The First Circlet: The Twining Of The Three - 2. Segment 2: Of Taverns, Cats, and Restless Nights

 

Glenninsheen was a tiny place, possibly not more than 130 in the whole area and never more than 50 in the village at any given time. Its main claim to fame was its dolmens in the nearby stonefields of the Burren. It was a place lost to time and yet sunk deep into it. Moira came to love the place because it was authentic. This place had been exclusively Irish for thousands of years. Not but a lick of foreign interest was to be had until scientists and philosophers, much like herself, started taking a more serious interest in the ancient ruins that dotted this region of County Clare. Not short in following, the tourists discovered the place...especially the Irish American ones. The influx of revenue into the area was, indeed, welcome as this part of Ireland was very poor. But, like magic, though the tourist money helped people live better, it did not change them overmuch and the ancient land did not become a tourist trap. Not like Stonehenge in England had become.

 

The one road that passed through Glenninsheen was strangely deserted. There was but one old woman, Mrs. Landis, who was sweeping up her front path a bit. Her head was tightly wound in her kerchief of homespun lace and linen. Some white wisps of her hair had managed to sneak out from under the cloth and there was red touched to her rosy cheeks from exertion.

 

She looked up from her toils to see Moira there. She was quite startled in that she had been intent on her sweeping. 'Oich, girl. Fer the luv of Pete, ya gav me a stert!' Mrs. Landis patted her cheeks and let the blood run back into them.

 

'My apologies, Mrs. Landis. I meant not to startle ye.' Moira curtsied a bit in respect to the elder. It was a custom much cherished in this part of Ireland.

 

'Shah...shah, me sweetness. No harm done. An old woman could use a bit of a goose now and then ta remind her she's still with the livin' and the Banshee hasn't come ta wailin'.' Her smile, though slightly toothless, would have lit the rainiest day.

 

'Ye've a mind ta be gettin' yer Breakfast up at the 'Fae' ya might take a queue. Its crowded up at the Inn a might.' Mrs. Landis's eye narrowed a bit as she took a sudden interest in Moira's face.

 

'Hmmm...ya might have a mind to visit the Chemist too. You look a wee bit pale. Are ya well, lass?' Mrs. Landis stepped up a bit closer to have a better look. Her pale blue eyes were never much to see with, but seemed less so these days.

 

Moira realized that Mrs. Landis, in her particularly wierdling way, had managed to sense Moira's shock from earlier.

 

'I'm fine, Mrs. Landis. Just a bit more of a walk this morning than I was expecting. I saw something strange upon the fields. An odd fog and a man on a horse who just...vanished!' Moira knew better than to be coy with Mrs. Landis. It was almost like she could pick the thoughts right out of your head.

 

'True that is I'm sure. Many have been seein' things out upon the Heath that's been spookin' them. You are in good company. Its why there's a bit of a to-do at the Inn of the mornin'. For me, as soon as me sweepin' is through, it’s to mornin' Mass with me. Father Connell's a better source of comfort to me than that blasted One-Eyed son of the Devil that's got everyone so perplexed this day.' Mrs. Landis pointed with her chin up the road at the 'Fae Horse'.

 

Moira was now intrigued. 'Something's on the Television?' Moira begged for clarification.

 

'Aye. Some nonsense about a new born Stone Circle or some balderdash.' Mrs. Landis groused but her bitterness was easily quenched by the sound of a tinkle and a happy meow.

 

Around the corner came a beautiful cream and honey calico cat with the brightest green eyes and a bell around his neck. The cat came to Mrs. Landis's ankle and proceeded to make love to it with his head.

 

"A-ha, Joran. Come for your bit of cream...and perhaps a bit of bacon?" Joran answered Mrs. Landis with a trilling Purrow. He turned to look at Moira and his right eye seemed to wink...though cats often blink one eye at a time.

 

Off the two went towards the back...Mrs. Landis had totally forgotten about all concerns, save her cat's.

