Tirnan ‘Oge
by
Amanda McIntyre
‘Uair amhain ar am
Once upon a time…
The magic of faery and folklore burns eternal in the hearts and spirit of those who appreciate the fine art of storytelling. This story is dedicated to those who continue to weave their tales from generation to generation. On occasion, I refer to real groups, settings, and towns. You will find more on these subjects on the websites listed at the back of the book. ~Amanda
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among the long dappled grass
And pluck till times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
~W.B. Yeats
Chapter One
Ireland 1947
“Are you daft, Roan McNamara? All these stories of faeries an’ such. You’d have ta’ have a brain the size of a pea to believe such rubbish.”
Roan glanced over at his friend William. Now both in their early teens, the myths, and stories of their youth were beginning to wane in the dawn of adulthood, peppered by the realities of war.
“My Granda used ta’ tell me these stories. Ya have ta wonder if some of its truth now, don’t ya?” He pressed his companion for some evidence that all that he’d learned as a child was not just the rambling of old men.
His friend tossed a flat stone across the mirrored plane of the secluded farm pond, his eyes squinting in concentration as he counted the number of times it skipped happily across the surface.
“That makes it three skips out of three times. I still hold the record.”
He turned to Roan with a great and satisfied smile that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “Listen, there are no faeries, Roan. No little woodland sprites,” his voice cracked as he raised it in a falsetto mockery. “There’s nothing out there but grass and trees. Only what you can see.” William slapped Roan on the shoulder. “It’s time, my friend, to give up your childhood fantasies.” He paused a moment and then smiled wickedly. “Well, at least the ones that have pointy ears and little pink wings.”
Roan focused on the ripples where the stone had disappeared beneath the water’s surface. Something inside of him wanted to scream that his friend was wrong, while another part suffered with the fact that it might be true. But Roan stubbornly held fast to his beliefs. How could years of legends, tales told to him by his grandparents passed on from their grandparents, be totally obliterated at the simple declaration of skeptical William Neill.
“Perhaps ‘tis a question that should be left for another day, then?” Roan turned with a grin to his friend, who sat perched now on a hollow log as he tugged on his worn mucking boots over his bare feet.
William glanced up with his usual cynical expression and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe that Roan still held hope of the stories being true. “You’d have to show me proof, Roan McNamara. Solid proof.”
Proof? “The legends of the old stories weren’t created from proof. My Granda says that they are born of the heart and soul of our country, of years of magic and things that cannot be explained. He said they are like a giant fabric woven together by the passing down from generation to generation. Has your own Granda not ever told you these things, William?” Roan was frustrated that his friend wouldn’t share his beliefs, as if he were blind to the very idea all together. There was no possibility in William’s life, it was all about the here and now.
“What sort of proof would you expect?” Roan scoffed. “You know as well as I do that faeries are dangerous. One false step and you could be swept into a gallitrap.” Roan haphazardly tossed a stick into the lake, wishing in the next second that he’d not challenged his friend. William was not the type to back down easily. In fact, the more dangerous the challenge, the greater he encouraged it. It was an attribute about his friend that both frightened him and caused envy.
“Let’s see. I s’pose there are a few ways you could go about this.” He crossed his leg over his knee and stared into the endless blue afternoon sky. A smile crept over his face. “You could take something from one of the faeries. You know a piece of clothing or a working tool.”
“Yeah, like I could walk up to a faery ring and take something as easy as you please.” Roan gave a short laugh, secretly hoping his friend would see the absurdity of the idea and perhaps drop the entire thing.
“Or there is another option.”
Roan’s lips were suddenly as parched as his throat. How long had it been since morning breakfast? Surely the sun and swimming had caused the problem. He licked his lips and cleared his throat searching for any leftover moisture.
“Aren’t you a wee bit interested in your other option?”
Roan’s palms began to sweat. A cool, clamminess crawled up his forearms. His inquisitive nature was forever getting the best of him. “What other option, then?”
“That’s m’boy. Forever the curious type—it’s what I like about you, Roan.” William grinned as he walked up beside him.
“Or what?” he repeated with a sternness in his voice. Roan’s agitation rose with anticipation of the challenge that was sure to emit from William’s mouth.
“You find a young faery spirit—what do they call those, again?” William’s face scrunched up in thought, but the slight telltale sign of a smile remained on his face.
“Sighoge.” Roan mumbled under his breath hoping his friend wouldn’t snag the word too quickly.
“Ah yes, that’s it!” William pointed a stubby finger toward Roan’s nose. “Find one of those and kiss her.”
“Are you daft? Do you think they just litter themselves about for all to see? Haven’t you listened to any of the stories?” Roan frowned at his friend and headed back up the bank without a response.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“You’re afraid.”
“Am not.” Roan didn’t turn around for fear that William would see the fear in his eyes.
“Then do as I ask. If faeries, or more specifically Sighoge, do not exist, then there’s no harm done. I will once and for all, allow you to free yourself from these ridiculous thoughts of your childhood. I’m doing you a favor, really.”
