Storytelling
The fire cast it's soft glow over the faces gathered around it's warmth against the relative cool of the mid-March evening. Gran Maureen held them enthralled by her every word. She had long since cracked open her special cargo of home brew mead, a fermented honey wine, passing the strong, sweet beverage around. The sweetness of the wine paired gently with the cold leftover bangers and slices of Granny Smith apples that she made ready while Calleigh had lit the fire.
Calleigh's friends had long ago stopped calling her Mrs. O'Sullivan and now called her Gran Maureen by her invitation, and she already loved them nearly as if they were her family, indeed. They were so very obviously her Calleigh's family of the heart, and a better family to her than the one genetics dealt her. She could see their love for each other shining in each of their eyes. Her worry over her first born granddaughter's welfare eased somewhat knowing that these people around the fire would care for Calleigh, come what may. They were to be treasured and that's why she cracked out the mead and shared the very special and treasured beverage with them.
Maureen noticed that Calleigh and Horatio were the two that had imbibed the most. She knew Calleigh could drink mead until the cows came home and she'd never feel the effects, as she grew up on the stuff and had an extreme high tolerance to it. Horatio, well, she attributed it to his Celtic heritage of many generations of mead drinkers from before the great High King Brian Boru to the present. In fact, they all seemed to have quite an appetite for it and she was glad. Mead was a drink fit for the Gods and the ancient pre-Christian Celts brewed and drank it on a daily basis and even used it as an offering in prayer to the Old Gods. She knew something of the Old Gods of Ireland. And it was those tales that she told these new grandchildren of her heart.
"Gran, the story of the Children of Lir, please? You know it's my favorite," Calleigh begged, so much like she used to as a child.
"Very well, muirnin. I'll tell the tale. But first I need ta quench my thirst," Maureen said, taking a long series of swallows of the mead. She settled in to tell the tale. "Long ago in the north of Ireland lived a great king by the name of Lir. He had four wonderful and talented children. Fionnuala, the eldest and only girl and the Aed, Conn and Fiacra, his sons. All was well until poor, lonely, Lir decided ta marry the evil sorceress Aiofe. Now, good Lir knew not that Aiofe was an evil sorceress for she was learned and beautiful and had ensnared him in a love spell.
"Aoife was jealous, you see, for the love that Lir showered upon all his children, for they were the center of his life. One mornin' she told them that they had a great journey before them ta go and visit their most noble and magical grandfather, Bodh Dearg, the King of the Tuatha de Danaan. The boys whooped and shouted for the adventure, but Fionnuala the eldest and wisest had her doubts. They had never gone ta their grandfather's before. She didn't trust Aiofe and knew that a plot was brewin'."
"She was a good CSI," Eric said, his voice slightly slurred from drinking so much mead. When Calleigh, almost unconsciously leaned on him, he placed an arm around her and drew her in.
"Aye, boyo, she was. The very first in Irish history," Maureen said, her skills at bardic storytelling picking up on the next hook to draw them all into the story. "So there they were all travellin' together when they reached Lough, or lake, Derravaragh. Aiofe called a rest stop and told the children that they should go and refresh themselves with a swim in the lake. The younger and more trusting boys cheered and shot off into the lake, splashing and shouting in joy. The suspicious and wary Aiofe hung back, certain that mischief was meant there. Aiofe, knowin' that Fionnuala would only do her bidding if she was ordered, ordered her into the lough with her brothers. Once all the children were in the water, Aiofe showed her true nature and, takin' out a stolen Druid's wand, she spoke this curse: Children of Lir, your good fortune is over! From now on, waterfowl will be your family and your cries will be mingled with the cries of birds.
"Instantly Fionnuala and her brothers were transformed into four beautiful white swans. Fionnuala swam ta the bank and pleaded for their fates. "Aiofe, please, do this not ta us! Please, if you must make us swans, set a limit ta it."
