by Rab Fulton
God glanced at Lucifer, who once more stepped forward and gazed at the crowd. When there was silence he returned to God’s side. Most of the assembled angels were filled with curiosity and anticipation, but some were getting bored. Oonagh nudged Finnbheara, who was beginning to yawn.
God spoke once more: ‘It will be your role to oversee these mortals and to give what aid and guidance you can, as long as it does not interfere with their free will.’
Finnbheara swallowed his yawn, rubbed his hands with glee and nudged his wife. ‘That sounds more like it. We can have mighty fun with these new fellows.’
The guardian of Heaven remained by God’s side but felt uneasy as he listened to snatches of the nearest conversations. While many angels were delighted at the promise of these new beings, others remained unconvinced that mortals were to be welcomed.
‘If they have free will, that makes them the same as us, no matter how long they live.’
‘They will take God’s love away from us.’
‘Oh, it is worse than that. Think on it. The lives of these new human beings will be miniscule compared to ours. Would that not mean that everything they feel in their short lives will have greater intensity than anything we experience? Their sorrows will be sharper. Their joys greater and fuller. Their passions, arts and thoughts will have an importance vaster than ours. Even human follies and mistakes will have greater worth than angelic achievements.’
Some angels shouted the speaker down. But others demanded he be allowed to speak. Lucifer braced himself, but God laid her hand gently on his. ‘Let them talk,’ she said.
Lucifer’s unease deepened when, looking towards his beautiful companion, he saw that her face was wet with tears and her voice quivered as she quietly said, ‘Give them a few minutes more, my love, then call them to order again, for I have one more announcement to make.’
Beautiful gowns were torn as confused and angry angels grabbed at each other and demanded their opinion be heard. When Lucifer could stand it no more he clapped his hands together and the sound echoed around Heaven. The angels stopped their arguing in an instant. They looked to the hill, their expressions sheepish and contrite. Some shook their heads as if they had just awoken from some strange unsettling dream of anger and menace.
God wiped her eyes and stepped forward. ‘I have one more announcement. Until now we have all existed in perfect harmony. Instinctively we each knew our place and our role, and there has been no need for formal titles and positions. But the creation of these new beings may bring confusion into our ranks. Therefore I say it is necessary that we clarify where each of us stands. As it is my light that gives all life, I ask that you recognise that I rank above you in the same way as you rank above the mortal humans. I rule and I rule alone. Only by recognising this will we ensure that there is order and peace.’
‘Hurrah for God!’ cheered many of the angels. But some wailed, ‘We are reduced, shrunken.’ Others, filled with anger, rushed at God shouting and gesturing. Frightened that she would be hurt, one angel by the name of Michael pushed his way to God’s side and called for aid from Lucifer. But Lucifer understood that God’s words meant that he would no longer be her constant companion, that he would simply be one more angel, far beneath God’s lonesome status. So sudden and abrupt was the weight of grief and betrayal on his heart that his legs almost buckled under him, even as angry and scared voices swirled around him in a dizzying tumult.
Who threw the first spear is not recorded, but in a moment the beautiful rose of Heaven was infested with the clamour and din of war. Michael called on the angels to defend God. Lucifer, transforming into a great dragon, demanded the angels support him as the chief guardian of Heaven’s constitution. The fighting was as savage as it was long. Harmony was smashed by chaos. Where once there had been song, now there were screams and groans. Where once there had been gentle parties and meetings of old friends, now there was the clash and clang of vast legions of warriors. Not one inch of Heaven was untouched by war. Even on the very edge of Heaven, those angels who fled the war were assailed by the distant echo of monstrous weaponry, booming like the sound of pebbles rolled and tossed by an ever-moving and ever-grinding tide. It is among these refugees we find those magical beings that would eventually be known as the daoine maithe.