 

So Moira continued on up the walk and heard the unusual commotion coming from the 'Fae Horse' even far down the street. It was not so much the sound of a donnybrook as the excited and frightened shouts of men, for the most part, discussing something of great import...with the help of some Jameson's and Guinness.

 

‘Even for an Irish Tavern, it’s pretty early for the drink’, thought Moira.

 

"LOOK AT IT! Its like a friggin' Crop Circle!" Someone blurted.

 

Moira was greeted at the door by no one. A circle of its own had formed of about 16 men in wooden chairs about the Plasma Screen tele. The sound was turned down so as not to disturb the sane people who might wish a pint and a bite without indigestion.

 

Sean Pierce, a tall blond man in his 30s who had rugged good looks to catch the eye of any woman with half the sense to care, saw Moira there as he mopped at his bar. Despite herself she adjusted her red hair in a feminine sweep over her shoulder after taking of her hat. It was probably clear that she was blinking over much at Sean as well.

 

He smirked at her mischievously and nodded his head at the gaggle about the TV and shook his head in mock pity.

 

She came and rested at the bar on the one stool that Sean always left for her. She was presented with a fine array of good things on a plate: eggs done well to her liking, bacon rashers, black and white puddings, sausage, O'Brien potatoes, and a bit of toast toasted on one side with local sweet butter. A feast that would keep her well all day.

 

As she tucked in she talked lightly about the goings on...which, honestly, deeply interested her at present.

 

Sean said "Meh...some bloody nonsense about a geometrically complex 'Crop Circle' not far from here, but it’s made of stone and not corn stalks. First of its kind, apparently. It’s been the talk of the TV all the morning. This lot hasn’t left that TV in 4 hour. Ya'd think that it was the 'All-Ireland' playin'."

 

"BAAAAAHHHHG....Y'ALL r off yer nuts!" Something bleated from the corner near the window.

 

Mr. McMahon, the local Old Coot, was supping on his usual liquid breakfast at Sean's expense. Sean took pity on the old codger and provided this act of charity about 8-10 times in a day. McMahon pretty much lived in the 'Fae Horse' including being taken to a waiting bed upstairs at the inn when he’d had enough of the brew. Father Connell assisted with the upkeep of the man when Sean was hard pressed to make a profit during the Winter months.

 

One of the younger toughs at the TV tossed a waded napkin at McMahon and derided him with usual disrespect "Och...you would know ya old goat!"

 

"HEY! Ya show some respect to yer elders, boy, or ya be leavin'! Now ya be pickin' up yer mess!" Sean stared the boy down as he barked.

 

The kid did as told without sass and picked up his napkin and he and the rest of the coterie quieted themselves as they continued to watch the news.

 

Upon the HI-Res screen, in fine detail, Moira could see the aerial view of the spectacle. The familiar stonefield in the Burren, not 23 miles hence, had been totally and utterly rearranged. The usual scattering of stones had taken on rings and counterrings, spirals, and counterspirals, of such complexity that it boggled the mind...and this was definitely recent as Moira had been out there just a fortnight ago. It was just stones then, or what she figured, were the tattered remains of an old dolmen field...but now, it was a beautiful work of the same runish art that had been showing up with frequency on many a farm across Ireland, England, and beyond.

 

"Its prob'ly you kids as up and done it! Ghosts indeed! UFOs! BAAAAAAHRG! Bloody Vandals the lot of ye!! No respect for the Old Ways! None at all!" McMahon stood up with his cane and started rattling it about the furniture.

 

"Mr. McMahon! If you please, the lady's tryin' to eat her breakfast!" Sean pleaded for sense in a seeming wasteland thereof.

 

Moira, for her part was absentmindedly munching her sausage watching with rapt attention to the TV. Mr. McMahon and his antics were completely lost on her.

