inspired by a real event and set in the late Iron Age

It happened on the day before Samhein, when I was out hunting.  It was late afternoon, the clouds had covered the sky, and the day was rapidly darkening toward night. The temperature was dropping, and I could hear thunder growling in the distance. I was worried, this was not a night to be out in; I recalled the time, some twenty five years ago, when the chief Caoilte Cruithne was out, and one of the Sluagh got him. He became cruel, beastly, and tortured and killed his people.  It took four Druids and the High King to cleanse him, but he died at peace. I did not want to become like him!

It hadn’t been a particularly successful hunt, but I did have a cony to cook up for supper, if I could find shelter. And I needed to find shelter soon, for it would be a cold, dark, and stormy night. As I made my way out of the forest, hoping to find a charcoal burner’s hut, or some kind of shelter, a huge white stag leapt into the path ahead of me. Instead of leaping away again, it stopped and looked at me, then turned and trotted along the path. After a few steps, it turned its head and looked back, and moved its head as though beckoning me. I knew it wanted me to follow, so I started walking again, as one should when faced with a magic animal.

I followed it uphill through a thinly forested area, and as I rounded a bend in the path, I saw the silhouette of a building on a hill to the right of the road. The stag stopped a bit ahead of me, touched its nose to the ground on the right, and then leapt away. In no time at all, it had disappeared. I turned off on the narrow lane where it had indicated, and found that it led up toward the building, and as I neared it, I could see that it seemed to be just ruins. But I knew that there was something I must do there, the presence of the stag made that clear. As I got closer, I saw that some parts looked reasonably whole. I went on, I knowing I would find shelter from the coming storm there.

I reached the building and made my way through the ruined section. When I came to an area that was still partially roofed, with walls that seemed solid, I lit a torch I had fashioned from some wood I’d gathered on the way, and investigated. As I continued along a hall, I passed a doorway to my left. I felt an incredible aura of evil emanating from the room beyond. I hurried on by, and found another room, solid and safe from the weather, with a good sturdy door to shut and bar. I decided this would do nicely, for my night’s shelter, and went back out and gather bracken and pine boughs for my bed, and some more wood for a fire. Soon I had all I could carry, and went back in.

The evil aura was stronger than ever, stretching out, but unable to break whatever bond it was that held it tied to that room. As I hurried past the doorless room, the evil aura was reaching out toward me, trying to ensnare me. I almost decided to look for some other shelter, but there was that stag, and a very strong compulsion that told me I had to stay.

I settled down in my safe room, with the door shut and barred.  I prepared my bed, lit a small fire on the stone floor, cooked up the cony and after I had eaten, I banked the fire and settled down to sleep.  I was very tired, and it felt good to lie down, but sleep would not come. The memory of the stag, combined with the compulsion that was growing stronger by the minute, wouldn’t allow me to sleep. The room was very dark with the fire banked, so I took a stick from the pile, and coaxed it alight and set out to examine my surroundings. I had just done a cursory look around before. Off in one corner, I saw that one of the stones in the floor was softly glowing.  As I neared it, the feeling grew that this was why I was here. I needed to lift that stone, and remove what was hidden under it.  Outside the storm was coming closer. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and the wind was rising and I could hear the patter of rain on the floor where it was being blown in through the broken windows.

Ignoring the sounds of the storm, I took out my knife and pried at the stone. After some time, I was able to lift one corner, but could not raise it high enough to get my fingers under it. I went to my pile of firewood and found a sturdy stick, about the width of my thumb. When I again raised the corner of the stone, I slid the stick in, and pried with it. Eventually, I had it high enough to get the fingers of both hands under, and gave it a heave.  It dropped back with a crash, revealing a hollow beneath. Shining the light into the hollow, I saw something wrapped in a rotting cloth; I worked the bundle out, opened it, and stared. There sat a beautifully carved gold torc, the ends formed into lynx heads.  It was beautiful, and I knew it had belonged to a powerful chieftain and was dedicated to Lugh.

I crouched there for some time, turning the torc over in my hands, and suddenly I remembered. About twenty five years before, a jealous brother killed a clan chief and his family, and took over. There was an infant son whose body was never found, nor was the chief’s torc. Later, it turned out that the infant had been raised by shepherds, and when he came of age, he fought and killed the usurper and was acclaimed as the chief. But the family torc was never found. Could this be it? Is that why the stag directed me here? I knew that the usurper had built a large stronghold in this vicinity, and that he was a cruel and vicious man, capturing peasants and warriors alike and torturing them. That room, the one with the evil aura, could that have been his torture chamber? And had the toc been hidden all these years here where he ruled? The heir had asked about the torc, questioning everyone he could, and had sent men out searching for it, unsuccessfully.

