Ghosts

[History Guy]

I hope you chaps don't kill me for this one. I'm just writing four short stories in this thread about my favorite civ...the Celts... These are four stories (somewhat) based on old Celtic legends, especially from Britain and France.

Er...the plots will get better soon, don't worry!
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The Vain Lady

There once lived in a castle on an island by Iona a woman whose countenance was reckoned to be the fairest in all the world.

She who was known as Lady Galldah lived in an ancient castle that had stood on the little sandy island for as long as anyone dared recall. No one alive could say when it came up, exactly, but those who had made it must have been mighty indeed to stand the crashing of the surf as they worked away. They must have been driven mad, it was said.

The tall, dark structure was falling apart from old age and poor maintenance; the surf and the tide had battered the sea wall since those centuries long past when it first went up. Much of the castle had collapsed in upon itself, now resembling more a great black and terrible heap than a mighty fortress. The building decayed slowly in the wetness of the Farne as the birds circled overheard and the sea rolled on as it has always done in endless unbroken waves that have moved since the dawn of all time.

It was believed by those who lived across the water that only one half of the castle stood in any recognizable form, and of that only one half, though a monstrous one half, was inhabitable. For all the wear and tear, it was still noted that the structure could only be reached at low tide, when a sandy land bridge was formed by the receding tide, leaving behind the weeds and the clams. And so, when mood struck them, one of the inhabitants of the castle might journey out. However, this was a rare thing indeed.

It was always wondered why a Lord such as the Lady Galldah’s father would choose to live up in such a ruin from which there seemed no escape except at mid-day. The old wives of the town across the land bridge always suspected something foul of that old Lord. He dribbles, they used to say, and is out of his mind. The surf, endlessly pounding those evil old stones, has dented his brain, the poor fellow. There is water up there in that old mind of his.

It could not be denied by travelers paying their respects that the old Lord was a strange sight. He was usually to be found at table, and at that asleep, or in some stupor. He did dribble, unfortunately, all over his father expensive looking red gown. It seemed, though, that the gown was just as ancient as he, dust-covered and tattered. In a way, it fit him like a glove.

Those who were unimpressed by the Lord were certainly impressed by his daughter, the very glorious Lady Galldah. She wore her long, golden hair down to her ankles, it was said, and she was usually to be found in her green costumes parading about her own little study, where she would make herself up like all young girls. Her white and handsome face was usually pouring over a water-mirror she kept in her marble basin. She would look at it daily, and then wash it with her many ointments. She was believed wise by many and good company, and seemingly a perfect wife for a King. She had a failing, of course. She was known to be vain in her own ways, but it was not a deterrent to her admirers. It certainly wasn’t her father who attracted the many young courtiers who sought to cross to the Farne.

They said that another attraction to the family other than the Lady Galldah was the immense fortune that was supposedly to be found hidden among the rotting timbers somewhere in one of the old keeps. The family had made its fortune on the castle, apparently, allying themselves with an emerging King and granting him refuge in the old fortress during the wars.

The King’s enemies pursued him with an army to the castle, intending to destroy it in a siege. The fighting moved onto the land bridge at low tide and went the way of the attackers until the King’s reinforcements arrived to assist the besieged. Instead of charging in for the kill, the troops simply waited for the high tide. The enemy, trapped on the land bridge, vanished into the surf and were all drowned. The spoils were shared then, one third going to the Lord of the castle. This same treasure was sought after by the many young nobles who came as suitor to the Lady Galldah.

There were indeed many suitors as well. They came year after year, young and brash, thinking the world of themselves, drooling over the Lady’s comely features and her mounds of gold. It usually passed that some prince or knight from a distant tribe or land would soon find himself engaged to wed the Lady, and he would enjoy some moment of happiness before the whole thing was quietly called off. So it happened, the suitors came and were gradually forgotten.

There even came one day a young prince of Limerick, the second son of the King of that state. He was known as Gwydion, and was an energetic and impetuous youth who seemed to favor the hunt above all things. And so, when he arrived at the little town across the land bridge from the castle, he carried his hawk with him until a squire came up to take him.