 

Sean noticed her peculiar interest and suddenly found more interest for himself. Moira was a beautiful shining star and soul of respectability in his Tavern Keeper's world. She was a Scientist and a woman of learning and reason...if she saw something in this...perhaps it was something to be watched?

 

"Ya takin' this stuff seriously?" He whispered to her.

 

Moira blinked back into reality and noticed someone has said something. 'What? Oh...." her brain finally let her in on what Sean had asked. "I don't know what to think. I was just there not a fortnight ago and...it was just the Burren...the same as its been always. Not...this?"

 

The young men heard and turned and suddenly she had an audience of eager blue and brown eyes staring at her. To their credit...none of them had even touched their brews yet.

 

"Ye were out THERE?" The taller of the guys asked.

 

"Aye." Moira sat back against the small backrest of the stool scratching at her chin thoughtfully...looking for all the world like the professor she was.

 

"Well...what could have done this? What is out there? Are the Burren's all just rocks or are they really what's left of a Faery Ring like the old legends say!!??" The shorter and most rapt TV suitor babbled. His friends snorted and scoffed like the schoolboys they acted like.

 

"I only see one 'fairy' here and he's sittin' in our midst!" a laconic young squint said of the questioner...who, for his part, turned with violence on his antagonist. "Ya want ta be keepin' yer teeth in your head, I'll bet!" The short one had the fire and his fist was balling while Mr. Laconic kind of twitched. The other guys just sat smirking.

 

"Cool it, Mike. Ya t'row that punch and I'll t'row you out on your hone, aye?" Sean said with arms crossed behind Moira looking for all the world like an unshaven guardian angel.

 

The boys settled down and returned to looking expectantly at Moira.

 

McMahon was even quietly sitting, staring blue lasers into the back of Moira's red hair.

 

"I have no idea." She said with quiet, distant certitude. This was met by a jumble of blabber from the TV watchers. Things along the lines of 'she must know something and not telling', 'what do women know', etc. etc.

 

They returned to the TV...and Moira did too. Her breakfast was left untouched until Sean relented and removed the plate with no protest from her. For his part, Sean had turned up the TV...so he could get the gist of the goings on as well. If Moira was interested, then it must really be something...and something important.

 

Time passed as it does in a pub and morning turned to late afternoon. Moira looked at her watch and nearly fell off her stool.

 

"My goodness look at the time!" Moira quickly moved to the exit. Sean called after her: "Moira, lass, ya didn't eat much. You want I should make you a package of something?"

 

"No, no...I'm...not hungry. See you tomorrow, Sean." and with that she left, leaving a saddened Sean in her wake. Sean had quite enjoyed the prolonged company she kept him today.

 

She walked quickly up the road to return to her cottage. As she walked the sky darkened and a flash of lightning hit the sky followed by a roll of thunder. By the time she was home it was dark and it had begun to rain a chill rain.

 

Moira entered her darkened cottage with a mind to start a fire and dry off her rain coat when something grabbed her in the dark and clasped a very warm hand over her mouth.

 

She was pushed hard against the wall as she started a muffled scream...which was silenced with a sharp "SHUSH!" For a moment she was sure it was one of the young men from the bar because of the timber of the voice. Fear gripped her with icy talons. It was rape for sure...and then worse!

 

They stood like this for what seemed an eternity; the figure that held her moved not a muscle.

 

A tear of lightning and thunder flashed through the windows and rattled them, but all Moira could make out in the flash was a hooded figure in front of her.

 

Something rustled in the bushes outside and Moira's captor tensed. This sent a shock of adrenalin through Moira thinking that there were more that had come to her feast.

 

The figure released her except for the hand on her mouth. It seemed to reach for something. A flash of lightning blasted brightly through the window casting a glittering light off of something golden and metallic being raised from a hidden scabbard.

 

Moira wriggled free of the hand and let lose a scream to awaken the dead at the sight of her impending doom!