That evil had to be cleansed, and suddenly I knew how, as though a voice spoke to me. I rose, carrying the torc in front of me, and went to the door. Unbarring it, I went along the passage until I came to the room with the evil aura. I could feel the evilness reaching, stretching, trying to break the invisible barrier that held it locked in the room. I knew it wanted to reach out and overpower me. I stood just beyond its reach, held up the torc. I called on Lugh, the God of Light to come and destroy the evil. There was a moment of stasis, and then something snapped. A blinding light flashed in the room, and the barrier sprang back, into the room and taking the evil with it. Then the feeling of evil started to fade, and a faint shriek echoed away to nothingness, and was gone.  When it was over, I thanked Lugh for cleansing the room, and asked his blessing on me, went back to the room, rewrapped the torc and placed it in my pack. I then settled back in my bed and slept soundly for the rest of the night.

When I woke in the morning, I ate and packed the leftovers in the pack, unbarred the door and went out. When I passed the room where the evil had been, there was no trace of it left. I stepped into the room, just to be sure, but it was just an empty room, with dead leaves littered over the floor. Outside, I found that the sun was shining in a clear sky, and the air was brisk. It would be a good day for walking. I had good hunting for the rest of my journey, and knew that I had been blessed by Lugh. After resting at home for a few days, I traveled to Tara and showed the torc to the high king. He admired it, and told me its story, and my memory was true, it was just as I had recalled, there in that old ruin. Then he sent me back to Cean Tir, where my home is. He told me that the torc belongs to out Chief, and as I found it, I should return it.

I have done so, and was given much praise and adulation. But I do not deserve it. It was the magical stag that led me to the torc. But it is a Samhein eve I will never forget.

inspiration, a face sharp shinned painted on wood

I sat in the sling chair and let my eyes wonder around the room. I was in a hut, in a jungle village, the only white person here, or as far as I knew, the only one within a thousand miles. And I was stuck here for the foreseeable future.

I was a member of an exploration group. We had come because Dr. Savage had heard rumours of a tribe who were almost never seen, living in the most primitive manner deep in the mostly impenetrable jungle. Their village was situated part way up a mountain, in a hidden valley, and the only way in was by boat, by a river that was almost impossible to navigate. That was why no one had ever visited them. No explorers had deemed it possible for boats to ascend that river, particularly because there were very rough rapids about half a mile up, and they extended for two or more miles of very steep going. Much steeper, and they would have been a series of water falls.

As it was, just as we finally reached the end of the rapids, I had fallen from the boat, and was swept down river. I hit several rocks on the way, and my left leg was broken in two places. I was rescued only because I had managed to get a firm grip on a large rock, and pull myself partly up on it. Even then, it was touch and go, as they had to keep the boat by the rock, fighting the strong current, and in pulling me in almost swamped it. So now, I sat in a primitive hut in a primitive village, waiting for them to come back for me. If they could.

The hut was, surprisingly, fairly clean, and the air was fresh touched with the scent of the big purple blossoms on the trees outside. My eyes rested on the raised platform, where a boy, 13 year old Bnocru, lay. He was the only son of Gnogru, the chief, and had been bitten by a poisonous spider the day before. Scrabti, the Shaman, had been in and out ever since, dancing and chanting, shaking rattles and burning some kind of bark and herbs. I knew he was worried. No one had ever survived such a bite, and the boy was failing fast. I had tried to get him to let me give him a dose of the antivenom medication we all carried for just such an emergency. However, he refused. He didn’t like or trust me, or any who had come with me. But that boy would die, in agony, if something wasn’t done soon.

The one thing he would allow me to do was sponge the boy’s body and face with cool water, and try to get him to drink some. I had been faithfully acting nurse, waiting my chance. Now I could act. The shaman had told me the last time he left that he was going to ‘commune with the spirits’ in hope of a healing. I knew that meant he would be in a drug induced stupor for at least a couple of hours. Taking the stick I’d been given to help me walk, I went to the door and looked out. No sign of the chief or the shaman, only the women at their work. Good.

