by Tom O'Neill
In the kitchen, Kevin said, ‘No thanks,’ when Connie offered to make him one of the doorstep sandwiches he always made for himself and Dark when Helen was away. Buttery and full of rashers, onion and Tayto, they were Dark’s favourite snack. Kevin raised an eyebrow and said, ‘No offence,’ when Connie asked him again was he sure.
Dark was stopped by a thought. He was suddenly starting to see his life as Kevin was seeing it. He went to the freezer in the back kitchen and took out a couple of ‘four seasons’ pizzas. ‘Me and Kevin will have these instead,’ he said to Connie. He slit the plastic off and put them on the top tray in the hot oven of the Aga.
Connie went outside after eating two of the sandwiches and leaving the third in the bread bin where he knew Dark would come back for it later. As Dark took the pizzas out of the oven he said, ‘Sometimes, you know, there’s more to people than meets the eye.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Kevin, with a glance that was half way between fear and pity. In his slightly annoying habit, he flicked his blond fringe from over his eye. ‘I guess it must be really hard for you here sometimes. I mean, I complain about my old man always being on my case, but I suppose I wouldn’t want it the other way either. With nobody giving much of a crap what you do.’
‘What?’ said Dark, trying not to sound angry. ‘Nothing here is really hard.’
As they stood at the sink rinsing the plates and coke glasses, Kevin sighed and said, ‘I think I’ll go home tomorrow if that’s okay, dude.’
Dark could bring himself to understand that too. After all, if he had had anyone to call to take him away from here in those early days, he too would have gone. The fact that there was now nowhere else he wanted to be would not have been any more comprehensible to his then self than it would be to the now Kevin. He would have been aghast if he could have foreseen that his school-leaving plan would be to find a job that would allow him to stay part-time farming like Connie. No, he had no reason to be sore with Kevin for wanting to go so soon.
‘No need to bother your dad,’ said Dark. ‘We’ll drop you home. We go to town on Thursday mornings anyway.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ said Kevin. ‘It’s just that the internet connection is a bit laggy out here, that’s all. I’ve been trying to run a debug on some Java code I’ve been working on.’
‘No bother,’ said Dark.
‘I’ve been writing a time-stamped deque,’ Kevin continued, over-explaining as usual.
Online, the only thing Kevin and Dark had in common was that neither updated his social profiles. Otherwise their online activities were entirely different. Kevin’s java blog had guru status on certain 4chan boards. He rarely ventured elsewhere. Dark only ever took part in discussions to do with League of Heroes game plays. So he was careful now to make no sound that would invite a full explanation of the ‘deque’ situation.
‘And a word of advice,’ Kevin continued, never knowing how to stop talking when he was feeling awkward. ‘I guess you might have been thinking of inviting Ciara out here? To get the band started or whatever?’
‘I was not thinking that,’ said Dark, taken off-guard. He didn’t want to hear what Kevin was now about to say.
‘No offence, Arthur,’ said Kevin. He always called him Arthur when he was giving unwanted advice in his old man’s voice, ‘but I think it mightn’t necessarily be the best way to impress her. If you know what I mean. Maybe we should all just meet up in town. We could get a garage or something where we could start practising. I mean out here, where would we even set up the gear? In a cow shed or something? Realistically, I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s alright for me out here. And all that. But for a girl like her, if she met Connie or his friend and saw ... I mean.’
He was embarrassed now, having said way more than he had started out to say.
‘I wasn’t thinking that at all,’ Dark repeated casually, the slender image of Ciara tip-toeing through his mind, leaving his house for a waiting car while the smile in her green eyes turned to a laugh. ‘I have some jobs to do outside. Do you want to come?’
He only asked because he knew Kevin wouldn’t come. His friend had already been edging towards the laptop. He would soon be immersed in his own logical realm, time-stamping its deques while time in this world slipped away suitably unnoted. He would be brought back only by active interruption. Dark would not be interrupting him for a while.
