Cailín (Lass) (Anam Céile Chronicles) (5 page)

Evidently,
this once belonged to a youth of nearly me same age, or perhaps, a young
woman. 
Possibly because it fit me present dilemmas, I decided it to
be a young woman.

Fer how
long had she lain here, silently entombed beneath these rocks?  Hundreds of
years?  Or perhaps thousands even?  What must her life have been like, so long
ago?  Was her life more carefree than mine, or was she saddled with perhaps
even more burdens in life? 

Perhaps
a highly revered beautiful priestess she be!  Then again, that she could not
have been.  Fer the magnificent ancient burial sites erected to honour the dead
I have seen. 

I
suppose, then, only just another person she must have been.  And her life be
not significant enough to be remembered, or apparently to even be marked.

Likely
she died in childbirth.  Then, I wonder whether it be her first, or whether
many children before then she had borne and that be merely the one which sent
her to her grave.  Imagine, a man caring so little fer his woman that he would
expect her to bear child after child, over and over again, until giving life
ultimately took hers!  How absurd it all be!  What be the point of any of it?

Or,
just perhaps she had run away from the foul old husband her father sold her off
to fer some meagre dowry, to join with her fine young lover, only to be caught
and executed fer her treachery.  How perfectly horrible!  And I believe first
they forced her to suffer witness to her courageous lover’s gruesome slaughter,
whilst she watched on wailing helplessly!  Oh pity her agony! 

And
knowing she would be next, she must have fought and broke loose, and fled,
until . . .   Oh, I cannot bear to think of what end must have come her by the
hands of those men who had never truly loved her, rather had merely owned her. 

As a
cow!  Is that all we are meant to be?  Cows, breeding stock, servants . . . 
slaves to gratify the perverse carnal appetites of men?  Only to endure the
degradation of the barrage of assaults to our body with their rod, causing the
aching, grotesque swelling of our bellies which could quite likely be the end
of us. 

Until
they grow tired of us, that is, and their lust drives them to hunt out fresher,
lovelier flesh to devour; and yet still we be duty-bound to serve them and
clean up after their filth.  What a nauseatingly revolting arrangement! 

And
‘tis this me father would gleefully thrust me into!  Be there not any father
with love enough fer a daughter to pardon her this merciless fate?   I’ll
demonstrate to him that I not be the property of any man to be sold and traded!

And
with that, bear any more I could not.  I clambered up, the boiling tears streaking
stains down me soiled face and shuffled away with nary a second glance,
scarcely noticing me acquired hobble.

Fully
knowing I should proceed toward home, I turned the other way and went deeper
still into the serrated terrain of the
Boireann
.  Carried away by me
thoughts, I wandered farther than ever I had afore.  Previously, I had only
gone to the edge of that beckoning region of dangerously beautiful landscape,
but not ever deep within it.

Something
inside me longed to reach the edge of the deep green sea, so that I may breathe
its salty mist into me soul fer the first and feel its vitalities coursing
through me.  Nevertheless, I knew I would not be able to attain that distance
in the remainder of this day.  Such an excursion would take half the entirety
of the day, likely even atop the back of an
aiteann
.  In silence, I
vowed to endeavour it soon, to receive the gifts of the sea as a virgin
surrenders her gift to that first lover.

I
chuckled to meself at the thought of climbing atop our old workhorse,
Morrissey, to ride all day over the ambiguous terrain.  I admitted to meself he
probably be too cumbersome in size to nimbly surmount the faces of those
crags.  More feasible a goat would be!  Yet not nearly as meaningful with which
to share such an event.  I truly did love that old
aiteann
!  He quite
possibly be me best friend in all this world!

And if
an inanimate object could serve as a friend, beyond doubt it would be me
fiddle.  It had served me loyally fer most of me living years, and had
sustained me through various arduous days.  Many a time, strumming the strings
of me fiddle had been me only comfort through the trying times of me
childhood.  Then having reached the dawn of me adolescence, I believed I would surely
turn to it more than ever.

I began
to play, as grudgingly I revolved meself round to proceed home.  As ‘twas the
same each time I caressed its strings, the tune soothed me as only it be able. 
As though its
ceil
extended deep into the caverns of me soul to
encompass it in its mystical embrace so long as I enabled it to live through me
fingers.  At times, it seemed as if it be
it
which kept me fingers
moving intuitively. 

A
symbiotic relationship, that from which both beings benefitted.  One could not
survive without the other.

The
synergy generated be prevalent throughout me being as instantaneously the notes
transformed into their distinctive marvelously vibrant hues swaying in me mind,
creating its extraordinary masterpiece bursting of every colour conceivable,
along with several I have never actually experienced in this world with me
outward eyes. 

I close
me eyes to receive the profound effect of this miracle, as I delight in the total
surrender to all me senses as the cadence cycles with the blood pumping through
me veins, the tranquil waves of its ambient sensation reaching to all the cells
in me body with each successive pulsation of me heart.

And
though a solid lass I surely be, on countless occasions I have been roused to
tears and the manifestation of deeper emotions than ever I knew the potential
existed.  ‘Tis fer this reason me passion lies in me music.  It most certainly
captivates the deepest desire and greatest need
,
the motivating energy
of me existence.

