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THE TASKS AT BEALTAINE

Máire J. Ferguson ©

“This place is magic,” Claire thought, happy to be surrounded once more by the wild scenery of the west coast of Ireland. Above her, sheep speckled the rock-strewn fields; below, the ragged cliffs led down to the small stones of the beach and the tiny treacherous harbor beyond. Tomorrow would be May 1, the Celtic feast of Bealtaine, the first day of spring, her birthday. She would be twenty-seven. What better way to celebrate than to be here with Aunt Ellen, immersed in the culture and traditions of the ancient gods.

She parked the car at the end of the lane, where the low walls on either side had crumbled with the centuries, never to be replaced. The sharp tang of Atlantic seaweed and the cries of the gulls recalled childhood memories and chased away the tension of the past ten days. Fifty meters to her left, the white-crested waves crashed against the silvery gray shore and the Isles of Aran rose in the distance. Two hundred yards away, Aunt Ellen’s white-walled thatched cottage clung firmly to the earth on a mound, out of reach of the sea even in a storm.

Claire took her bag out of the boot, and started walking. Almost at once, a new sound floated on the wind, separate from the scream of the gulls and the roar of the waves. Looking towards the cottage, she saw her mother’s diminutive snowy-haired sister standing on the edge of the beach, waving. Her heart leaped in anticipation: something momentous always seemed to happen whenever Aunt Ellen got involved.

“You’ve been moping around here ever since that man asked you to join that project,” Claire’s mother had said at breakfast yesterday morning. “Go over and talk to Ellen. If she can’t get you to decide before the deadline, you’re going to lose that job and miss the best opportunity you’ll ever get.” Her mother was exasperated, again.

Claire suspected that her inability to make a decision was partly due to a lifetime of her mother’s exasperation and her father’s admonition to “be satisfied with your lot.”

The memory of his words still made her shiver.

“Never set your sights above your capacities, Claire. It breeds unhappiness.” That had been the day she’d told him she wanted to study for a degree. Before she could leave home and make her own arrangements to go to university, he died. After that, her mother needed her.

The other reason for her indecision in this case, though, what really paralyzed her, was the powerful attraction she felt for Dr. Henry Blake, the tall, handsome project director. That was something entirely new. Would she be able to work with him? What if he had sensed her emotions? He had been a perfect gentleman throughout the interview, yet the thought that he knew the effect he was having continued to frighten and excite her.

Her mother was right; she was being ridiculous. The deadline was approaching and she needed to talk to Aunt Ellen. So, she’d taken the week off work and here she was. Tonight, she would glory in the warmth of the fire in the inglenook in the cozy cottage living room. In no time at all, just like when she was a child, she would let her adorable Aunt Ellen’s mythology work its spell.

Half an hour later, she was drinking tea by the roaring fire.

“I’ve been offered a job,” Claire began, although her mother had already told Ellen. “Did Mam tell you that I’d have to learn to teach?”

“She did indeed. Isn’t that great,” Ellen replied. It wasn’t a question; she was waiting for whatever was coming next.

Claire explained. They would train her to teach for three months, and then send her to help Dr. Blake set up a school for abandoned children overseas.

“He says I’m exactly what he’s looking for,” she said, feeling warm at the very mention of the man’s name. “But I stopped studying before Dad died. I may not be able to do it again after so many years. And I'd have to leave Mam on her own.”

"Don't use your Mam as an excuse," Ellen said. “She'll be happy to live on her own." She poured some more tea. "Where did you meet this Dr. Blake?”

“It was strange, really,” Claire said. “My boss told me that his wife’s brother was looking for someone to work for him. It’s not exactly what you’d expect of a boss, is it?” She laughed, thinking affectionately of the man she’d worked for since she left school.

Ellen smiled, but said nothing.

“They need an answer by the end of the week,” Claire said, and then changed the subject. “Well!” She stood and began putting the dishes on the tray. “I’ve got plenty of time to decide. Why don’t you tell me some of those great stories about the magic people of ancient Ireland, the Tuatha De Danaan? Nobody can talk about them like you.”

“Oh, and it’s not just in ancient Ireland they were,” Ellen corrected her niece. “They’re very much here with us now.”

And so they were. Claire knew that every new story her aunt told would draw her closer to the gods and goddesses of the Otherworld. By the end of this evening, she would be lost in a mythical land, where strange things could happen with the help of the Tuatha and Aunt Ellen.

Later, lying snugly in bed, with the gaslight dim on the bedside table and the muted sound of the waves crashing in the distance, Claire was too close to sleep to move when she heard Ellen come into the room and sit in the armchair by the bed.

“You sleep now, child.” The soft lilt of her old aunt’s voice drifted on the edge of Claire’s consciousness. “Sleep is never wasted when the People are called on to give counsel.”