I went back to my seat, and dug into my backpack. I took out my first aid kit, and found the antivenom capsules. First dose, two capsules, followed in six hours by another. I didn’t think I could get the capsules into him, as he was only swallowing small amounts at a time. I got the drinking vessel, filled it about half full, broke open the capsules and emptied them into it. I had to use my finger to stir it, but it was soon all dissolved. The boy was getting restless again, and that meant I could get him to drink.

It took me a good ten minutes to get all of the water into him. When that was accomplished, I felt better. He was still restless, and hot with fever, so I went to work with the cloth and cool water. How I wished for some ice! Really cold water would have lowered the fever so much better. By the time I was finished, Bnocru was quiet again, and soon fell into a deep sleep. This was the first time he had really slept, so I knew the medication was working.

Unfortunately, Scrabti would take all the credit for the healing, if my treatment worked. And the next person to suffer the bite would, like all the others, die, since he knew nothing of what I had done. At the moment, my only thought had been to heal Bnocru, but now I was thinking of the future. I was still standing by the sleeping platform, balanced on the stick, thinking deeply while I monitored the boy. His pulse rate had slowed, and I thought his temperature was down some. It was at this moment that his mother, Mlunga, came in with my midday meal.

She looked anxiously at her son, and then at me. I knew she wanted to know how he was, but we couldn’t converse. I smiled the happiest smile I could call up, touched his head, and nodded. She gazed at me for a moment, the putting the food down, came over. She touched Bnocru’s head, and looked up at me, questioningly. I nodded again, and tears filled her eyes. In pantomime, she asked if it was the shaman’s magic that was working, and in that instant, I put my life in her hands. I shook my head, and showed her the capsules. I mimed breaking two open, adding the powder to water, and getting Bnocru to drink all of it. She grasped my hands and kissed them, then put them to her forehead. With one last look up into my face, she put a hand to her heart, then moved it, cupped as if holding something, and place it to my chest. I knew she was thanking me. I bowed to her, and smiled. She turned quickly, and left.

I settled down to eat the food she had brought, and wondered what would happen next. Would she tell Gnogru? If she did, how would he take it? Would he have me killed for using foreign magic on his son, or would he in turn thank me for saving his heir’s life? There was nothing I could do, either way, so I took my own medication and settled down on the mat that was my bed while I waited for the pain in my leg to subside.

I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew, the light of sunset was brightening the door, and there were loud voices right beside me. When I opened my eyes, I saw Scrabti, Gnogru and Mlunga, standing beside the sleeping platform. I looked at Bnocru, and he was awake, and looked a lot better. Then the shaman grabbed my arm, and tried to pull me off my mat. The chief stopped him, and with gestures, asked me to sit up.

There followed a long period of gestures, questions for me, my answers, and the demand to see the capsules. I showed them, and the shaman made a grab at them. I was fast enough to keep him from taking them. I knew he would destroy them. He was angry, angrier than I had ever seen anyone in my whole life. Gnogru intervened, and said something that brought Scrabti to a stiff halt, indignation in every bone of his body.

He went into an impassioned speech, stabbing at his own chest, at the chief’s, and at Broncru. Even though I couldn’t understand the language, I could those vehement gestures. He had served the chief and the tribe all of his life. How could the chief think he didn’t want the boy to live? Gnogru responded, his gestures saying that he knew how devoted the shaman was. But then why was he so angry that this stranger’s magic had done what they all knew to be impossible? Bnocru lived, was healing, the stranger’s magic was stronger. Should they not all rejoice that the Gods had sent this man at just this time? When his magic was so needed? Scrabti deflated, and stood with shoulders drooping. That was not good, he needed his confidence, the tribe needed his skills. And they were not without merit.

I reached out and touched the chief’s arm. When he turned to me, I managed, with gestures and the few words I had picked up, to tell him that Scrabti could learn to use this same medicine. It came from a plant that grew in abundance in the jungle around. I could show him how to prepare it, if he would let me.

And so it was that when Dr. Savage and the others arrived the next morning, Broncru was sitting up and eating, Scrabti and I were hunched over a stone bowl with a short knobbed stick, crushing leaves of the Spiderbane plant. The whole story was told over lunch, and Dr. Savage gave Scrabti two bottles of the capsules. She was also able to give him more directions on the drying and preparation of the plant. And Scrabti, and the whole tribe, accepted the strange white men as friends. And me? I was a hero. Unbelievable