by Alan Garner
“That is for the foundations, Sir,” they said. “Would you be so good as to take the tree down there?”
Zipacna jumped into the pit. “Foundations are a funny place for roof ridges, aren’t they?” he said. In answer, the young men piled logs and rocks on his head, and when the pit was a mound, they danced on it to celebrate the death of Zipacna.
But Zipacna was not dead. He was holding his strength, and when he felt that all the young men were above him on the mound, he burst upwards, the great mountainmaker, and his force sent the young men flying into the sky, where they have remained ever since as the Pleiades, waiting for someone to help them down.
Hun-Apu and Xbalanque had watched all this, and felt that they now had the measure of their enemy.
They made a ravine below a mountain range, and at the bottom of the ravine they carved an enormous crab out of stone, and painted it so that it seemed alive. Crabs were Zipacna’s favourite food. Then the twins spread the rumour that the biggest crab in the world was hiding in the ravine, and before long Zipacna came to investigate. When he saw the crab he swallowed it at a gulp.
“Good,” he said. “But heavy. No doubt I’ll be sorry.”
And he was. The twins diverted a river into the ravine, and Zipacna was too weighted to swim, and the twins pushed the whole range on top of him and shaped it into a single mountain over his head, so that Zipacna was both drowned and buried, and he lies under Mount Meahuan even now.
This left Cabrakan the Earthshaker.
The twins worked on him through his conceit.
They found Cabrakan throwing rocks about. He took no care for anything. If one flattened a village, it was just too bad.
“Good morning,” said Hun-Apu. “Would you tell us what you are doing?”
“Can’t you see?” said Cabrakan.
He lobbed a boulder into a maize crop.
“And who are you two?”
“We have no names,” said the twins. “We hunt with the blow-pipe, and since we never meet anyone, we need no names. But may we stay and watch you?”
“If you like,” said Cabrakan.
The twins sat and stared at Cabrakan with the unwinking eyes of children, and said nothing, nor showed themselves impressed by anything he did. Cabrakan tried all the harder to make these two hunters applaud, until after a week of mountain-hurling he was dizzy with hunger and fatigue.
Hun-Apu then shot a bird and baked it in clay for the giant, but the clay he used was poisoned, and when Cabrakan took up his work again he trembled as if with fever.
“Our father was a weak man,” said Xbalanque, “but he did all you have done. His favourite game was to throw that mountain over there into the sea.”
Cabrakan strove to focus his eyes through the sweat.
“What, that little white pimple of quartz?” he said. “That’s too small for me to bother with.”
“So you say,” said Hun-Apu.
“And so I’ll show,” said Cabrakan. He staggered to the hill and put his arms about it.
Now this hill was not like any other hill or mountain. It had no roots in the earth, but was a piece of the earth itself that showed through the land, an unbroken, shining rock that went on for ever beneath the giant’s feet.
So Cabrakan, exhausted by his efforts, poisoned by his enemies, took hold of the world and tried to lift it. His knees knocked like war-drums.
“We’ve been wasting our time,” said Xbalanque.
“I knew he couldn’t,” said Hun-Apu.
Cabrakan gave one great heave. The top of his head blew off. And that was the last of the race of Vukub-Cakix in Guatemala.
Brownie was a type of goblin that lived in and around the farmhouse. He would often work for the people on the farm, but he had an unpredictable temper, and sometimes, as in this story, he was much more trouble than he was worth.
here was a brownie once who got above himself, and thought that because he stacked the hay (if he felt like it), and cleaned up in the kitchen (if it wasn’t too mucky), the whole farm belonged to him. He was for giving the farmer marching orders.
Of course farmer will have none of that, so brownie makes a great to-do at night, and it’s half a day’s work regular to clear up after him around the house. Well, then farmer gives over leaving milk out in a saucer by the hearth; and so it goes from bad to worse.
Anyway, brownie must have the big field, he says, and they chunner and chunner, calling each other all the names, so as women have to cover their ears for language. Anyway, it’s left that farmer will do the work, and they’ll share the crop half and half between them.
When Spring comes, farmer says, “Which will you have, tops or bottoms?”
“Bottoms,” says brownie.
So farmer plants wheat, keeps the grain for himself, and gives brownie the roots and stubble.
Next year, farmer says to brownie, “Which will you have, tops or bottoms?”
“Tops,” says brownie.
So farmer plants turnips, and brownie is left to make what he can of the leaves.
He’ll have none of it the next year: not tops or bottoms: he will not. Corn, says brownie, that’s what it must be, and the field divided in half, and brownie and farmer to have a mowing match, winner keep all.
July next, farmer goes to the blacksmith and has ever so many thin iron rods made, and he plants them all over brownie’s half of the field.
Anyway, they start mowing at daybreak. Farmer walks through his patch, up and down, sweet as a comb, but brownie’s snagged like I don’t know what.
“Mortal hard docks, these: mortal hard docks,” he keeps clacking.
Anyway, after an hour of this the rods have knocked the edge from his scythe and it’s as blunt as a plough handle, and brownie is right borsant.