She was staring into the blackness towards the hill where she knew the first fires would be lit. On the high mound to her left, she recognized Damhnait. The girl whose exploits had filled her childhood dreams had grown just as she had herself. She knew everything about Damhnait and felt all her emotions in this familiar world of dreams. And just as she had been many times before, she was apprehensive. No matter what strange things happened here, she could never influence the outcome since nobody appeared to be aware of her presence. That was frightening.

Damhnait pulled the hide over her head and around her shoulders, glad of the camouflage the cape provided. Tall and strong, indifferent to pain, this Celtic woman was as brave a warrior as any man. Dagda had chosen her for that reason, and also because she was human, Claire realized, reading the woman’s thoughts.

“Dagda needs you. If you succeed in the task he sets, he will grant you whatever you ask.” So said the druid who came to fetch Damhnait on the eve of Imbolc, the feast of the first day of spring.

Dagda, the Lord of Time and the Father of All, had taken the goddess Morrigan, a powerful shape-shifter, as his consort. But he knew that having Morrigan in his bed would not protect him against her treachery if ever the goddess decided that her powers were greater than his. The very day those signs appeared, Dagda decided to remove the shape-shifter from his kingdom. But in dealing with a goddess prudence was essential, so he sent for Damhnait. Skilled in the art of spying and the strategies of battle, she had the skills necessary, and while she prepared, the goddess would not see her as a threat because she was human.

Honored at the chance being offered, Damhnait followed the druid. With his staff in one hand and a burning torch in the other, he led her to a bare and windowless dungeon on the edge of the Otherworld. There, they were safe from the thoughts of Morrigan, and from the eyes of Crow, her shifted shape.

When the air formed Dagda, Damhnait was struck more by his ugliness than by this demonstration of his magic. A full head shorter than she, dark and hairy, with a distended stomach, he would have been repulsive save for his aura of immense power and goodness.

“’Tis The All Father, you are!” she said, looking straight at him. Her bravery was of great value now; to bow before the god would be to signal weakness and reduce her chances of obtaining what she was determined to ask for.

“Her eyes are dark and dangerous, like the sea on the days of wrath.” Surprised, Damhnait understood the thought that Dagda sent to the druid. “This tells me her valor is great.”

“She is sturdy and trustworthy,” was the druid’s response.

Unused to the thought language of the People, Damhnait followed little until the Dagda transmitted to her and the druid the task that he wanted her to carry out. On the eve of Bealtaine, the next great feast, Damhnait must lure Morrigan away from the Land of the People forever. If she succeeded in this, he would grant any reward she wanted.

Damhnait’s heart thumped hard in her breast. She would have to own the Craft and its uses in outwitting the gods before the dying of the fires of Bealtaine. Could she do it in such a short time?

“Dagda will ensure that three moons is time enough for the learning of what you need,” the druid was thinking. “Dagda is Lord of Time, and he will give you the time to remove Morrigan from among the People.”

Awe did not prevent Damhnait from demanding a reward in keeping with the responsibility laid upon her. If she succeeded, she would join the ranks of the gods. Dagda was Honor. It would be so.

While the sun shone its light on the days that followed, hair flowing loose over maiden’s robes to disguise the warrior heart within, Damhnait charmed men and observed Morrigan in the Great Halls of Dagda. By night, with the druids, she studied their Thought and Craft, and moved between the worlds, collecting herbs, bark and berries for her spells. Damhnait learned well and plotted skillfully to defeat Morrigan. At the onset of Bealtaine, Dagda was greatly pleased to discover her chosen plan. His magic would provide a night of whatever time was needed for success. Her own skill must do the rest.

Laughing, Morrigan took the goblet from the servant woman. On this Great Night of Beal’s Fire, she would move to overthrow Dagda and rule as Mother of The People. Then she would be the All Powerful One. Thrilled at the thought, she downed the draft in one go, and held the goblet out for more.

Damhnait, watching, summoned the Craft to ensure that the goddess alone suffered the effects of the herbs that she had added to the jug. From the edge of the throng, she saw the signs and was pleased: Morrigan thought that the woman Damhnait walked naked in the Halls of Dagda! Rising in anger, the jealous goddess surveyed the Hall. Damhnait could not be seen! Then brave men cowered as she strode in fury to the outer walls of the Dún, where she shapeshifted to go in search of her enemy. She deal with Dagda later; now, she must have revenge.

Instantly, the druids thought the warning, but Damhnait had already felt the presence of Crow, tracking her through the forest. Using the Craft, flying feet above ground, sometimes protected by the cape and sometimes with golden hair flowing to light its way, she contrived to lead Crow to the point where she now stood. For their Lord Dagda, the druids had combined Thought and Craft to allow the goddess Crow to anticipate only triumph. This might cause it to err, but the instinct of war warned the woman to be vigilant. So it was that she shrouded herself in the hide, and waited.