Outside he saw Connie head towards the road field with Psycho. Connie seemed to enjoy going on autopilot for the milking. Like he became part of the machine. The cows would have his uncle’s mind for a couple of hours. And his mam wouldn’t be coming back this evening. She usually stayed with Dark’s grandparents in the city when she had Wednesday afternoon lectures. So she said.
That left him hanging loose. He did not have any jobs to do: his calves had already been fed.
The heavy clouds were bringing an early black night. He went to the hayshed and climbed to the top of the round bales. He sat there for a little while trying to think about things. There was something going on that he was uneasy about. Not to do with Ciara nor Kevin or Connie, nor even Saltee – as far as he could figure out. When he coughed, a large stray cat that he had never seen before ran silent and white from the middle layer of bales.
His unease grew worse. He couldn’t sit. He put his hands in the outer pockets of his parka; he didn’t know why. He felt there was something there. All he found was the squished remnants of a Snickers. He thought that might settle him, but as he licked the last of it off the paper it did no good. He climbed down. It was like he had an itch beneath his skin. He needed to walk or run for a bit to settle it. Every night sound was amplified in his head. He thought he heard his name called from down the fields somewhere. He was sure of it in fact. He looked towards the black-blanketed expanse. His thinking turned to going for just a few hours.
Maybe it would be a bit irresponsible to leave his friend alone. But even if Kevin noticed and got spooked, well he would be leaving tomorrow anyway – so who cared? And his mam would never find out, so she would be no worse off.
It was not that he had forgotten his promise never to go back to the rath at night. But there was this about Dark: he liked to do things his own way.5
He went into the kitchen. He could see the light of the laptop shining off the open bedroom door. ‘See you in a bit, Kev,’ he said, to make sure that Kevin was not listening out for him. A suitably disinterested ‘Huh?’ came back.
He took a slice of crumbed ham from the fridge. He opened the front door and used the ham to coax Georgina in from her night-time circling of the yard. He got her to sit in the basket by the Aga with Pumpkin. This was to prevent her following him. The sight of the rath always made a fine mess of Georgina. She would lie down in the bog whimpering like she was dying and he would have to carry her home.
To bring luck and comfort, he put on the warm Pixies hoody that had been his dad’s. His mam wasn’t sure she liked him wearing it. And then his jacket. He checked he had his torch. He pulled the front door after him and headed into the shadows. He knew the fields very well and did not need the torch for this part. He had crossed the two grass fields and was back in the bog before he had time to have second thoughts. He trod carefully towards the centre of the bog, making sure to widely skirt the quagmires. It wouldn’t do to be phoning for help as he was being sucked to the bog’s ‘cold wet heart’.
The briars on the way into the rath were massively overgrown; he was much bigger than the last time, less able to slip through without getting scratched all over.
Inside was eerie blackness, the unnatural silence. Not the normal noisy quiet of night. The middle was clear, the canopy overhead too thick for any plant to live underneath it. The ground was soft with desiccating oak leaves and poisonous yew needles. Dark sat with his back against the biggest tree. He waited. For what? Why was he here?
He breathed shallowly through his nose so as not to break the soundlessness. Maybe that was precisely what he had come for. Quiet. To banish th
e imaginings he had absorbed from living too long among superstitious country people. To prove the rath was just an ordinary place. That it no longer had any hold on him. He could be like his friends. All Dark really wanted was to be normal.
Eventually he stood, brushing leaves from his pants. He patted his parka to check that his phone hadn’t fallen from the inner pocket. As he felt the lining, the unease that had taken him here returned.
When he stepped on a protruding root there came a head-piercing shriek. His legs almost buckled. He counted to fifty very fast, his way of calming himself. He hadn’t heard anything but an owl or maybe a vixen. He steadied himself only for it to come again. A howling, whining sound. It was from high in the branches of a yew tree. When he looked up the voice broke into words. ‘Oh, and you think you can walk out just like that without blessing or thank you? The bony amadán thinks he will pay no price for his intrusion on the world of the good people.’
‘And it’s quite good to hear your fine voice again too!’ Dark heard himself say. It didn’t seem like the right time to deny that he knew the voice of the Fear Dearg, foul púca, outcast of the world of the little people.
