Jack of Ravens

5

The storm blew itself out during the night. Church was woken sharply by Etain, at the edge of the communal hut where he had drunk himself into a stupor of forgetfulness.

‘What is it?’ he groaned.

‘You must come.’ It was all she said before departing quickly.

Church emerged into a bright dawn of fiery reds and shimmering golds. All of the villagers were gathered around a mound on the north side of the settlement, and Church could see they were laughing and cheering. As he neared he saw they were all drinking again, clashing their mugs with gusto. The reason for the party only became clear when he saw Ailidh sitting amongst the loudest group, clutching a swaddled bundle to her. She looked pale and exhausted, her cheeks tearstained.

Church went over to congratulate her, but as he peered into the bundle, he saw that the child’s face was blue. Ailidh’s eyes confirmed his fears.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. Through the idyllic days and nights he had spent with these people so far he had forgotten the harsh realities of life during that time.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Only joy.’

Owein clapped Church on the shoulder and thrust a drink into his hand. ‘A time for celebration, Giantkiller.’

As Owein wandered off, singing, Etain took Church’s arm and led him to the edge of the group.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said simply.

‘We cry at the birth and rejoice at the death,’ she replied. ‘That is our way. Ailidh’s child lives in peace in the Summerlands now. He will not have to suffer this world.’

Church knew the Celts believed in the soul, and in a cycle of reincarnation. At death, the soul would pass to T’ir n’a n’Og, the Otherworld, where the gods lived, where it would wait to be reborn into the world.

‘I understand.’ He sipped his drink, wishing he could find comfort in similar notions.

Etain surveyed the tranquil landscape. ‘You do not share our beliefs. I know that you come from far away where other things are held dearly. But if you think the gods only live in stories, you are wrong.’

Church said nothing.

‘The Tuatha De Danann have been all around us since the First-Times. They have golden skin and beautiful faces, but inside they are cold and hard and they would treat us in a way that we would not treat our animals. They see this world as their dominion, one of the Great Dominions. They believe they can take what they want, and do what they will. But that must change, for we have suffered long enough.’

Church listened carefully, saying nothing that would show his disbelief. He understood that the Celts saw the world as a magical place, filled not just with gods, but with spirits and strange beasts. After encountering the giant, he could not dismiss their worldview so easily, but he still hoped for a rational explanation.

‘The … gods fought a great battle here recently — the Second Battle of Magh Tuireadh?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘They defeated their great enemy, the Fomorii, the Night-walkers. But they have suffered greatly, too, and they have returned to T’ir n’a n’Og to lick their wounds. They will be back. But until then we have time to forge our own destiny, free of their influence.’ She raised her face, proud and defiant, and pressed his cup to his lips. ‘So drink now, for our poor, frail kind, and know that we will find strength. And we will not be broken down again.’

As Etain rejoined the others, Church was left with a great admiration for her, and for the community. They understood and accepted the hardship of their life, even if they did characterise it as the work of the gods, and they remained unbowed, determined to rise above it.

Lost to his thoughts, he was startled when he saw something peculiar peeking at him from behind a nearby tree. At first glimpse it looked like a man, but it appeared to be covered with brown fur, like seal-skin. He hurried over to investigate but found nothing, at the tree or anywhere nearby. Just a figment, he thought, but he was left with an impression of mischievous eyes and a dark, toothy grin.