When at
last I opened me eyes again and waited fer the return of their focus to the
outside world, all I could see were more beautiful colours, somewhat softer
this time, seeming to paint the sky above me.  Then I grasped the setting of
the sun ‘twas and I had better make haste in returning home before darkness
swept the land completely. 

Still
awaiting the widespread alertness of me physical body, I lie there fer a moment
before I be able to spring up and dart home, distinguishing the odd sensations
it produced.  I rather enjoyed the sensations I experienced sliding into it
much more than tumbling out.

Slight before
dark I did arrive at the gate and through the pasture I ran hurriedly, becoming
acutely aware of the throbbing in me foot.  To the barn I rushed, praying me
father had not already been out, and upon finding me absent presently seen to
the animals. 

To me
relief, the animals were inside stirring about most impatiently.  Haste I made in
dispensing their dinner, saving Morrissey fer last so that I may chat with him
a bit.

When I
turned the corner to where he stood, he looked up at me with obvious relief.  I
ambled over to him and placed the hay in his manger.

Aislinn! 
Where have you been?  I have been so worried about you!

Sorry I
be, Morrissey.  I should not have kept you waiting.  I be upset and required a
long day away from me father.

I do
wish you did not have to tolerate his harsh treatment of you.

So
then, were I to run away, might you accompany me?

That I
not be sure of, as you know we would both be the recipients of yer father’s
wrath then.

Precise
you be, Morrissey.  I could not rightly subject you to that.

“Aislinn?” 
The distress be evident in Mama’s voice as she came into our view.  “Lass,
where
have
you been?  Fretted meself sick I have over yer long hours
away!”

“Ma, I
implore you do excuse me!”  I disclosed to her me repentance.  “I only be on
the
Boireann
fer the greater of the day, strumming me fiddle and
reflecting upon me thoughts.”

“I do
understand you must have been dreadfully upset after last night,” she started
sympathetically.  “Still, do you believe remaining out beyond twilight will be
the manner in which to please yer father?”

“I simply
do not care to please
him
, Ma!” I snapped, as always feeling slighted by
her allegiance to him.

Thoughtful
she be fer a moment, and I appreciated that she did not wish to bring about
another futile quarrel.  As she was staring down thinking on what to say to me
next, her head she abruptly jerked up.

“What
in God’s name became of yer foot, lass?  The flesh be virtually hanging off
it!”

Fer a
moment I considered whether I should divulge to her the happenings of that
afternoon; though, in the end I decided against it, fearing to only concern her
further.

“Oh,
‘tis nothing, really, Ma.  Just stumbled when I be climbing and scraped it upon
the rocks,” I fibbed to her.  Still, there be a part of me which yearned to
tell her of the young woman’s skeleton I had discovered.  I wished we could sit
and have a lengthy chat about what I be feeling as I sat there deliberating
over the remains of that ill-fated young woman.  Yet, in light of the events of
the previous night, not sure I be that was the grandest idea.

Consequently,
‘twas greatly to me dismay when she broached the following topic. 

“Aislinn,
you know, you surely
could
be such a appealing lass,” she fussed, trying
to sound persuasive, “if only you were to take some bit of interest in how you
present yerself.”

Perplexed,
I simply stared at her, from the first not grasping the point of her words. 
“Whatever do you speak of, Mama?”  But then, not a moment sooner than these
naïve words had leapt off me tongue, so did I comprehend where this be headed. 
“Ma . . .” I groaned, rolling me eyes, but she promptly interrupted me
complaining.

“Sweet
child, so much you have to learn,” she cooed to me.  “Do allow me to guide you
into yer womanhood.  I promise it not be all that you dread.”

“Oh
Mother!  I would reason that of all folk,
you
would know I give not
importance to such things!  I be not as Deirdre, who cares fer little else ‘cept
her vanity.  I accept the fact pretty I may not be, and really bother me in the
slightest it does not!  Not a use have I fer such things!  ‘Tis not as though
beauty would enrich me performance!”

“Oh,
Aislinn,” her voice heavy with sorrow, “’tis not to say you not be
álainn
. 
Only that you might play it up some and truly stand out . . .” She paused a
moment before continuing.  “. . . and use it fer appealing to a
lad
you
would.”

“And I
presume I have made me absence of intention clear on
that
matter,
Mother,” I spoke determinedly.  “I refuse discussion of it any further.”  With
that said, I rose and walked away to finally put some food in me belly.

T
he
winter beyond that day, I be passing the holiday at the house of me cousins,
Deirdre and Finn.  Deirdre be two years me elder, and quite dissimilar to me,
as ‘twas all she could dream of, to know love and what her fate would be
therein.  The whole of her existence fixed upon her vanity, which she did
consider her greatest asset, and her most guaranteed instrument with which she possessed
to attract the finest match.

An old
love charm there be of which countless young girls were eager to test the
powers.  That night, she coerced me into sneaking out to fulfill it.  In her
most elated manner, she described to me the particulars of this foolish ritual.

“Gather
we must, these herbs under the glow of the full moon of this New Year . . .”

Glancing
me way, she took notice of the disinterested expression I wore and promptly became
irritated that I not be captivated by her details of the ritual we were supposedly
so
fortunate to enact.