Why did some angels refuse to take sides? Perhaps out of fear. Perhaps in shock at how swiftly the war erupted. Maybe there were those who only wanted to have time to consider the opposing arguments before taking sides. There may even have been those who were waiting for the armies of God and Lucifer to become so exhausted that they could then step in and take over Heaven. Many, I guess, were simply appalled at the savagery. Wishing only for things to be as they once were, many desperately prayed that the war would finish as quickly as it began.
But there was no swift end to the battling. The violence became so great that it spilled out of Heaven and into the great emptiness below. The emptiness shook and echoed with scorching heat and blasts of terrifying anger. Then the great dragon tail of Lucifer broke through the fabric of Heaven and ignited our universe into existence.
Stars were birthed from nuclear and chemical reactions; burning masses of rock collided with bomb-blast-fast icy shrapnel; huge gravitational wells pulled and pummelled matter into the shapes of asteroids and planets. As God’s battalions slowly ground down the ranks of Lucifer’s followers, so too did our universe begin to settle into order and harmony.
5
Punishment and Exile
There is no sadder sight than a rose wilted by frost, its once bright petals blackened from the blight of insects. We can only imagine how God wept as she looked at the rose of Heaven broken and ugly after eons of war. In time she and the angels would replenish the divine blossom until it shone more brightly than ever. But in the immediate aftermath of conflict God had a more pressing concern.
After deep consideration God decided Lucifer and his followers were to be cast out of Heaven. Lucifer became known by many other names including Satan, the Devil and the Earl of Hell. His followers became known as demons. The epitome of all things foul, wicked and ruinous, they were sentenced to an eternity imprisoned in fire. Where these flames are, it is hard to say. Perhaps they are in another universe, a universe constructed entirely from blaze. Or perhaps each of the insurgent angels were cast into the belly of one of the innumerable stars of our universe, to be whipped by the ferocity of nuclear explosions. Perhaps the great jets of plasma that occasionally erupt out from the star we circle are caused by one such demon flailing in frustration.
Though Lucifer was defeated and cast from Heaven into fire, he was not reduced by this. He remains a constant threat with the potential to defeat God. But his threat is in the manner of the wind that blows and beats against the vanes of a wind turbine, its potential to destroy being converted into energy instead. So too the constant tension between Lucifer and God creates the dynamic that gives power to reality. For this reason it is important to respect Lucifer, even as we fear him.
But I digress, for Lucifer and his followers were not the only angels that troubled God. She also had to figure out what to do about those angels who, rather than taking sides, had fled the trauma of war. They had not betrayed God, but they had not helped. After some thought God decided they were to be sent into exile. There they would remain until judgement day, when God would declare her final decision.
And so these exiles fell from Heaven’s grace and tumbled through the great void of the cosmos. Though powerful beings in their own right, against the vastness of space they were as insignificant as motes of dust. Perhaps it was during this great falling that we find the origin of the music of the fairies. For the galaxies they tumbled through served as sounding boards that echoed with the crackle of asteroids spinning, the pulsing boom and hiss of storm-wracked gas giants, and the distant radiating roar and spit of suns dying and birthing. With every such alien noise assailing and drenching them, the angels knew they were falling ever further from the
joy and harmony of Heaven’s melody.
So it was that, eons later, when the exiled angels tried to make music that reflected the beauty of their lost home, the sounds they produced, though full of beauty and grace, were also touched with vast sorrow and foreboding; beneath every glittering beat that danced and skipped there waited a deep dark cosmic discord. It is this conflict that gives the music of the immortals such power and resonance, yet makes it so dangerous for humans to hear. As Lady Wilde warned us more than a century ago, the sorrow and the ecstasy of the fairy music can easily transport us mere mortals into a state of ‘forgetfulness of all things, and sometimes into the sleep of death’.
As the angels fell, the place of their exile took shape. Even though the war between God and Lucifer had finished, the material world still roiled and shook in the wake of the titanic conflict. In the far corner of the universe the outer wisps of a vast nebula collapsed under the impact of an exploding star, creating a great disc of fiery material. The pressure was so great that hydrogen fused with helium, creating an astounding burst of energy and, just as a phoenix is born from fire, so our star was born. Like every newborn creature, our sun was ravenous and ate up nearly all the material spinning around it. Yet there were crumbs enough left over to form the planets of our solar system.