Much of Gwydion’s baggage was still lagging behind somewhat, and the young prince decided, as it was nearly low tide when he arrived, to cross over on his own for his first meeting with the beautiful Lady Galldah. So, when low tide came, leaving behind only foam, rocks, clams, and weeds, he began to trot over on his own, mounted on a quiet old mare whom he had been forced to borrow from a groom as his horse was watered back at the town. The first sight of the castle was somewhat depressing. The black old thing sat slumped there on the cliff like some foreboding mountain that seemed to be caving in on itself. There was a strange air to the place that he at first sight did not find agreeable.

He arrived at the gate and called for a porter. Nothing happened at all, except for a monstrous echo that resounded among those black battlements, frightening a group of gulls that immediately took to circling the fortress once more. The castle seemed utterly deserted and devoid of life. He called once again, louder this time.

Finally there came some response. A door opened out of the wall, and out stepped a tall, longhaired maiden clad entirely in green who immediately beckoned Gwydion onward. “Are you the Lady Galldah?” asked the prince, sheepishly.

“I am, sir. Please, come in.” The voice was certainly pleasant, and matched with her features, quite irresistible. The prince found that his mind had already been made up. He entered in after her, bounding like a hound on the trial of a hare.

“I am, as you must know, here for your hand, fair lady, if I can gain also your heart,” said Gwydion, again in a sheepish attitude. He was unused to this sort of thing.

She laughed with a sweet voice. “Oh, I am sure that a suitor such as you will have little trouble with that.” She led onward, deeper into the bowels of the castle, and past the old stones, toward a tall, winding stone staircase.

“I hope not…I am, as you see, weary from a long trip, and should like to stay long, but I must see to my baggage back across the water in town this evening, so I must not linger today, I fear.”

“Worry not, I see your trouble…”

“No trouble at all, Lady, not for you.” As he said this, he wondered why he sounded like a fool to himself.

“You shall dine with us, I hope, before you leave?” She pushed open a little door, and for a moment there was a flash of blinding light as the prince saw what lay beyond. The room was filled with windows, all shining in pure light, bathing the room in the stuff. There was, in the middle of the room, surrounded by shields and lances, a table. Upon the table there lay a massive assortment of meats and dishes. And there, sitting at the head of the table, was the Lord, snoring away in one of his stupors, and dribbling like mad. He was a wretched old man, indeed, and certainly far older than his daughter. He must have first laid eyes on his daughter an old man, and only gotten worse on since.

“I will eat with you, Lady, for a short while. I thank you for your bountiful hospitality.”

“Then come in, and do not mind my father. Old age dulls the senses and withers away the spirit, and so he has been so weathered. In time, so shall all man be such, it is the course of things.”

And so they sat, talked, and ate for what must have been two hours until high tide approached and the prince had to leave. He spoke with her on many subjects during his discussions, always about the climate of the region, the state of things in Limerick, or poetry. Politics and art don’t usually mix well, but it made no matter. Gwydion left some deal heavier, and smitten to boot. He only hoped that the Lady Galldah felt the same of him.

And so he returned to an inn for the evening where he stayed overseeing his baggage. The tide had washed over the bridge again, and he would have to wait until the next day before he could lay eyes on the maiden again. And so it was that he supped at the inn, and was approached by a rather fat old lady who appeared to know everything about anything.

“Are you another one of that lady’s suitors?” she asked from out of the blue, approaching his table where he sat making good of some meats, dry cheeses and a few loaves of bread.

“I am, woman. What of it?” he asked with a snort.

“Aye, another fool. I supposed at much. You’re in for it, laddie!” It was her turn to make a snort, but she gave it in a more porcine fashion than the prince could ever have managed.

“Why’s that? I have met her, she keeps good company!” he said with some disgust.

“Aye, wise lady, ain’t she?”

“She is a wise woman, yes.”

“That’s because she’s a witch, I say, young man. A regular Druid, and a bad one at that. Worse than most. She doesn’t pray to trees as much as she drains their sap like a little leech for her abominable potions and such…”

“What say you? Why do you make such outrageous accusations, then, woman? You know nothing of this!”