Now in a match, mowers take time off together for sharpening up; so brownie calls to farmer, “When do we wiffle-waffle, mate?”
“Oh, about noon, maybe,” says farmer.
“Noon!” says brownie. “I’ve lost my land!”
He drops his scythe, and he’s never seen on that farm again. And no wonder.
Adapted from the Translation of WHITLEY STOKES
I have to admit to a weakness for Celtic legends. It would be all too easy to fill this book with them. For me, no other people were so rich and terrifying in their imagination. They found no need to explain: the stories often appear to be strung together at random – and yet there is always the feeling that everything is very simple. We are looking at a real and brilliant and logical world through strange glass.
You can take this story all at once, or bit by bit. All at once will crowd your brain with colour: bit by bit will make thoughts like yeast.
The Voyage of Maelduin’s Boat This. Three Years and Seven Months Was It Wandering in the Ocean.
here was a famous man of the Eoganacht of Ninuss (that is, the Eoganacht of the Arans): his name was Ailill of the Edge of Battle. A mighty soldier was he, and a hero-lord of his own tribe and kindred. And there was a young nun, the prioress of a church of nuns, with whom he met. Between them both there was a noble boy; Maelduin, son of Ailill, was he.
Now this boy was reared by the king’s queen, and she gave out that she was his mother.
Now the one fostermother reared him and the king’s three sons, in one cradle, and on one breast, and on one lap.
Beautiful indeed was his form, and it is doubtful if there has been in flesh anyone as beautiful as he. So he grew up till he was a young warrior and fit to use weapons. Great, then, was his brightness and his gaiety and his playfulness. In his play he outwent all his comrades, both in throwing balls, and running, and leaping, and putting stones, and racing horses. He had truly the victory in each of those games.
One day, then, a certain haughty warrior grew envious against him, and he said in raging anger, “You,” he said, “whose clan and kindred no one knows, whose mother and father no one knows, to vanquish us in every game, whether we contend with you on land or on w
ater, or on the draughtboard!”
So then Maelduin was silent, for till that time he had thought that he was the son of the king and of the queen his fostermother. Then he said to his fostermother, “I will not eat and I will not drink until you tell me,” said he, “my mother and my father.”
“But,” said she, “why are you asking after that? Do not take to heart the words of the proud warriors. I am your mother,” said she. “The love of the people of the earth for their sons is no greater than the love I bear to you.”
“That may be,” said he: “nevertheless, make known my parents to me.”
So his fostermother went with him, and delivered him into his mother’s hand; and thereafter he entreated his mother to declare his father to him.
“Silly,” said she, “is what you are doing, for if you should know your father you would have no good of him, and you will not be the gladder, for he died long ago.”
“It is the better for me to know it,” said he, “however it be.”
Then his mother told him the truth. “Ailill of the Edge of Battle was your father,” said she, “of the Eoganacht of Ninuss.”
Then Maelduin went to his fatherland and to his heritage, having his three fosterbrothers with him; and beloved warriors were they. And then his kindred welcomed him, and gave great courage there.
At a certain time afterwards there was a number of warriors in the graveyard of Dubcluain, putting stones. So Maelduin’s foot was planted on the scorched ruin, and over it he was flinging the stone. A certain poison-tongued man – Briccne was his name – said to Maelduin: “It were better,” said he, “to avenge the man who was burnt there than to cast stones over his bare burnt bones.”
“Who was that?” said Maelduin.
“Ailill,” said he, “your own father.”
“Who killed him?” asked Maelduin.
Briccne replied: “Raiders of Leix,” said he, “and they destroyed him on this spot.”
Then Maelduin threw away the stone which he was about to cast, and took his mantle round him, and his armour on him; and he was mournful. And he asked the way to go to Leix, and the guides told him that he could go only by sea.
So he went into the country of Corcomroe to seek a charm and a blessing of a wizard who lived there, to begin building a boat. Nuca was the wizard’s name, and it is from him that Boirenn Nuca is called. He told Maelduin the day on which he should begin the boat, and the number of the crew that should go in her, which was seventeen men, or sixty according to others. And he told him that no number greater or less than that should go; and he told him the day he should set to sea.
Then Maelduin built a three-skinned boat; and they who were to go in it in his company were ready. German was there and Diuran the Rhymer.
So then he went to sea on the day that the wizard had told him to set out. When they had gone a little from land, after hoisting the sail, then came into the harbour after them his three fosterbrothers, the three sons of his fosterfather and fostermother; and they shouted to them to come back again to them to the end that they might go with them.
“Get you home,” said Maelduin; “for even though we should return to land, only the number we have here shall go with me.”
“We will go after you into the sea and be drowned there, unless you come to us.”
Then the three of them cast themselves into the sea, and they swam far from land. When Maelduin saw that, he turned towards them so that they might not be drowned, and he brought them into the boat.
1
They rowed that day till evening, and the night after it till midnight, when they found two small bald islands, with two forts in them; and then they heard out of the forts the noise and outcry of the drunkenness, and the soldiers, and the trophies. And this is what one man said to the other: “Stay off from me,” said he, “for I am a better hero than you, for it is I that slew Ailill of the Edge of Battle, and burnt Dubcluain on him; and no evil has so far been done to me by his kindred for it; and you have never done the like of that!”