6
Life on Earth
Earth spent much time as a ball of burning lava, but gradually it cooled enough for rain to fall and oceans and lakes to form. The atmosphere was still poisonous, but the chemicals needed for life could be found sloshing around in a reeking witch’s brew that held the potential for every and any form of life, from eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog. It may well have been supercharged lightning that set off the chemical reactions that kick-started evolution, but accompanying the flash there would also have been a sound. And the sound, I have no doubt, would have been the cackle of an old woman, the Cailleach, the creator being of Scottish and Irish folklore.
Though her story is not included in this book (it would take volumes to write a biography of such an important and controversial character), a little has to be said about the Cailleach, not least because she helped shape and continues to shape this world. Earth is a restless planet; nothing is ever settled or finished, its mountains feeling as compelled as clouds to change shape (though more slowly). But in addition to the likes of meteorology, volcanism, plate tectonics and evolution there were and are other less understood forces. The Cailleach is one of the most potent and dangerous of these.
In her original form she was a giantess who strode across Scotland and Ireland with a hammer in her hand and a basket filled with monstrous rocks (harvested, some say, from Scandinavia). She hammered mountains into shape, tore at coastlines, scattered her massive rock boulders along shorelines, and gouged holes in the land that filled with water and so became rivers and loughs. Hers was and is a power that demands respect. Even after the landscapes of Ireland and Scotland pleased her eye, she was not content. She continues as the weaver of storms, the creator of bleakest winter and the mistress of death. Behind all things that bring terror there stands the Cailleach. Her name translates into English as Old Woman, Hag or Witch – three designations that evoke strong negative reactions.
Once upon a time, however, the Old Woman, Hag and Witch – the myriad Cailleach – were viewed with awe and profound respect. A shift in perspective can make us understand why this would be. Yes, the sharp-edged, chasm-gouged mountain can be a terrible place, filled with treacherous footpaths, avalanches and fearful drops. Yet it is also the mountains that store the snow and ice of winter to release it in springtime as melt-waters that quench the thirst of the lowlands. Winter, though often cruel, also brings great blessings, for it is winter that compels plants to transfer energy downwards, making their roots go deeper into the soil, thus strengthening the foundations of oak and ash and hazel tree. As for death, it is the completion of life, and its presence compels us mortals to live as fully and satisfyingly as we can, to dig and taste deeper the rich soil of experience, friendship, love, work, play, joy, grief, birth and marvellous adventures.
In some aspects the Cailleach shares much with benevolent God; in other ways she has all the terrifying rage of embittered Lucifer. It is impossible to say which she is closer to – it may be that she is in fact older than either. All that can be said with certainty is that without the Cailleach ours would be a shallower, less worthy existence.
7
The Testimony of Fintan Mac Bochra
And so the angels of this narrative tumbled from Heaven, and after immeasurable time came to rest in lands given shape by the Cailleach. Much has already been written about this early phase of their exile on earth and as my focus is on their later adventures I do not want to spend too much time on this period. However, this early history does hold important clues as to the character of the creatures we now commonly refer to as fairies.
Medieval scholars examined the history of the fallen angels in much detail, referring to them as the Tuatha Dé Danann. Tuatha was a medieval Irish term commonly understood to mean a tribe or small kingdom. In this context, however, a better description would be ‘community of the mother goddess Danu’. It is uncertain where exactly the exiles landed; somewhere in northern Europe is the best guess. Next to nothing is known of this period, but it is interesting to note that by the time they arrived in Ireland, the exiles, who had fled the battlegrounds of Heaven, had mastered the art of warfare.