 

"NAH! NAHH!" Cried the figure in a voice half-way between a woman's and a man's.

 

Behind Moira...the wall came apart, blasted into chalk powder and sawdust rather than splinters and shards. Moira found herself sailing through the air and hitting the far wall...she didn't black out as she didn't hit that hard...though she thought she was hallucinating from what her eyes were seeing.

 

Something huge and black swept in through the new hole in her wall. It seemed to be all tendrils and flowing sheets of ebony except for where the black was offset by splinters of multicolored light that seemed to react with the air as it passed through it.

 

Her hooded captor leaped backwards out of the front door with a cat's grace. The black nebula followed with what sounded like a sweep of wings.

 

Moira staggered to the front door to see something her mind could not grasp. Her hooded captor stood toe to toe with a shape that was both nightmare and the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

 

The captor held aloft a long curved sword of gold that seemed to glisten of its own light. It was bent and flared in ways that called to mind a flame.

 

The Shadow stood tall and large before him...its form reminded Moira of some huge moth or swallowtail. It had huge wings...at least 32 feet across. The wings were tailed like a swallowtail's but it was only in the bright flashes of lightning that she could really make out that the being was not black but an iridescent collage of blues, greens, and pink-oranges. The wings had eyes in them, like a moth's. The body, though, was like that of a 7 foot tall nude woman...only she was clad in some kind of tight-fitting armor that was of the same iridescence as her wings. Sparks of fire seemed to split the air all around her as she moved.

 

In her hand, she held a long whip that seemed to sparkle with more fire than the rest of her...but it was a threatening red fire rather than the bright phosphorus fire that her body was emitting.

 

The sight of her should have brought awe to her rather than dread...but she could also make out the look on her dark face. Her eyes were red hot coals and her mouth was twisted with a kind of hate she'd never seen before. It also didn't help that she seemed completely intent on lashing the hooded person within an inch of his/her life...and that whip seemed to strike like a snake...from every angle...some of them impossible.

 

For the hooded one's part, with a grace and dexterity Moira had never seen before in a human being, that lash was kept at bay at each strike with deft parryings and counterings of that strange blade. Each time the whip touched the blade, a shock of fire would erupt between them.

 

They spun, attacked, and counter-attacked in this way for several minutes...until the hooded figure caught sight of Moira still standing there.

 

"Rrrunnnn!!! Gouett yu frrromm heeerrre, Newwww!" The figure yelled at her in that strange voice and stranger accent...like the deepest brogue she'd ever heard. 'Get you from here now!' was the intent...but Moira was frozen solid by shock.

 

And...that distraction was all the Winged One needed. Her whip lashed down across the front of the hooded one's torso with a sickening rip. The hooded one screamed and fell to the ground.

 

Now intent on her true prey, the being verily floated over her contestant toward the now deathly terrified Moira. She could now see the full beauty and full horror of the one that confronted her now.

 

The being's armor was studded with gems that glowed of their own...but nothing glowed so brightly as her eyes. Two white flames that scintillated with intent.

 

"ey rrruth thed schamaeg sen, Moira O'Brien. es cumin sheen." She hissed through curled black lips filled with hate. Moira sank to the ground before her executioner waiting for the death blow...for in her mind the twisted voice spoke in English: "Prepare, Moira O'Brien, for your time is come."

 

The Death Whip raised and the being screamed an unearthly sound that had not been heard on the Earth in millennia. The thunder and lightning screamed with her.

 

The Golden Glave shined through the creature's chest and the Winged One seemed to fall to burning tatters around the sword.

 

Two blazing green eyes shined from under their hood into Moira's own. Moira stared back...now in shock that she yet lived.

 

"Yur saff, Moira Daaahter of Brien." He said...definitely HE said. "...fur new." He gasped and then collapsed into the rain soaked ground.

 

Moira could not stand...she could not think. She didn't know...she didn't want to know! So she fainted dead away.