by A. L. Knorr
“Why I never been asked to a summer ball by a man so fine as yourself,” I tilted my head and fanned my face. “I’d be honoured to attend this famous Eithne ball…”
“It’ll be a mud pit,” he deadpanned. “You’ll have to wear wellies.” His eyes were at half-mast like an annoyed Garfield and I laughed at his expression. He stole another sip of my coffee and dimpled at me. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know. So when’s this party? Do we have to bring anything?”
“This weekend. You might want to wear a burka and bring a stick to fend off the boys.” He stood.
“Nonsense. That’s what you’re for,” I smiled up at him. It was the only compliment I’d ever received from him. I’d take it. “That’s really all you came for, huh?”
“Aye. I was on my way to the lumber yard.”
“Well, don’t let me hold y’all up,” I drawled.
He rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling. “See you later.”
I watched the girls watch Jasher leave. They both cast curious looks at me. I opened my laptop and hid my smile behind my coffee cup.
The night of the party was cool and overcast. It had rained most of the day but had tapered off toward evening. The streets were damp and there was a misty glow around the streetlights as Jasher parked his truck along the curb.
“Where’s the party?” I asked, looking around. It looked like we were in a suburb.
“Through there,” Jasher pointed to a set of tall, crooked gates. I couldn’t see anything over the stone wall on either side.
“That looks seriously creepy,” I said cheerfully as I unbuckled my seatbelt.
“It’s in a park near the ruins of an old fortress called Eithne. The kids are allowed one party a year in there, as long as the place is spotless by morning.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Irish teenagers are more responsible than Canadian ones if they clean up after a bush party.”
“They lose the right otherwise.” Jasher opened the truck and got out. The sound of rock music drifted over the stone wall. Jasher closed the door and came around to my side. “So far I guess they’ve held up their end.”
“Do you come every year?” I closed my door and zipped up my wind breaker. I was carrying a bag of chips to donate to the snack table, and a couple of bottled drinks for us. Jasher’s version had alcohol, mine didn’t, thanks to Faith. Drinking in public was allowed in Ireland, but you had to be eighteen. I wondered if they enforced it. I followed that thought up with wondering what Jasher was like after he’d had a few.
“Gads no,” Jasher said as we walked toward the open gate. “Once was enough for me. I haven’t been to Eithne since I was sixteen.”
I stopped walking just outside the gate. “What?” My shoulders slumped and I stared at him. “You don’t even want to be here. Why did we come?” I turned and started back toward the truck.
Jasher grabbed my arm, laughing. “No, Georjie. It’s alright. It’ll be fun.”
I turned back, shooting him a dubious look.
“We’re here,” he said. “Let’s just go. You can’t go back to Canada without having gone to an Irish party.”
I let him steer me through the gates. I was frowning, and considering protesting again when the music got louder and the sound of good-natured laughter rolled over us.
“Whoa,” I breathed, as we passed a cluster of trees and the scene opened up before me.
“See,” said Jasher, behind me. “Worth it.”
The black void of the park had a small but bright galaxy of light in the middle of it. Tall trees towered on either side, their shadows blotting out the sky to the left and right. Christmas lights had been strung up haphazardly across a stone square, roughly the size of a swimming pool. The lights criss-crossed in all directions, with no rhyme or organization, illuminating the people dancing and chatting below. A DJ spun from a low wooden stage, the large screen behind him displaying psychedelic animation.
It was the backdrop to this affair that made my jaw drop. Behind the partiers was the looming, rugged shape of a castle ruin. Two huge towers, each with a drunken lean toward each other, stood stark and black against the evening sky like rugged giants on watch.
“That’s Eithne?” I asked.
“Aye, they’re not actually allowed to cross that fence.” Jasher pointed to a thick line of chain just behind the stone square. “There’s always a spy here from the village, probably more than one. None of them know who it is, and it’s someone different every year.”
We walked up the gravel trail through the trees and the faint smell of beer hit my nose. “How old are most of these kids?” The soft gravel crunched underneath our feet, sinking into the wet soil.
