Before the sun had risen the next morning, an anguished party had set off from the palace in search of Lir’s children. Through the fog and mist they rode at great speed until the murky waters of Loch Dairbhreach appeared before them in the distance. It was Lir who first caught a glimpse of the four majestic white swans, their slender necks arched forwards towards the pebbled shore, desperately seeking the warm and familiar face of their father. As the swans swam towards him, they began to speak with gentle voices and he instantly recognized his own children in the sad, snow-white creatures. How Lir’s heart ached at this woeful sight, and how his eyes wished to disbelieve the sorrowful scene he was forced to witness. He began to sob loudly and it seemed that his grief would never again be silenced.
“Do not mourn us, father,” whispered Fiachra comfortingly, “your love will give us strength in our plight and we shall all be together one day.”
A beautiful, soothing music now infused the air, miraculously lifting the spirits of all who heard it. After a time, Lir and his companions fell into a gentle, peaceful sleep and when they awoke they were no longer burdened by troubles. Every day, Lir came to visit his children and so too did the Men of Erin, journeying from every part to catch even a single note of the beautiful melody of the swans.
Three hundred years passed pleasantly in this way, until the time arrived for the Children of Lir to bid farewell to the People of Dana and to move on to the cold and stormy Sea of Moyle. As the stars faded and the first rays of sunlight peered through the heavens, Lir came forward to the shores of the lake and spoke to his children for the very last time. Fionnguala began to sing forlornly of the grim and bitter times which lay ahead and as she sang she spread her wings and rose from the water. Aed, Fiachra and Conn joined in her song and then took to the air as their sister had done, flying wearily over the velvet surface of Loch Dairbhreach towards the north-east and the raging ocean:
“Arise, my brothers, from Dairbhreach’s wave,
On the wings of the southern wind;
We leave our father and friends today
In measureless grief behind.
Ah! Sad the parting, and sad our flight.
To Moyle’s tempestuous main;
For the day of woe
Shall come and go
Before we meet again!”
Great was the suffering and hardship endured by the swans on the lonely Sea of Moyle, for they could find no rest or shelter from the hissing waves and the piercing cold of the wintry gales. During that first desolate winter, thick black clouds perpetually gathered in the sky, causing the sea to rise up in fury as they ruptured and spilled forth needles of icy rain and sleet. The swans were tossed and scattered by storms and often driven miles apart. There were countless nights when Fionnguala waited alone and terrified on the Rock of Seals, tortured with anxiety for the welfare of her brothers. The gods had so far answered her prayers and they had been returned to her on each occasion, drenched and battered. Tears of joy and relief flowed freely from her eyes at these times, and she would take her brothers under her wing and pull them to her breast for warmth.
Three hundred years of agony and misery on the Sea of Moyle were interrupted by only one happy event. It happened that one morning, the swans were approached by a group of horsemen while resting in the mouth of the river Bann. Two of the figures introduced themselves as Fergus and Aed, sons of Bodb the Red, and they were accompanied by a fairy host. They had been searching a good many years for the swans, desiring to bring them happy tidings of Lir and the King. The Tuatha Dé Danann were all now assembled at the annual Feast of Age, peaceful and happy, except for the deep sorrow they felt at the absence of the four children of Lir. Fionnguala and her brothers received great comfort from this visit and talked long into the evening with the visitors. When the time finally came for the men to depart, the swans felt that their courage had been restored and looked forward to being reunited with the People of Dana sometime in the future.
When at last their exile had come to an end on the Sea of Moyle, the children of Lir made ready for their voyage westwards to Iorras Domhnann. In their hearts they knew they were travelling from one bleak and wretched place to another, but they were soothed by the thought that their suffering would one day be over. The sea showed them no kindness during their stay at Iorras Domhnann, and remained frozen from Achill to Erris during the first hundred years. The bodies of the swans became wasted from thirst and hunger, but they weathered the angry blasts of the tempests and sought shelter from the driving snow under the black, unfriendly rocks, refusing to give up hope. Each new trial fired the desire within them to be at home once again, safe in the arms of their loving father.
It was a time of great rejoicing among Lir’s children when the three hundred years on Iorras Domhnann finally came to an end. With hearts full of joy and elation, the four swans rose ecstatically into the air and flew southwards towards Sídh Fionnachaidh, their father’s palace. But their misery and torment was not yet at an end. As they circled above the plains of Armagh, they could not discover any trace of their former home. Swooping closer to the ground, they recognized the familiar grassy slopes of their childhood, but these were now dotted with stones and rubble from the crumbling castle walls. A chorus of wailing and sorrow echoed through the ruins of Lir’s palace as the swans flung themselves on the earth, utterly broken and defeated. For three days and three nights they remained here until they could bear it no longer. Fionnguala led her brothers back to the west and they alighted on a small, tranquil lake known as Inis Gluare. All that remained was for them to live out the rest of their lives in solitude, declaring their grief through the saddest of songs.