“Do I not? I’ve lived here all my life…sixty good years…and never once has the Lady Galldah not been living in those towers…”

“Preposterous! She can’t be more than twenty-five! You’re mad…”

“Am I now? Ask anyone. I warned you blokes before about her. You never listen, then you vanish away into thin air. Why isn’t she married now, eh?”

“She hasn’t found the right man. The time will soon come,” he responded, boastfully. “Besides, if old crones such as you find it perfectly understandable to slander her good name about, no wonder some of the more dull-witted suitors retreat wenceforth they came!”

“Crone, am I? If it weren’t for you lot, she’d be a bag of bones!”

“What?”

“Look, man…did ye see any servants walking about the castle, now? You saw how big the thing is. You’d expect to see someone traipsing about besides the Ladyship and her father…” she spoke slowly, “Wouldn’t ye now?”

“I…did not see any, this is true…but I saw food in great abundance…”

“She’s a witch. She makes her own with her spells. Her spells also make her young, but not without some ingredients…”

“You’re mad!”

“I’m mad? She grinds up the suitors, don’t you see? The energetic ones she goes for. Her stock must be replenished yearly, you know. She runs low on the stuff…”

A piece of bread suddenly dropped out of Gwydion’s mouth. What sort of madwoman was he dealing with? He nervously reached for his bread knife just in case she started foaming…

“Been inside her study? Nay, course not. Not yet. She gets them in there. She has a little pool, you she. She takes the essence from these men, here, and she puts them in her little vials. She pours the stuff out into her little pool so as she can wash her face in it all and rejuvenate herself. She gives a little to her father, but only to keep suspicions down. She thinks we’ll all die off and never notice these things…we know all right. But you lot don’t…she’s been feeding on you for ages!”

“That’s quite enough!”

“You’ll see. She’ll take you in there, you know, and make her preparation. First, she’ll use whatever’s left of the last fool, and then she’ll go in for you…”

“Leave me, woman!”

“You have silver for the lady? Show her! You’ll see! A witch, I say!”

The Prince had heard enough. He quickly moved away from the table, and went outside, slamming the little oaken door behind him. Breathing in some of the sea air, he glanced across the firth at the castle, and then went in search of his baggage master.

The next morning was more pleasant. After a light breakfast, he went walking along the shore. He found himself pondering over what that old biddy had said, and tried to dismiss it from his mind. There were odd things about the castle, yes, but the Lady Galldah seemed hardly a witch. This was an old maid’s tale, such as frequently passes about small towns and hamlets where the inhabitants find little to get excited over except rich visitors and their doings.

All the same, he decided to take with him a silver hairpin among the gifts he had brought for her.

At noon, as the tide receded, the Prince Gwydion rode his now watered stallion over the land bridge, approaching the rotting pyramid of stone once again. This time, in response to his call, the door opened immediately, and out again stepped the beautiful lady, clad as always in green, looking just as fresh and beautiful as always.

“Ah, I see my visitor is punctual as ever this morning,” she said.

“I am, Lady. I could not be more pleased than I am to see you again.”

She led him inside once again, and he found himself taking another walk through the corroding passages.

“Pardon, Lady Galldah, but are we walking to the banquet hall? This seems to be a different route. I am assuredly mistaken, but…”

“No, dear one, you are quite correct. The food is still being prepared, and in preparation I will entertain you in my own study. You will find it quite interesting, I think. My father was an avid collector of all things scientific. You will find much in there to display this curiosity.”

She stepped inside the room first, and then beckoned him onward with one of her graceful fingers. “Here we are, my dear.”

The room was not especially large, but it was amazing all the same. From one of the arched stone windows protruded a rather gray beam of light that seemed to shine down through the rotting rafters in one of the old ceilings. More such beams shot down from the old arrow loops carved into the walls.

There were many striking items in the room. Most immediately he saw the marble mirror that stood in the center. There was a basin carved within, and there sat inside it a pool of water. She stood over it immediately to look at her reflection and to straighten her hair out with a brush she had by the pool. His eye darted to a bookshelf that was built into the wall. There sat a pile of scrolls, some half-burned candles, and a strange bottle containing a small amount of strange liquid. There were also some stuffed animals such as the rather peevish-looking badger and a very timid hare. He also noted a large black astrolabe standing to one corner of the room.