Aiofe, already havin' what she wanted, could be merciful. "Ya shall not be swans forever, but shall need ta keep your shape for nine hundred years. Ya shall spend three hundred years here on Lough Derravaragh, three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle and three hundred years by the Atlantic Ocean. When a king from the north marries a queen from the south and ya hear the sound of a bell pealin', your exile will be over. A holy man must know your names for the spell ta be broken. Until then, though ya will have the appearance of swans, ya will keep your own hearts, your own minds and your own voices and your music will be so sweet that it will console all who hear it. But go away from me now for the very sight of ya torments me!" And, horrified by her most evil deed, she fled from the shore and rode her chariot all the way to Bodb's Dearg's fort.
"The great Faery King was disappointed that his grandchildren were not with their stepmother, but Aiofe had a story ready. She told the great king that she had come all alone because of Lir's great and terrible jealousy of Bodh's love of the children and would not let her bring them t his fort.
"Now, this great king of the Tuatha de Danaan, this great Faery King was terribly suspicious and sent the very next day a message ta Lir for he and his children ta come and spend time with him in his great magical faery fort. Lir was greatly alarmed and set off the very next morning all alone.
"From the middle of Lough Derravaragh the children saw the approaching company and swam furiously when they saw their father. They called out ta him frantically, but, although he heard his childrens' voices, he could find them nowhere. Suddenly, as if reeling from a blow ta his very heart, he understood. "My children, how can I help ya?" he asked, his soul full of anguish.
"Ya cannot help us, da," Fionnuala cried, "This is Aiofe's work. We are doomed ta be swans for nine hundred years and no power can change it." She could see her father's sorrow, and, remembering Aiofe's words, began to sing ta him and his men. Her brothers joined in and lulled the entire party into a deep and restful slumber.
"In the morning they awoke, and, with this new story of treachery, they rode for Bodh's stronghold. Once there, Lir told his tale ta the great Faery King. Bodh's fury could find no bounds. His grandchildren had been harmed. He roared his anger and then calmed. He called Aiofe before him, and, usin' Faery magic, made her a sprite of the air. People say on a night very like this one, that one can hear her still, moanin' in the wind.
"The very next day Lir and Bodh Dearg went to the shores of Lough Derravaragh, and there they stayed while the years became centuries and one day Fionnuala knew that it was time ta go. As night fell, the enchanted Lir and his friends were sung ta sleep for a final time by and Fionnuala and her brothers and in the morning, the siblings set forth for the cold Sea of Moyle.
"This band of sea between Ireland and Scotland is a stormy band, indeed, and it battered Fionnuala and her brothers in the winters with ice and hail. Their silky feathers became brittle as glass and every spring, they were flung ta the rocks by gales as fierce as ever was a gale. One very terrible night, the storms were more fierce than ever before and battered all four swans mercilessly. Fionnuala could hardly fly, so wrecked were her beautiful feathers. Yet, somehow, she managed to make it ta the Seal's Rock, Carraignarone, and landed. As the sun rose and dried her battered feathers, Fionnuala could not see her brothers anywhere. After hours of waitin', Conn appeared, barely clearin' the waves. He landed, exhausted, next ta Fionnuala. He crept beneath her right wing for warmth and comfort. Shortly after that Fiacra arrived and snuggled himself beneath her left wing. Then finally, Aed arrived, barely alive. He sheltered himself gratefully beneath his sister's right wing next to Conn, who gave him the warmest spot. The brothers all rested until their strength returned.
"Three hundred years had passed slowly for the swan children, but, finally, it was their time ta go. Fionnuala was joyful. "On the way, we shall pass over our father's land and see him." she said.
"Alas, the swan Fionnuala didn't understand the amount of time that had passed. As she and her brothers flew over a new Ireland, seeing new villages and towns where none used to be, a feeling of despair set upon them. Perhaps their names would not be remembered. Perhaps they would be swans forever.