“And what if they do exist, then you’ll believe me? Or at least stop bloody teasing me all the time about it?” Roan spun toward William, seething with the anger of his brusied pride.
“Sure.” William shrugged. “If you can handle what legend says about kissing a Sighoge.”
Yet another challenge loomed over Roan’s head at the reminder of the myth. His gaze caught the steely glare of his friend. “They say that a man who kisses a young faery spirit is lost forever, that the madness of love will fall upon him.”
William patted Roan’s shoulder twice and grinned. “Ah, I wouldn’t worry too much. Chances are, you aren’t likely to spot a young faery spirit around here for a very long time. My Da’s geese have surely scared them off by now.”
Roan stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet as they walked the rest of the way back to town in silence. They’d sneaked out of the last class of school for the second time this week and had to get back before the final bell. Today, William decided to tell the teacher they’d fallen asleep at the last recess and the bell had awakened them.
Unsure what was dancing in William’s head, Roan knew that the vision of a beautiful, young faery dancing in his would haunt him the rest of his life—or at least until he could prove William wrong.
“My Da’s watch!” Roan made a sudden stop in the middle of the dirt road. “I left it at the lake. Go on, I’ll
be there soon as I can.”
“You’ll be late, Roan,” William called after him.
“I can’t leave it,” he replied his feet propelling him back toward the spot on the bank where they’d been.
The priceless heirloom was given to him by his Ma on his eleventh birthday. She’d taken ill and was unable to work and so gave him the watch from the few left after they’d buried his Da. Four months later, they buried his Ma.
So engrossed in his thoughts, he missed the flat stone jutting up at the edge of the road. Down the grassy hillside, hurled over and over, he careened toward the large oak tree and the steep ravine below. His body bounced once and then once more, before coming to a sudden stop.
Roan lay flat on his back, his head spinning, eyes closed, and nauseous, trying to regain his scrambled senses. After a moment, he opened his eyes.
Peering at him, studying closely his face, was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her eyes, dark blue and shimmering, held a depth unlike any he’d ever seen. Her skin, pale blue as a Celtic moon, fairly glowed with an ethereal radiance. And her mouth—
Roan’s gaze drew in the shape of her mouth, lips that held the dew of a misty morning and pink as a perfect rose. It was a stirring sight for his pre-adolescent dreams.
She tipped her head as if she knew what he was thinking, but she said nothing.
Roan swallowed hard, not wishing to make any sudden moves lest he frighten her. He was frightened enough for the both of them. Just the same, he wasn’t ready to go mad just yet.
“Please—” Roan found his voice. “Whatever you do, don’t kiss me. I beg of you.”
A wisp of sadness crossed over her pale silvery blue face before she leaned back and smiled. To Roan, the effect was every bit as beautiful as a precious and perfect spring morning.
Perhaps he’d spoken in haste.
She held up his father’s watch, her tiny silver eyebrows arching above her luminous, almond-shaped eyes.
“You can’t have that; it was a gift from my Da.” Panic broke out in Roan’s mind. She could change him into some horrid toad, no doubt, and he’d have to sit here by the pond and eat flies the rest of his life. He looked at her trying to assess if she was a faery that possessed magic. But of course she did, he argued with himself in silence. She’s a faery!
“I saved your life, human. Would it not be a generous thing to repay the kindness?”
Her smile held Roan captive. He closed his eyes. “I rolled down the hill and stopped, that’s all. You didn’t actually save me.” Roan started to sit up and realized with a start, that there was no ground beneath him. He was floating in midair!
The young faery held his backside perched in her hand as though he weighed no more than a canary. Far below them was a deep ravine that plummeted a good ten feet to the rocky shore below.
“Please put me down…on the grass preferably,” he choked out his quiet plea.
She tipped her head curiously, surprised perhaps, by his request. “Why should I?”
“Because I asked nicely and I said, please?” he stated trying not to let the fear show on his face. He was glad that William was not around to witness this humiliation. He would never live it down. Assuming, that is, that he lived through it.
“What shall be my reward?” She grinned, knowing she had him by the seat of his pants—literally.
Roan knew his choices were slim. If a kiss is what she was after and he allowed it, there was great chance he’d go certifiably mad and his grandparents would have him put away with all the other mad men who’d been kissed by a Sighoge faery.
There was the watch.
But he would then have to deal with the wrath of his Gran, who made sure to its safe keeping every night in a special cupboard that was kept locked.
There were days when it was far better that a boy should stay in bed. This was one of those days.
Maybe he could snatch the watch and out run her?
“Not likely.”
Her sweet voice calmly countered the very thought in his head and he hadn’t said a word. Suddenly an old saying came to his mind and he blurted out the words before he could think on them. “What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine.”
Shocked, the faery lifted him out of harms way and set him on the grass. “What did you say now, lad?”
Summoning what little courage he had left and hoping he wouldn’t soil his pants, he repeated the words not knowing what to expect. “What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine.”