With the silence broken, suspended conversations resumed all around him. There was rustling and whispering as the more friendly of the little kingdom emerged onto branches and resumed their evening. Then the air quietened again. A warm draft of air brought another person, enormous and silent. The Old Man stepped into the open space. Also refusing to stay locked away in Dark’s past imaginings. Also a guest in the home of the little people. His grey hair flowed over his yellow and blue tunic. Following him was Conán, almost as massive but with his beard still black and baring a dangerous grin; next came a woman with long red hair. Immediately a great fire sprung up and began to gather people of both sizes in around it.
‘Welcome to you, a mhic,’ rumbled the Old Man. ‘What brings you here? What is troubling you?’
‘A lanky scrounger,’ shrieked the Fear Dearg, a purple-faced abomination now walking perpendicularly down the trunk of the tree. ‘He only comes to presume on the hospitality of decent people when his own don’t want him.’
‘Nothing,’ said Dark truthfully, ignoring the púca. ‘Nothing troubling me except that I’m talking to trees.’
‘Arthur, you came to us because you have something on your mind,’ said the Old Man, reaching out and placing a surprisingly soft hand on Dark’s shoulder. He said to the others, ‘Bless us all, but look at the height of him. Hasn’t our Arthur grown from a sapling into a fine young dair?’
When the Old Man continued looking at him, waiting, Dark had more to say despite his best efforts to shut up. And he wasn’t talking about Kevin going away without giving him a chance. He wasn’t asking how to shake Connie from his growing obsession with buried treasures. He wasn’t even asking how to stop Trevor Saltee getting to him. Instead he heard himself saying, ‘How long before I can hear someone speak about my father without getting my stomach in a knot?’
‘That, I am sorry to report, I cannot answer,’ said the Old Man, looking at him quietly.
‘It used to be because I couldn’t get him out of my head,’ said Dark. He never discussed this with his mam or Connie. He could not understand why he was saying it out loud in front of these wild people. ‘Now it’s because I can’t get him clearly into my head.’
‘What I can do though, is invite you to stay in good company and leave the confusion behind for a while,’ said the Old Man. He called into the trees.
There appeared a girl, Etain. She looked so familiar with her shiny black hair and moss-green eyes. She wasn’t even up to Dark’s knee. When she looked at him and smiled, he knew there was no caution on earth that could stop him from taking the small golden chalice she offered or from swallowing its dangerous contents without a thought.
‘It’s been in my mind to tell you of Matha,’ said the old man. He looked across the fire at Conán, who nodded. ‘You might have heard of him as an ancient: a very wise and powerful druid.’
Dark had not.
‘But you put me in mind me of him when he was but a lost lad, and the way he started his journey.’
Dark then went to sit by the fire next to Conán. Warmth swept over him as he gave in and all the darkness of the world disappeared. He stared into the flames as the Old Man’s words started: describing a place, a cabin in a valley that he could see through the flames.
No caution could stop Dark from swallowing the dangerous contents of her chalice.
Chapter 1a
THE BLACK PONY
People often wondered afterwards what it was that had started an ordinary boy like Matha wandering the country; how it was that many people would look for him in times of trouble; why others feared him, and what had started the belief that he had links with dangerous forces.
In fact Matha was the least likely person to ever want to wander anywhere. None of what happened had ever been intended by him. His plan for his life was very simple: it was to work his family’s land and live in cooperation with his neighbours; maybe one day get married and have a family of his own. That way of living had made his ancestors content and it would do for him too. He wanted to trouble nobody and saw no reason to expect trouble from anybody.
But the cruel obstacle on Matha’s path first appeared one fine summer day when he was only seven. Matha was weeding a small patch of carrots in the garden behind the cabin where he lived with his mother. He suddenly felt a coldness over his entire body and he started to shiver uncontrollably. He looked up and a black cloud had darkened out the sun. He ran to his mother who was breaking sticks for kindling. She felt his forehead and started fussing about him. She put her shawl over him and it covered nearly his entire body but it didn’t make him warm. She was about to bring him inside when they heard a reedy foreign voice from behind them: ‘Greetings, good woman!’