"Their hearts nearly cracked with grief, knowing that their father and the Ireland they loved was gone, possibly forever, they flew on, keening their lament. They finally came ta rest on the western coast of Ireland, so very far from where they had once called home. It was in inland shelter called Inish Glora that they found rest in. There they sang their lament and birds from all over Ireland flocked to hear their matchless song
"Over the centuries, a new faith had emerged. A new, attractive faith from the far southern reaches of the Middle East, yet still, in many places the Old Ways ruled. And, in this small patch of the Old Ways, Fionnuala and her brothers found themselves. An old hermit, in fact a Druid priest, found them. He observed their collective damage of the poor, battered swan's bodies. He tolled a bell to bring them closer. They wearily waddled themselves ashore.
"Come, Children of Lir, I shall not harm ya. It is for your sake that I came ta this island. Come with me and I shall help ya," the old Druid said. The children did trust him and allowed him to fasten silver collars around their necks and connected them all by a silver chain so that they would never be separated again. With great relief, the children lived with the old Druid, safe and happy once more.
"Now, while the children lived with the Druid, a King from the north, named Lairgren, married a Queen from the south and through this marriage, Aiofe's spell had been broken. The Queen from the south asked for the remarkable swans as a wedding gift, but as Lairgren lead the swans from the Druid's hut, their plumage began to fall away. Knowin' that it was time for their captivity as swans to end, the Druid whispered their names and watched as they transformed into four frail old people.
"Fionnuala looked up at the kind Druid. "We are dying, my kind friend. Bury us where we found peace." Soon after the children of Lir died peacefully and the Druid buried them as Fionnuala requested, erecting a stone over their graves."
"That's such as sad, yet beautiful story," Natalia said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Will you tell us another?"
Gran Maureen yawned. "I think not, my dear. It's long past my bedtime and I can see all of ya are getting' sleepy as well. And I see my storytellin' had it's usual effect on Calleigh."
All eyes turned to Calleigh, who had fallen asleep in Eric's arms. He gently shook her awake. "Hey, time for the party to be over."
"I am so sorry for falling asleep on everyone," Calleigh apologized, extricating herself from Eric's arms. "It's just the meal and the fire and the mead-"
"Calleigh, it's alright," Horatio assured her.
"Yeah, it's not like we'd have left you outside all night," Ryan said.
Calleigh blushed and rose to give her grandmother a hand taking the leftovers in and cleaning up in the kitchen while the men took care of the fire pit.
"So, will your young man be stayin' over tonight?" Gran Maureen asked as soon as the two of them were in the kitchen.
Calleigh's mouth dropped open. "What? Gran, no. He's not my young man. We aren't dating."
"By all the faery hills in Ireland, why not?"
"Because...because...we're just not."
"Who's not?" Eric asked, entering the kitchen with dirty glasses. He placed them gently in the sink and waited for an answer.
"We're not."
"Not what?"
Calleigh sighed in exasperation. "Not dating. Gran has this insane notion that we're seeing each other. I've tried to tell her we're not, but-"
"And I've been tryin' ta tell her what I see, but my stubborn granddaughter is too blind ta see what's right in front of her. The two of ya care about each other more than just friends. I can see it clearly and so can everyone else around ya. Now stop beatin' around the bush and get ta it," Maureen said, leaving them alone in the kitchen.
"She doesn't hold back, does she?" Eric asked awkwardly, wondering, not for the first time, if Calleigh felt the same way about him as he did about her.
Calleigh could feel her cheeks color just slightly under Eric's expectant gaze. "No, she doesn't. And, the thing is, is that she's usually right."
Eric hesitated ever-so-slightly before asking, "Is she right now?"
Calleigh couldn't look at him; she was suddenly too nervous and too shy. "Maybe, she could be, that is if you're agreeing with me that she's usually right."
"Then she must be right." Eric said simply, warmth spreading through his entire body.
Calleigh felt her knees go very weak in relief and she leaned on the counter. "I'm, uhm, not really sleepy anymore and if you're up to it, we could talk after I send everyone home."
"Sure. I'll help you clean up," Eric agreed and moved back to the sink, running the water. "You go ahead and send everyone home and then we can talk. Your grandmother won't mind my staying, will she?"
Calleigh smiled one of her most joy filled smiles at him. "Who do you think suggested it?"