sparky lightbourne
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An Oirish Fairy TaleThe Thirteenth Brother
Moll Reilly had twelve sons and no daughters, four of them died before their fifth birthdays, which was quite common in those days, but still they were sad events. At the age of 39 she died in childbirth with her thirteenth son, he was unwanted, a mistake and his father blamed him for his mothers death. Still little Caomhain as he was called some might say cruelly, given that his name means spare or reserve in Gaelic was not cast out by his family, they grudgingly except him, and in material ways he was no worse treated than his surviving brothers. It was clear though that his father did not love him, and did what he could to avoid the boy.
When he was thirteen Caomhain was walking back from a day labouring in the Englishman’s fields for which he was paid a penny a day, it was late in the afternoon twilight when on the otherwise deserted road he came across a curious little man, who had a big ginger beard flecked with grey, and was clad in good quality green tweed with a silver silk shirt. The man hailed him by name and introduced himself as Sweeny Beg and explained that he was Caomhain’s half-cousin, he handed the piqued young lad a letter that he said would explain it all. Now although the English had outlawed the education of catholic boys, our hero had against his father’s wishes and unlike his brothers received some educational instruction from a wandering hedge school.
The honeyed words in faded ink purported to be a love letter, from Sheara Beg, King of the Na Síogaí, the fairy folk to Moll Reilly, late mother of Caomhain and his brothers, it expressed the King’s desire to father a son by Ma’ Reilly, and that when the son reached a certain age, he would be called upon by his people to do them a service. Now this tall tale didn’t surprise our hero as much as you might think, it often been remarked in his village that there was something of the Síog about young Caomh, certainly according to his brothers, the lad had been born with thick black curly hair, and a full mouth of strong cream coloured teeth. Often thought to be signs of fey blood.
The brave lad asked Sweeny what was required of him, for he correctly assumed that this was their way of requesting his assistance, now Caomhain was well educated in the ways of his kin, and was well aware of the risks of dealing with them without keeping your wits about you.
Sweeny with a wily grin and a glint in his gimlet eye explained that a landlord by the name of William Boyle was planning to chop down a sacred grove, a copse of silver birches on his land that was a place of contemplation for the Na Síogaí so that he could install a threshing machine, which as Sweeny pointed out would also adversely affect the local labourers, including two of his older brothers who regularly worked for the Boyle on a casual basis.
Caomhain agreed to carry out the task of preventing the Englishman from achieving his goal, and asked how he might accomplish it. Sweeny said that the boy would think of something when he got there, and that he should set off immediately, and with that the funny fellow skipped into the hedgerow where he vanished with a click of his heels and a scattering of rabbits and small birds.
Two hours later, Caomh’ reached the house and land of the Boyle and could see the copse which was indeed glowing silver in the clear moonlit sky, it did look beautiful and mysterious that was for sure.
Still our intrepid young man was at a loss about what to do to save it. He had just sat disconsolately on the grass to have a good old think when the sweetest sound he had ever heard reached him, it was a woman or young girl singing, he could not understand all the words they certainly were not English or the Gaelic. The mellifluous tones were coming from the sacred grove, and almost against his conscious will Caomh’ was drawn to the trees.
Once within the grove he found himself bathed in the silver light of the moon and trees and the golden light radiating from gorgeous form in front of him, a young woman in a glowing semi transparent gown and matching cloak was in front of him, she stopped singing and spoke.
“Dia dhuit trathnona, conas ta tu Caomhain?” She asked, her voice just as silky as when singing.
“G..g..good evening ma’am, I am very well thank you.” Replied the lad nervously, trying not to stare at the curves and shadows tantalisingly appearing beneath the gown.
“So what brings young Caomh’ to this fair place so far from the bosom of his family?”
“My lady, Sweeny Beg, my half cousin approached me on behalf of my father King Sheara of your folk and asked me to save this sacred place.”
At this the lady frowned, her eyes glittered dangerously for a moment before she recovered her temper.
“And what did they say was threatening this protected grove?”
“Why, milady they said that the Englishman who owns this land wished to build a threshing machine on this location.” He gulped, suddenly doubting what he was saying.
“Those two rogues, I will have to have words with the naughty mischief makers when I return to our realm.” She snarled this, lips curling with anger.
“Sweeny will end up a goose like his namesake the old king of men if he is not careful.”
She then proceeded to tell a now frightened and confused Caomhain the truth about how yes he was a son of the Na Síogaí, and of the Begg, but Boyle was not a threat, he was no joyless puritan or Presbyterian but a friend of the Fey Kin, in fact her husband. He had however beaten Sheara at a bet several years before in which the prize had been her hand in marriage, and the touchy King had been embarrassed about it ever since and vowed revenge.
Caomhain was not entirely convinced, that is the problem with dealing with the other realm, the fairer they same seem the fouler they may be, there was not much he could do about it though.
“Caomhain, do not worry, it is not your fault that your father’s seirbhíseach tricked you in this way. Listen to me lad,” she held his firm chin in her cool golden grip.
He looked into her magical golden face, with it’s burning now black eyes.
“It is your thirteenth year, you will soon become a man, and it is time you learnt about your other heritage.”
She gestured at a crack that rapidly widened in the air behind her, revealing a strange orange twilight, distant green hills and flowery meadows.
“Go through, meet your father and reprimand him for using you like this, and then study his skills at his feet.”
Compelled by a mysterious force, as if in a daze, Caomhain walked through the crack, which closed with a sound like a slamming door behind him.
The lady smiled to herself, and then with a flash of blinding light, Sweeny was standing there, a sly grin in his ginger beard. He rubbed his hands together and gambolled like a young lamb towards the Boyle’s house.
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