“Up to twenty-five, I guess,” Jasher said. “You’ll be able to pick out the cliques soon enough.”
He was right. When I really looked, it wasn’t hard to see that the smooth-faced boys and soft-cheeked girls were hanging out together on the dance floor, while bearded men chatted up women who looked several years old than me.
“Jash?” A voice brought our attention to the side of the crowd furthest away from the DJ. A copper-haired guy strode toward us with a surprised smile. People behind him were looking over at us and talking.
“Colin,” Jasher said, and the two shook heartily.
“Didn’t expect to see you here. You haven’t been to Eithne in years.” Colin’s eyes fell on me. “Who’s this?”
“My c… a friend from Canada,” Jasher said. The deliberate change in his choice of words wasn’t lost on me.
“I’m Georjayna,” I said. “I come bearing gifts.” I lifted the bag of chips.
Colin gave a hearty laugh and threw an arm over my shoulder. “Welcome to Ireland,” he said, exhaling the scent of beer over me and sweeping his other arm out. “Is it everything you dreamed of?”
I put on my best Irish accent. “Aye, there’s good craic to be had, like. If I can get this one,” I jerked my head toward Jasher, “to lighten up.” The word ‘craic’ meant conversation, and that was pretty much the extent of my Irish-isms.
I winked at Jasher and he shook his head at me.
“Aye,” his arm tightened, pulling my ear close to his mouth. He pointed his beer bottle toward Jasher and said conspiratorially, “This one was never out playin’ t'under and lightning with us when we was kids, everyone thinks he’s a bit touched in the head. But I know,” he brought the beer bottle against his chest, “he’s solid. Give me work when I was down, so he did.”
Colin rattled off the names of his friends by way of introduction, pointing the neck of his bottle at them in turn. Most of them had accents so strong and spoke with so much slang that I had a hard time understanding them. I strained to pick up some of the funnier sayings, but failed most of the time.
Jasher propped himself up on the low stone wall and chatted with some of the guys, his own accent getting thicker, too. It was nice to see him relax for once.
My eyes wandered up to the ruin as I drank my cider and listened to the music.
“Fascinatin’, isn’t she?” came a feminine voice at my elbow.
I turned to a girl with short blonde hair whose head reached the vicinity of my chin. “Bea…” I started, then stopped, knowing I was going to get her name wrong.
“Emily,” she smiled. “I did a project on Eithne in grade school,” she said as we wandered closer to the ruin. “I was obsessed. You see that bronze plaque there?”
I did. It looked to be a memorial of sorts, with an inscription etched into the metal surface.
“I memorized every name on that plaque, and what happened here in 1556.”
“What happened here?” I looked up at the two crumbling towers.
“A siege.” Her voice took on a mesmerizing lilt. “These were tower-keeps. They were once about eighty-five feet high, and there were more of them, four total, but they were destroyed.”
“Who was doing the sieging?” The moon was nearly full and had begun to rise over the
ruin, dusting the disintegrating rock with cold blue light.
“Who else? The English. The siege only lasted two days. There were about fifty Irish holding the fortress, and a dozen Spaniards. There were some women and children, too.”
“How many English?”
“Six hundred,” she said.
We stood next to the thick chain, with the memorial just on the other side.
“That’s hardly a fair fight. But the Irish won, right?” I expected a heroic underdog story but Emily was shaking her head.
“No. History doesn’t work like the movies. For six hours each day, Eithne was bombarded by cannons. A demi-cannon can blast through thick stone if fired right. The English threw up assault ladders, and the Spanish would toss them off while the Irish threw down boulders and fired guns. They say the moat was full of wreckage and bodies and the walls of Eithne ran with blood.”
My skin prickled. I imagined I could hear the sounds of cannon fire, screaming women, and crumbling stone.
“On the second day, the other two towers cracked and the great wall between them crumbled, crushing dozens and destroying their protection. The rest tried to flee but were gunned down or put to sword.”