On the day after the children of Lir arrived at Inis Gluare, a Christian missionary known as Chaemóc was walking by the lakeside where he had built for himself a small church. Hearing the haunting strains floating towards him from the lake, he paused by the water’s edge and prayed that he might know who it was that made such stirring music. The swans then revealed themselves to him and began to tell him their sorry tale. Chaemóc bade them come ashore and he joined the swans together with silver chains and took them into his home where he tended them and provided for them until they had forgotten all their suffering. The swans were his delight and they joined him in his prayers and religious devotions, learning of the One True God who had come to save all men.
It was not long afterwards that Deoch, daughter of the King of Munster, came to marry Lairgnéan, King of Connacht, and hearing of Chaemóc’s four wonderful swans, she announced her desire to have them as her wedding-present. Lairgnéan set off for Inis Gluare intent on seizing the swans from Chaemóc. Arriving at the church where they were resting, their heads bowed in silent prayer, he began to drag them from the altar. But he had not gone more than four paces when the plumage dropped from the birds and they were changed back into their human form. Three withered old men and a white-faced old woman now stood before Lairgnéan and he turned and fled in horror at the sight of them.
For the children of Lir had now been released from Aoife’s curse, having lived through almost a thousand years, to the time when her prophecy came to be fulfilled. Knowing that they had little time left to them, they called for Chaemóc to baptize them and as he did so they died peacefully and happily. The saint carried their bodies to a large tomb and Fionnguala was buried at the centre, surrounded by her three beloved brothers. Chaemóc placed a large headstone on the mound and he inscribed it in oghram. It read: ‘Lir’s children, who rest here in peace at long last’.
A House of Her Own
Bo Balder
Aoife was only eleven when she caught the little house in the forest. She surprised it as it drank from a puddle, half-hidden under a writhing tree root as large as her own body. Fast as an eel, she snaked her hand around it and held on tight. It was no bigger than a strawberry, all soft and furry and yellow. Even in the gloom of the giant, bad-tempered trees, it
shone like a candle flame.
“House,” she whispered, “you’re mine now.”
It couldn’t answer back yet, but she knew it understood.
She showed her catch to Mama. Mama hugged her and told the big house they lived in what Aoife had found.
House spoke from the walls. “Good girl. Show it to me, little one. Let me see if it’s the right kind.”
Aoife clenched her fist tighter around the little house until it squirmed against the pressure. Sometimes the big hice didn’t approve of the little ones, for reasons no human could guess at. She didn’t plan on letting anything happen to her house.
“It’s mine, Big House. None of your business.”
The floor shook with deep laughter, a sound so resonant it made Aoife a little sick to her stomach. Mama’s house was a good provider and kept them all warm and well fed, but it had a mean streak. It liked to make the little girls stumble, or scare them by dousing the glow of its walls unexpectedly.
“House –” Mama said in a tight voice.
“Hush, dear,” it said. “If little Aoife already loves it that much, I’m sure it’s the right kind of little house.”
Aoife didn’t think she’d ever met the wrong kind of house. And she was certain she’d know it if she did. Her downy pet felt just right.
You weren’t supposed to give hice names. If Mama stood out on the square and said, “House,” every house in the village knew exactly who she was talking to. But Aoife gave hers a secret name anyway. She called it Mine.
* * *
Mama was having another baby. It was a good time to be out of the house. Its walls strummed with tension as Mama screamed. It was busy cooling and warming the birthing room as Mama’s needs fluctuated. Aoife and her sisters sat around the fire pit in the middle of the village, watching the house colors ebb and flow, and all the other hice standing cool and grey-brown and unconcerned. Aoife felt safe, surrounded by the village of hice. Nothing bad would happen here.
“What if it’s a boy again?” Ho asked. “What’s Mama gonna do?”
“Nothing she can do,” Biri, the eldest, said. “House is gonna do what it’s gonna do.”
Aoife didn’t like her tone of voice.
While Biri spoke, she fondled the feeler her little house had put on her leg. That house wasn’t so little anymore – it was as tall as Biri and about four times as wide and deep. Biri longed to strike out on her own, but as Mama said, not until you can stand up and lay down in your house. “Hurry up and grow, you,” Biri whispered to it and it glowed pink with pleasure. It was a light tan, no longer the bright yellow of childhood.
Aoife cradled her house in her lap. It had grown to about the size of her head, but it was still small enough to carry around. If it wanted, it could make legs and waddle after her, but not quickly. Funny how girls grew faster than hice when they were little, and then when the girls were grown, the hice overtook them.
“She’s at it longer than last time,” Biri said.
What she didn’t say, but they all heard, even little Koori: what if something goes wrong? They would have nowhere to stay. If a mama died, her house upped and went to plant itself in the forest, taking the body with it. None of them had hice that were big enough to live in, although maybe Biri could cram into hers.
Biri’s house cooed. Biri stood up. “It wants to forage,” she said. “See you later.”
The three girls watched her go, between the hice, toward the veldt. They all thought the same thing. Eat, Biri’s house, eat! Grow big enough to take care of us!
A young man slipped out of the men’s lodge and headed after Biri. It was the new boy, just come in from the Exchange. Ho elbowed Aoife in the side and sniggered. Aoife wondered why.