‘We have the victory in our hands!” said German, and said Diuran the Rhymer. “Let us go and wreck these two forts.”
As they were saying these words, a great wind came upon them, so that they were driven over the sea all that night until morning. And even after morning they saw neither earth nor land, and they knew not where they were going. Then said Maelduin: “Leave the boat still, without rowing.”
Then they entered the great, endless ocean; and Maelduin afterwards said to his fosterbrothers: “You have caused this to us, hurling yourselves upon us in the boat in spite of the words of the enchanter and wizard, who told us that on board the boat we should go only the number that we were before you came.”
They had no answer, save only to be in their little silence.
2
Three days and three nights were they, and they found neither land nor ground. Then on the morning of the third day they heard a sound from the north-east. “This is the voice of a wave against a shore,” said Maelduin. Now when the day was bright they made towards land. As they were casting lots to see which of them should go on shore, there came a great swarm of ants, each of them the size of a foal, down to the strand towards them, and into the sea. What the ants desired was to eat the crew and their boat: so the sailors fled for three days and three nights; and they saw neither land nor ground.
3
On the morning of the third day they heard the sound of a wave against a beach, and with the daylight they saw an island high and great; and banks of earth all round about it. Lower was each of them than the other, and there was a row of trees around it, and many great birds on these trees. And they were taking counsel as to who should go to explore the island and see whether the birds were gentle. “I will go,” said Maelduin. So Maelduin went, and warily searched the island, and found nothing evil there. And they ate their fill of the birds, and brought some of them on board their boat.
4
Three days and three nights were they at sea after that. But on the morning of the fourth day they saw another great island. Sandy was its soil. When they came to the shore of the island they saw there a beast like a horse. The legs of a hound he had, with rough, sharp nails; and huge was his joy at seeing them. And he was prancing before them, for he longed to devour them and their boat. “He is not sorry to meet us,” said Maelduin; “let us go back from the island.” That was done; and when the beast saw them fleeing, he went down to the strand and began digging up the beach with his sharp nails, and pelting them with the pebbles, and they did not expect to escape from him.
5
When they went from the island they were a long while voyaging, without food, hungrily, till they found another island, with a great cliff round it on every side, and therein was a long, narrow wood, and great was its length and its narrowness. When Maelduin reached that wood he took from it a rod in his hand as he passed it. Three days and three nights the rod remained in his hand, while the boat was under sail, coasting the cliff, and on the third day he found a cluster of three apples at the end of the rod. For forty nights each of these apples fed them.
6
Then afterwards they found another island, with a fence of stone around it. When they drew near it a huge beast sprang up in the island, and raced round about the island. To Maelduin it seemed swifter than the wind. And then it went to the height of the island, and there it performed the trick known as “straightening of body”, that is, its head below and its feet above; and so it continued; it turned in its skin, that is, the flesh and bones revolved, but the skin outside was unmoved. Or at another time the skin outside turned like a mill, the bones and the flesh unmoved.
When it had been doing this for a long while, it sprang up again and raced about the island, as it had done at first. Then it returned to the same place; and that time the lower half of its skin stayed still, and the other half above ran round and round like a millstone. That, then, was its practice when it was going round the island. Mael
duin and his people fled with all their might, and the beast saw them fleeing, and it went into the beach to seize them, and began to hit them with stones of the harbour. Now one of these stones came into their boat, and pierced through Maelduin’s shield, and lodged in the keel of the boat.
7
Now their hunger and thirst were great, and when their noses were full of the stench of the sea they sighted an island which was not large, and therein a fort surrounded by a white, high rampart as if it were built of burnt lime, or as if it were all one rock of chalk. Great was the height from the sea: it all but reached the clouds.
The fort was open wide. Round the ramparts were great, snow-white houses. When the warriors entered the largest of these they saw no one there, save a small cat which was in the midst of the house, playing on the four stone pillars that were there. It was leaping from each pillar to the other. It looked a little at the men, and did not stop itself from its play. After that they saw three rows on the wall of the house round about, from one doorpost to the other. A row there, first, of brooches of gold and of silver, with their pins in the wall, and a row of necktorques of gold and of silver; like hoops of a vat was each of them. The third row was of great swords, with hilts of gold and of silver.
The rooms were full of white quilts and shining garments. A roasted ox, moreover, and a flitch in the midst of the house, and great vessels with good intoxicating drink.
“Has this been left for us?” said Maelduin to the cat. It looked at him suddenly, and began to play again. Then Maelduin recognised that it was for them that the dinner had been left. So they dined and drank and slept. They put the leavings of the drink into the pots, and stored up the leavings of the food.
Now when they proposed to go, Maelduin’s third fosterbrother said: “Shall I take with me a necklace of these necklaces?”
“No,” said Maelduin. “Not without a guard is this house.”
Howbeit the fosterbrother took it as far as the middle of the enclosure. The cat followed them, and leapt through him like a fiery arrow, and burnt him so that he became ashes, and went back till it was on its pillar.