Her brow crinkled as if in a quandary. “But, I have your watch already. I have nothing else to give.”
Roan assembled his thoughts quickly. “‘Tis true and you have my life in your hands. Have mercy, then, and I will give you the watch.”
The faery stared at him and for all that was holy, Roan fought not to grab her slender shoulders and kiss her. Instead, he kept his thoughts to other things, like curling his lips protectively into his mouth.
“What are you doing?”
She peered closer, her opalescent eyes blinking in innocent wonder at the contortion of his young, inexperienced mouth.
Roan inched back, keeping his lips clamped tight between his teeth. “Nnommpfg,” he mumbled a response, averting his eyes from her inquisitive gaze.
“Ye have no wish to thank me for saving yer life?”
He shook his head no.
“Perhaps just a quick kiss?”
Roan’s chest broke out in a sweat. He closed his eyes. His lips now had no feeling, so even if she did inflict her brain-sapping kiss, at least he wouldn’t feel it.
The air between them was heavy with a honeysuckle fragrance, stronger than the sweet flowers in his gran’s garden. Her breath, near his face, was the scent of freshly fallen snow, clear and crisp to the nostrils.
It was not at all the worst way a boy could choose to go mad.
Roan squeezed his eyes tight, waiting for the inevitable fate about to befall him. One moment passed, and then another. He waited and peaked open one eye. Before him was the pond and the top of the oak tree, its branches reaching out to him. He opened both eyes, his gaze cautiously swerving to the left and right for any sign of her. Maybe she was but a bump on his head?
A movement from the corner of his eye grabbed his attention and his gaze darted to the edge of the forest. He saw her then, this faery, with her iridescent gown of pale blue sparkling in a single shaft of sunlight, molded to her exquisite form. Her silvery hair trailed in great waves down her back. The image seared into Roan’s soul as readily as a red-hot branding iron on flesh. She smiled, held up his father’s watch, and disappeared through the trees.
Chapter Two
1957~
Roan opened his mouth and allowed Clarissa to pop another grape into it. The tiny gesture amused her, evidently, and so to conform he complied, though he thought it rather childish. He’d only agreed to the picnic after William’s incessant badgering that they were on break from University and should indulge in a bit of fun. Not until he suggested that it would be at the pond did Roan reconsider.
“Do you remember how we would sneak from school and come down here to swim and skip stones?” William leaned back on the blanket, gladly obliging the young woman who shifted his head to her lap. Meghan was her name. She was pretty, but much quieter than other women that William usually dated. He smiled, took her hand, and kissed it, lingering there on purpose until she returned his smile.
Roan glanced away from the intimate moment between the two. “Aye, I remember.” He nodded as he stared at the pond, smaller now than he remembered, but the fields beyond were the same as in his childhood memory. Not agreat deal had changed, not here in the farm country where he grew up.
Much though had changed inside Roan. Ten years and the intrusions of life had tarnished his innocence. He often thought that he was not meant for this era with its cynicism, conflicts and chaos. Perhaps he was an old soul, as his Gran used to tell him. Roan learned that he was most happy in his solit
ude, where there was no one to criticize his beliefs.
Clarissa, his date for the picnic, had been secretly watching William and Meghan and she glanced up at Roan batting her eyelashes demurely as if expecting him to pay her the same attentions.
“What do you plan to do now, Roan?” the young woman asked, shifting her legs and patting her lap in offering.
He gave her a tight smile and averted his gaze to the horizon. The ravages of war had left Roan without family, and with no desire to have one. Life could be too cruel, giving one minute and taking the next. The war claimed his Da and his Uncle and soon after his Ma. That’s how he wound up at his Granda’s farm.
Roan glanced down at the voluptuous woman waiting patiently for him to make his move. All he had to do was hold out his hand. The expression on her face revealed she would indeed have followed him to a private spot where they could indulge in an afternoon of splendid pleasure. True, Roan thought often of dating, women and sex, but more often when he was near a woman, his mind would compare her to the sweet image of another woman he’d met, real or imagined, years before. A woman he could not escape. Perhaps this was his choice, an excuse for him, or perhaps it was her magical curse.
As if reading his thoughts William suddenly spoke up. “So, Roan old man, do you still believe in faeries?” William peeked open his eye and grinned.
Roan gave his friend a short, bitter laugh in response. “Don’t get me started William, you know that we don’t see eye to eye on that subject.”
Clarissa’s slid her hand slowly over his inner thigh, and leaned close. Her breath reeked of green olives and pimento from the triangular sandwiches they’d brought. “They’re so cute!” Meghan’s friend squealed with delight. In Roan’s mind they were hardly sustenance for a hearty appetite.
He didn’t wish to be rude, nor did he want to encourage Clarissa. He crossed his ankles, shifting away marginally, hoping she would take his hint. She was not to be dissuaded.
“You’re not a faery, are you?” she whispered. She brushed her fingers lightly over his crotch. “Can Roan’s little friend come out and play?”
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