“Women and children, too?” I asked, horrified.
“No,” she shook her head and turned to face me in the moonlight. “They were hanged.”
I swallowed. “Lovely story for a party night.”
“Aye, its not a happy one. But if we don’t remember them, who will? That’s why I memorized the dead.” She looked up at the moon and began to list old-world Gaelic names off on her fingers. “Ó Cuinn, Mac Domhnaill, Ó Baoill, de Paor, Mac Catháin, Ó Cionga, Ó Ruairc. I could go on,”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I should get back to Jasher. Thank you for the history lesson. I’m thoroughly creeped out now.”
She laughed, “Sorry. I do get passionate about my history. This wasn’t just the story of a siege, it was strategically significant in the sixteenth century.”
We turned and walked back to the party together. “How so?” I scanned the faces for Jasher.
“Once the English knew the tactics that broke through the fortress defenses, it was just rinse and repeat. The garrisons at Newcastle, Rathkeale, Ballyduff and others all fell the same way. That’s when guerrilla warfare came on the scene.”
“Fascinating,” I said, but I wasn’t listening anymore. I spotted Jasher and my blood went cold. Something was wrong. His face was pale, and his eyes darted around, registering things I couldn’t see.
I swore. “I’m so stupid,” I whispered. “We’re so stupid.” I dropped my cider into a nearby can and strode through the crowd toward Jasher. “Sorry Emily, gotta run.”
“Oh… kay…” she said behind me, confused at my abruptness.
People were talking to Jasher and he was making an effort to stay focused on them but failing. From the way his distraction shot from one place to another, it was clear he was being harassed by more than one entity.
“What’s the matter with ye, Jasher” Colin said just as I pushed my way into the group. “Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost.”
I put my hands on Jasher’s knees. “Jasher,” I said, and his unfocused eyes snapped to me like I’d just materialized out of nowhere.
His eyebrows shot up, and relief flooded his face. “Georjie,” he croaked.
“What the…” I started, then I stopped and took a breath. Heat flushed up my neck, and I swallowed down my frustration. “Sorry guys,” I turned to the group and forced a smile. “Lovely to meet you. I’ve come down with a headache,” I put my fingers to my temple. “Jasher, can you take me home?”
The whole performance reeked of poor acting but I didn't care - all I cared about was putting a stop to the look on Jasher's face.
He hopped down and took my hand. “Of course.”
We said quick goodbyes to Colin and his friends and strode toward the gate, me pulling Jasher behind me.
Jasher began to mutter in Gaelic and the sound made my skin crawl with a million ants. He wasn't speaking to me.
“Are they going to follow you?” I asked.
He kept speaking in Gaelic, with a borderline pleading tone. It wasn’t until we were inside the truck and had shut the door that he said, “No. Thank God they don’t move very fast, and they don’t stray far from their haunts.”
“How many?”
Jasher didn’t answer. I looked over at his pale face, his brow beaded with sweat.
“Jasher!”
“I’m thinking! Uh…seven,” He raked a hand through his hair and let out a deep shuddering breath. “Yeah, seven.” He looked over at me and suddenly grinned. “Don’t be upset, Georjie. I’m used to it. Well, maybe not seven at once, but—”
“Why did you even take me there? You know about Eithne, don’t you?” My heart was pounding with frustration.
“Aye, we study it in school,” he said, turning the truck through the main intersection of Ana and heading towards home.
As we took the corner I spotted a man just outside the circle of light thrown by a streetlamp. He wasn’t much more than a silhouette in clothing that looked too big for him. A newsboy cap was propped off-kilter on his head, and there was something familiar about it. There was also something off about the way he was moving, like a stiff animated scarecrow, or a zombie. I craned my neck as we went by, trying to figure out what made him familiar, but he was behind us and out of sight in a moment. I shook my head and turned back to Jasher, focusing on our own problem.
“I’m an idiot for letting you take me there,” I said.
