternoon. Fritha, my friend, wanted to find out more.
“Who's he supposed to be, this magician?”
“No one knows anything about him.” Margaid dropped her voice again into a ghostly whisper. He might have been in the room with us, and listening to her telling his secrets. A shiver passed through me. It was not from the cold, for we were warm enough by the fire. Something far more eerie caused it – a feeling of apprehension, as if some danger was coming to us all.
“He just appeared one day on the shore, near old Stoill's hut,” Margaid continued. “He's been back there a few times since. He tells no one where he's come from or where he's been. His boat arrives and he steps ashore, with his dog at his side. Everyone’s talking about him.”
“What else did Lilee tell you?”
“She said Creena's daughter, Jony, went to him. She got something to make her baby come more easily. You know she nearly died the last time.”
We nodded. The villages had talked about Jony's problems for weeks last winter. She had screamed for three whole days, and they had been lucky to stop her bleeding to death. She had lived, although her baby died, poor little thing. I thought her foolish to get herself with child again so soon, but I’m not supposed to understand these things yet. No wonder she wanted something to make the birth easier this time. Jony lives in the next village, further up the river. She’s near enough to be gossiped about and gossip always travels faster than a flying bird.
“Does he sell love potions too?” Fritha giggled.
“What would you want with one of those?” Verona asked sharply, “Isn't Sharry dotty enough about you already?” She shook her head at Fritha. Fritha is her younger daughter.
“Oh I don't want one for myself,” Fritha answered, giving me a mischievous smile.
“Who do you want it for, then?”
“That would be telling.” She gave me a wink, and I laughed. Fritha and I grew up together and her marriage to Sharry hasn't changed anything between us. She's like my big sister, especially since Brede married Aland and moved away. Fritha's happy with Sharry and she wants everyone else to be joyous too, especially me. She keeps saying I should choose the man I want to be hand-fasted to soon. I suppose she's right and I should. I'll be sixteen next summer. If I don't find someone for myself by then, my parents will. I've thought about all the boys in the village. I don't like any of them and no one has said anything to me. Fritha's one of the lucky ones, and so is Brede. They married men whom they knew and liked. Most girls don't and it seems unlikely I will either.
My mother broke into the conversation. “You keep away from that man, whoever he is, if you know what's good for you.” Her words brought us all b
ack to reality. “We don't need love potions or any sort of nonsense here.”
“Cross your fingers when you say that.” Margaid crossed her own to set the example, and looked at Mummig slyly.
“Why should I?” my mother asked. “This rumour's just another one of Lilee's tales. She’s heard about some poor old man who's a stranger to everybody. She's turned him into a magician in her imagination. After all the wild things she's told you, how can you possibly believe her?”
“We might not need spells and potions at the moment, but what will the future bring us? They say this winter is going to be a cold one. Maybe we'll need this man’s help by then.”
“They say far too much,” Mummig said calmly. “Don't be silly. When do we ever need such things? Every winter is cold and we survive.”
I shivered and goose pimples came out on my arms. All of a sudden, I was sure she was wrong. This winter would be like none we'd lived through before. I didn't say anything, of course. Mummig wouldn't thank me for contradicting her, especially in front of the others. My uneasiness grew worse. I'd had another premonition, I realised later; like my certainty I’d meet the stranger from the sea again.
I never knew if any of our people went to visit the magician in the days that followed. If anyone did, I wasn’t told. The gossip about him continued, though. He had made a lame man walk, one rumour said. Another told of a blind man who could see again for the first time in years. Every new tale was better than the last until they became truly incredible. I didn't believe the wilder stories, although I hoped some of the cures had happened. If you were lame, wouldn't it be wonderful to be able to walk? Or look around you if you were blind? To my mind, the sort of magic that cures the sick could not be evil. I didn’t care what people said. They said plenty and not everyone approved.
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