A rumbling sounded overhead. Aoife craned her neck, scanning the green sky for thunderclouds. No thunderheads, but one long, thin, white cloud streaking across the sky, hurtling toward them.
“What’s that?” Aoife said.
Ho stood up, hindered by the house clenching its feelers around her in fear. “I don’t know!”
The three girls huddled together. As much as they wanted to run home, they couldn’t go inside House while Mama was birthing. It wouldn’t let them in. They watched as the cloud trail sped closer and closer. It ended with a bang that shook the ground. Behind the farthest hice, black clouds boiled up.
* * *
By the time the strange women in white suits entered the village, the adult women had gathered in the square, and the men and girls sent away. Aoife and her sisters pretended to leave but hid behind a stand of trees. At first, the strangers didn’t look like people at all, but then Aoife noticed the frozen water glistening before their faces, and behind it eyes and noses like people.
“Something something!” the front woman shouted. She had a deep voice like a man. Maybe she intended to speak true words, but nothing other than garble came out.
Mama’s sister Noriko, pregnant belly thrust out proudly, lifted a hand. “Greetings. What manner of women are you? From what village?”
The white-clad women conferred amongst themselves. Did they even understand true speech? Hadn’t their mothers taught them?
The first woman lifted her head-covering. She had a beard and bushy eyebrows. When she spoke again in that deep, rumbling voice, she changed into a man before Aoife’s eyes. A man who spoke like a leader? Had these people lost their great women?
Noriko scratched her head. “You are hard to understand, mistress. Speak slower, if you will.”
Aoife guffawed. Noriko hadn’t yet seen he wasn’t a woman! “It’s a man!” she called out. “Look at his beard!”
Ho pinched Aoife into silence.
Noriko hummed and hawed. “Are you a man? We already had our man exchange a couple of weeks ago. Are you lost?”
Aoife got bored with the grown-up talk and wandered off to catch bugs for Mine. Later that evening, she snuck back to the village square where now only the elders and the strange visitors – mostly men, she thought, from their beards and wide shoulders and deep voices – sat around the fire and talked. Hoping for a scrap of food – Mama’s house was still sealed and Mama would spank her if she raided the gardens – she crept up behind the man who’d spoken to Noriko earlier. She settled in cross-legged, petting Mine in her lap.
Beard sounded like a man who was fast using up his patience. “Like I said, we’re from Earth, your home planet, looking for lost colonies. The wars are over, the star lanes are safe again, and we’re here to do a census, a genetic assay.”
Noriko poked around in the fire, which didn’t need any poking. “I don’t really get where you’re from. But new blood in the exchange would be good. Maybe we can escort you to the exchange house at Mountainfoot?”
The man sighed. “Do you have any memories of not being from this place? Tales your grandmothers told?”
Several women nodded. “The First Woman and her house, you mean?”
“Maybe,” the man said. “Can you tell it to me?”
The women burst into laughter. “That’s not a tale for men’s ears! If you’ve forgotten it from when your mama told you, we’re not going to repeat it.”
“Men’s ears? So where are all the men?”
Aoife wished Mama wasn’t still birthing, or that Biri had returned from her foraging. What if Biri had been burnt in that streak of fire?
One of the strange men leaned back and stretched. He caught sight of Aoife huddling in the dark, stroking Mine’s dome.
“Hey there,” he said. “What a cute toy you have. He looks a bit like a baby duck, only bigger.”
Aoife didn’t know what a duck was, but he sounded friendly. He talked funny, yet she understood most of it. “It’s not a toy. It’s my house.”
The man smiled. “He doesn’t look like a house to me.” He gestured to the dim shapes of the hice standing aroun
d the square, almost invisible in the dusk. “Not that those are very big, mind.”
Aoife gaped. “They’re all grown. A mama and lots of kids can live in there. Are your hice bigger?”
“Lots bigger. We build them from stone or wood or brick. What are yours made of? Mud? Moss?”
“I don’t know what they’re made of,” Aoife said. “They just grow that way.”
A sudden ruckus drew them back to the circle.
Biri leaned exhaustedly on her house, soot-smudged even in the flickering firelight. She must have been close to the black smoke. Behind her, an equally blackened young man tried to back away from the women’s eyes.
“What in God’s name is that!” the man said.
Nobody paid him any attention.
He turned to Aoife. “What is that ugly critter with the girl? Something native?”
“It’s just her house. Look at her! She’s all dirty and burnt from the thing that fell from the sky.”
“You mean our ship?” the man asked.
“Ship?”
“Like a house in the sky or on water.”
“If it’s your house, you should have been more careful where you went and not burnt people,” Aoife said and ran away. Now Biri was here, they could go and see if Mama was done birthing yet. Aoife was cold and hungry.
* * *
Mama, looking very tired, had two babies in her lap. That was odd. One was a boy. Aoife sucked on her teeth and cuddled Mine harder. What would House do?
Mama’s face turned distant, a sign House was talking to her. Aoife wished Mine was old enough to do that.
Mama’s eyes rolled back down and a flush blossomed on her drawn cheeks. “House says he’s talked to the others and I can keep the boy. You’re going to have a brother!”
Alien Invasion Page 4