The air pulsed with excitement over the darkening green plains. All was in readiness for the life-giving Festival of Fire. Soon, the sun would disappear into the pitch that was the sea. Then, the first two great beacons would be lit on the magic Hill of Uisneach. They would be the eyes of Ériú the Earth Goddess. Seeing them blaze, the people would light other fires on the surrounding hills. When those fires in turn were seen, still more would be lit on the outer mounds, and after that, down in the plains. So it would continue, in ever-widening circles until, by dawn, the entire land would be alight with the new life of summer.

A flicker caught her eye. There! Despite the distance, Damhnait felt the warmth in her heart as Uisneach’s flames lit the sky. It was nearly time for action. Senses tingling, she turned to look down over the forest to the sea. The distant leaves rippled and she caught her breath. This was more than the wind. She knew Crow to be perched in the great oak to her left. If Crow did not cause their rustling, the whispering trees must bring the news that the Great Stag, Megaceros, had kept the appointment at her request!

Damhnait shivered with excitement. A momentous event would please Dagda this night, and she would join the ranks of the gods. The magic she had worked with the druids of the Tuatha would be her strength in this hour. She would speak to the Stag; convince him to call her to him so that Crow would follow. Long had the Great Stag wanted Morrigan in his power. If he knew that Damhnait would help him to capture Crow, none could doubt that he would agree to draw her to him.

The fires were spreading from hill to hill and then from dale to dale, giving life to the land. Soon, Megaceros would show himself. But where? Damhnait squinted, the better to scan the horizon. The Stag’s magic mound emerged sharp and black, from the clouds that were drifting away over the sea.

Yes! He’s there!

Her heart pounded. Megaceros stood majestically outlined against the brilliant sky, on the crest of the mound high above the forest darkness. He knew Damhnait’s thought, and remained invisible to Crow. Turning his massive antlered head, he sought her out. Even at this great distance, Damhnait was shocked by his size and the ruthless power she knew him to have. Still, she did not falter. The druidic Thought clarified her vision, and gave her arguments of honey and reason to make her case. Megaceros listened, and agreed. In that instant, the great velvet eyes of the Stag caught and held her own. If he called her, Crow must be made to follow, or Damhnait would know his wrath. Damhnait called on the druids, and they informed Dagda. The god stopped time, and Damhnait moved into action. She dropped the hide and stood, resplendent in the light, a glorious human beacon to bait her adversary, Crow.

The powerful thoughts of Megaceros willed her towards him. His swirling energy raised her above the forest and she raced along the sparkling beam that the druids had commanded of the moon. Floating high above the trees and the sea, in the brilliant light, exposed to whatever spell Morrigan might cast, she gave no evidence of weakness to warn Crow of its danger. Seeing only the Stag framed by the fire that was now burning on the crest of his mound, Damhnait sped fearlessly towards Megaceros. She heard Crow’s powerful wings flapping behind her. “Do not turn or lower your eyes!” the Stag’s thought instructed her. “Think yourself towards me until you know no more!”

Feeling the blaze draw closer, she saw the Stag towering above her. Holding his eyes, she heard the massive wings and felt with her mind the great claws reach for her shoulders. She did not falter in her flight towards the flame.

The magic of the druids was at work here. Damhnait thought of the Stag and could see the fire. Morrigan thought of revenge and Crow could see only the woman. Yet, Damhnait knew that it was not she who would be burned by the fire.

Light flashed behind her eyes, thunder roared in her ears. Damhnait felt herself plunged into the safety of the Otherworld, beyond the Stag and the blazing fire, out of Crow's reach. Crow, she knew, would not be so lucky.

Thought stopped. Her mind was cool and black. Megaceros and Crow had disappeared.

When time began again, from her vantage point on the mound facing the Hill of Uisneach, Damnait stood with the other gods and surveyed the thousand fires. Great indeed was the god Dagda, Father of All, and the goddess Ériú, Mother of the Earth on which they stood.

Claire heard the taps on the bedroom door and was instantly wide-awake.

“Shall I bring you your breakfast?” Aunt Ellen wanted to know.

“What time is it?” Claire asked, struggling to sit up.

“Oh, time!” her aunt said dismissively. “It’s morning time. What other time would it be?”

Claire laughed. “Don’t bother with breakfast in bed. I’ll come to the kitchen.”

“Did you sleep well?” Ellen asked, pouring tea for her niece ten minutes later.

“I did, as I always do here,” Claire answered, selecting a piece of toast. “And I dreamed about Damhnait. But then, I’m sure you knew that.” She bit into the bread.

Her aunt busied herself with her breakfast in silence.

“She believed in herself enough to become a goddess," Claire offered, hoping to provoke a response. Getting none, she continued, "I’ve decided about the job.”

“Have you now?” Ellen said.

Fixing her mischievous blue eyes on her niece. She stood up, opened the door and twirled three times. “Summer’s here!” she shouted to Nature at the top of her voice.

Catching Claire’s startled expression, she laughed. “Go quickly and call Mr. Blake with the good news,” she said. “Then, we’ll go down to the village and celebrate Bealtaine.”

<END>

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