They arrived in the west of Ireland surrounded by a thick mist and, burning their ships so that they could not retreat, advanced against the then rulers of Ireland, the Firbolg. The war that ensued was as savage as it was short, with all the brave deeds and slaughter of the ten-year Trojan War compressed into less than a week. The battles roared and screamed across a vast landscape, a scarlet-splashed tide of ferocity that ebbed and flowed from the shores of Lough Mask to the foothills of Knockma.
The Firbolg finally retreated from battle, but the peace that followed was uneasy, with the victors having to cope with continued Firbolg threats. More dangerous was an armed revolt by the Fomorians, a race of giants allied to, or perhaps subservient to, the Firbolg. The Fomorians in turn were defeated, but were treated with respect by their new masters and allowed to live in peace in Connacht. The Tuatha Dé Danann had clearly mastered diplomacy as well as warfare.
Having defeated the Firbolg, the new overlords of Ireland began to settle the land. It may have been during this period that Finnbheara and Oonagh took up residence in Knockma, but how that came about is anybody’s guess.
They are a clever pair, and I can imagine them using trickery to gain the hill. Perhaps the other Tuatha Dé Danann argued over who should own the hill, and Oonagh and Finnbheara offered to be temporary stewards:
Oonagh: ‘As soon as things are resolved among yourselves we’ll give the hill back, gladly.’
Finnbheara: ‘Gladly and with great relief. We don’t want to look after it, but duty is duty.’
Oonagh: ‘It’ll be an onerous task, all that dusting and cleaning.’
Finnbheara: ‘But we know our duty. We’ll keep it ship-shape and clean as a whistle.’
Oonagh: ‘And when your little contretemps is amicably concluded, we’ll leave the hill quicker than quick.’
Finnbheara: ‘Swifter than a sneeze, we’ll blow out of there. Cross our fingers, hope to die, duty is duty and all that stuff.’
Then, once they got the keys, as it were, they shut the bolt, blew a raspberry or two at their fuming compadres and settled into their fabulous new abode.
Or maybe they simply won it over a game of chess.
Your guess is as good as mine.
What is not in dispute, however, is that before Finnbheara and Oonagh moved in the Tuatha Dé Danann explored the curious hill all over. On the very crest they discovered a peculiar structure. It was a small artificial hill made up of tens of thousands of shards of grey stone.
Among the defeated Firbolg
was a creature who claimed to know what the structure was. This creature was similar in appearance to the Tuatha Dé Danann, only smaller and twisted by old age. It was one of the mortal beings that God had spoken of, and the foretelling of which had caused violence to erupt in Heaven. The human was named Fintan Mac Bochra and he explained the stony mound thus:
‘This is the burial site of Ceasair, the granddaughter of Noah. She argued with the patriarch and fled with her companions. The company included fifty women and three men. I, Fintan, was one of those men. We built our own small fleet of arks and escaped the flood that way. As we made our journey I fell in love with Ceasair, but she was our leader, and she would have no favourites.
‘We reached the south of this island and tried to settle there. It is a good land, but there were not enough of us. We battled wolves and weather both, argued among ourselves and made foolish mistakes. Constantly we were moving on, seeking a place that all agreed would provide security and plenty. It took us many years but eventually we came to the fastness of Knockma. It was a perfect place to live, yet by the time we arrived there age and disease had brought an end to many a one’s journey through this life.
‘On Knockma we few survivors settled. By then time had thinned my hair and weakened my bones, but I hoped that my love would finally be repaid. It was not to be. In anger and sorrow I left the company of Ceasair and her remaining companions. I began what I believed would be my last journey. I grew ever older and slower as I wandered far across this land. My anger and sorrow grew old and slow too. Yet my love for Ceasair returned as young and quick as ever it had been. So I chose to return to Knockma, to die in the company of Ceasair.
‘But I returned too late. Ceasair – the strongest, the bravest and most determined of us – was dead. She had outlived all her companions except me. With the last of my strength I placed her body on top of the hill. It rained hard and I trembled with cold and grief but I managed to use the last of my strength to build a cairn over her. Then I lay down and awaited death.