They both turned and on the lane that ran near their cabin was their first view of the man they would come to know as Cerball. He was long and stooped. His hair was black and tied tightly behind his head. His eyes too were jet black. He had a pointy beard. Over his shoulders was a long black womanly cape. Next to him on his horse-drawn cart was an unnaturally large black cat. Matha’s mother seemed amused. She obviously thought he was some kind of travelling showman. Matha was terrified and the shivering got much worse.
‘Blessings on you and your travels,’ said Matha’s mother. ‘Can we offer you refreshment for your journey?’
‘What good have blessings ever done you, woman?’ he asked with a rasping laugh that showed a mouth full of mangold-yellow teeth. ‘Why don’t you bring over that boy to me, as I’m in need of an apprentice and he looks suitable?’
Matha ran inside and hid in the hay of the settle bed next to the fire until he heard the laugh disappear down the lane; only then did his shaking stop.
Cerball must have known what a weak and greedy man the chief of their fine was. Even though this Cerball came with three horse carts full of possessions, he was believed when he claimed he was destitute and had lost everything when the sea in the north had washed over them. When he supplied the chief, Flaith Peigín’s Eoghan, with gold chains and entertained him with foreign wines and a shell that produced music, the chief was won over to Cerball’s sad story.
The very next day, the chief announced that he was taking the best of Matha’s mother’s ground and giving it to a certain admirable farming gentleman. A council of the fine was called. Some of the members objected that Flaith Peigín’s Eoghan had no power to take away property without good cause and without the council’s approval. But he said, ‘A person more learned than any of you has made me see that land is nothing but a burden for a woman with no man about the place.’
Matha didn’t know why his mother had no man about their place. It was just the way things were. He had never heard tell of having a father of any sort. Maybe he had none. But his mother had farmed their land as well as anyone else around and even at that young age Mat
ha knew that the injustice of losing the best of the family grounds to Cerball was a blow from which she would never fully recover.
Still, she said to Matha, ‘There is no use in you fretting about it, son. This is our lot now.’
Over time, many got used to Cerball. Some worked for him as he didn’t like to get his hands dirty. ‘Cerball is not so bad,’ they said, ‘He’s a crafty fellow, true enough. But he is getting on well. He has built a tidy house and his cows are fat and shiny. Who could begrudge the man that? It puts extra food on our plates.’
Matha and his mother had to get used to living from the two little patches of boggy ground that had been left to them. Everything about their lot was bad. Even on a dry year they couldn’t get their ridges dry enough to plant anything in time. They had the smallest, smokiest cabin in the valley. Their cow was sickly. And they rarely had enough to eat. It was a daily struggle for them to keep their souls together with their bodies in this world. Matha’s mother somehow always managed to keep a smile for him, saying, ‘Well at least we still have each other, and there’s nothing more Cerball could want to take off us except the smoke of our poverty and the emptiness of our pot.’
He promised his mother that as he grew stronger he would work hard to earn the respect of the chief and to get some more land on which to give her comfort in her old age.
As Matha grew, he tried to keep out of Cerball’s way. He didn’t know why he was the only one who still felt strange whenever Cerball was near. Not shaking anymore, but filled with fear and hatred. He tried hard to push these feelings away so they could not drag him down into dark thoughts.
Matha stopped telling people about these feelings after he overheard his neighbour say, ‘Well, it’s understandable of course. The young lad resents Cerball because that used to be his family ground. He’ll grow out of it.’
As it happens, Matha’s peculiar instincts were very sharp. There was indeed much that was fearful and hateful about Cerball. This sour gentleman was not from the north. Or from any country that an ordinary person could inhabit. He was not one of them at all. In fact, he was a very dangerous person with a great deal of badness seething inside him. His real trade was in the casting of spells that would cause great harm to others and great advantage to himself. And sometimes in casting malicious spells for no advantage to himself, only to satisfy his own malice. The name he had been known by before was Saile.