“Easy, Georjie,” Jasher said, his voice now calm. We pulled to a stop at the last set of lights before our country road. “It’s my fault, not yours. No need to be angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I said, my face relaxing a bit. “More scared from the look on your face, and creeped out.”
“Aye, maybe it was stupid. I just wanted you to take more memories home with you than gardening,” he gave a dry laugh.
“Oh, don’t worry. I will,” I said, shivering and remembering the sound of his voice, murmuring in Gaelic to beings I couldn’t see.
“Usually, there’s only one or two out around Eithne.” He shuddered. “I wonder why there were so many out tonight?”
“The pounding music and the crowd might have had something to do with it,” I muttered, still steaming. “What did they want?”
“What they always want,” Jasher said as we approached Sarasborne and turned into the dark yard. “To be heard. Favors.”
“Favors?” I asked as we walked up the path toward the dark house.
“Aye, strange things. They want you to get a message to their relatives, who are in fact dead themselves, or to dig something up they buried, or do things that make no sense at all, like attend a concert on their behalf.”
“What?” I stopped halfway up the walk. “Why?”
“Who knows, Georjie?” He sighed, and I saw the exhaustion hanging on him like a heavy coat. His handsome face looked drawn and off-color. “Let’s focus on life instead,” he said, taking my hand and squeezing my fingers. “We’ve got a greenhouse with life in it, and we’re going to be there when it hatches. Now shush,” he said as we entered the mudroom. “Faith is a light sleeper.” He stopped and looked at me in the gloom. “Maybe, don’t tell her what happened tonight,” he whispered.
“Why not?” Going to the party was Faith’s idea.
“She’ll feel terrible. She doesn’t know the… extent of it. I never talk about them with her anymore, so it’s my fault for lulling her into a sense of security.”
I agreed to his request and didn’t probe him for more about the ghosts, but I also did a lot of tossing and turning that night.
Chapter 14
As the days passed and the horrible night of the party fell into the past, Jasher and I became more excited for the big moment when the fae would hatch. The house found its rhythm and I began to feel like I belonged. Most mo
rnings, I was up early and out for a run before seven and back for my shower by eight and then breakfast. I have never been a fan of breakfast. I rarely wake up hungry and I prefer dinner type foods, but Faith changed all that. Her piping hot scones fresh from the oven were to die for. She made delicious pancakes, the perfect soft-boiled egg, and beautiful fruit salads that included edible flowers. She single-handedly vaporized the stereotype of boring Irish cooking.
I had more strange dreams, all feeling like episodes from the same show, and each time it happened I would wake fuzzy and grasping to remember. By the time lunch rolled around, I’d forget them almost completely.
I almost never saw Jasher at breakfast. He's an early riser, and by early I mean disgustingly early. He was up and out of the house by five thirty a.m. He went to work in the morning and was back by three. He sometimes napped in the afternoon, always outside in a hammock, unless it was raining. I was intimidated at how much he could accomplish in one day and it pushed me to do more with my time. I worked on my photo composition course at The Criterion. I'd update my social platforms, check email, and indulge in my guiltiest pleasure - shopping online.
In the afternoons, I would help Jasher with one of his projects or take Faith's townie out to run an errand for her. Sometimes Jasher and I would go into Ana together. He'd go to the lumber yard and hardware store while I browsed antique shops. We always had to agree on a time to meet up because Jasher didn't carry a phone. I teased him about living in the dark ages, but inside, I appreciated his commitment to living a tech-free life. It was something I knew I could never do. My tech meant I could touch base with my friends whenever I missed them.
I'd help Faith in the garden, pulling weeds, deadheading, and pruning. It was while helping Faith weed one day, that the signs of a transformation began to whisper at the edges of my consciousness. It wasn't jarring, but it was also impossible to ignore.
I put my fingers on a plant, feeling the soft hairs on the leaves with the pads of my fingers. "Comfrey," I said. "Good for bone repair."
Faith, weeding nearby, looked up. "How did you know that?"