With a little word, she departed the room momentarily. He quietly reached for the bottle, and opened it. A strange smell emerged from it, and he slowly acted by removing the contents of the bottle as a precaution through one of the windows with a motion of his arm. He then quickly dipped the stuff into the pool, trapping a small amount of water.

He did this without really being aware of what he was doing. Perhaps the woman’s words, followed by the appearance of the study, had bothered him more than he thought. As it was, he took this little precaution, and replaced the bottle upon the shelf before the Lady re-entered the room.

“Sit, dear one,” she said, pointing at a chair by the window.

“Let me first present you with a little gift, if I may,” he responded. He reached into his bag for the right item.

“Why, certainly, I shall not refuse it,” she said with a smile.

He removed a silver hairpin from his bag.

“Put it away! Put it away!” she said, suddenly, flinging herself in one corner, turning about suddenly, and shaking wildly.

His heart sank. “What is it? Have I offended you with my gift? This belonged to my mother…Ah well. If you do not favor it, I shall put it back…” He did so with a sigh, and then leapt for the door. It was locked.

“You are the first to know it, Gwydion. None of your predecessors listened to those warnings, you know,” she said with a smile. “I’m almost sorry. If I could find two men with such energy, I would gratefully smite them both, and share them with you for their energy. I could live with such a man as you, but without one, I would hardly be able to. You see, I live off you suitors. Without you, I’d die… Ah well. You are the bitter hero. A sad price to pay for my immortality, perhaps? My vanity, you see…my only fault…I love my own reflection! I can’t let it grow old!”

“I didn’t believe her…I can’t believe her…” he said with a little voice. His eyes were wide with some unholy terror as she slunk closer to him. He looked upon her and saw a streak of gray in her yellow hair.

“The time is coming fast,” she said, reaching for the bottle. “I’ll attend to you in a minute, dear one. Let me finish off the last one first.”

[History Guy]

Before his eyes, she poured the remaining liquid into the basin, and stirred the waters gently with her finger. Then, she put her hands into the water and drew her face near. She brought the water to her face, and her face to the water, and cupped her hands over her face. There was a little trickle of water escaping from her hands as she washed herself.

“What have you done?” she then asked, without removing her hands. “You coward, what have you done?” Her voice was like gravel: cold, hard, and scratchy.

“I…I…I…”

“You pig…you’ve ruined me…”

She removed her hands, and Gwydion saw her face with horror. Where there once was her cheek, there was now brown, rotting skin, looking like a leaf does as it crumbles. It was as though her face were slowly pealing away and turning to dust.

“My beauty…my face…”

Suddenly, there was a splash from the pool as a portion of her face collapsed into the water. It shattered like parched earth and floated for a minute above the surface before sinking to the bottom. Her face seemed to be caving in…her eyes remained fixed, but that which lay below it seemed to sink inwards upon itself. Her nose vanished into the water, and her mouth widened ridiculously…horrifically…covering most of her countenance. She was shriveled and falling apart, her face falling away slowly and horribly.

Her mouth gaped open widely and horribly, her jaw leaping downward far wider than it should ever have been expected to go. She let out the most hideous scream that any man had ever heard. She simply stood there, looking down at her reflection, as her face blackened and slowly rotted. That scream echoed on endlessly.

Gwydion turned about and sought to open the door, trying to look away from the terrible sight before him. Finally, with a kick, the door buckled at the hinges and fell inward, quite like her face was doing. Without a look back, he ran forward through the passages and out the door, her scream echoing behind him. He thought for a moment of the treasure as well, but he decided not to bother with looking for it. At the moment, he was far more interested in being as far away from that island as humanly possible.

He ran for the door beside the gate, and opened it just wide enough for him to get through and beyond. He then immediately leapt upon his horse’s back, and as the tide began to creep up upon the bridge once again, he rode wildly over it, forcing his horse onward so that he thought the poor creature would die of exhaustion before it ever made it past the land bridge.

When he did reach the other side, as the waters covered the path once more, he could still hear the echo of the Lady’s scream coming from that vile place. He could not bear to look back at the castle for a final time. He simply rode on, as far as he could go.
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[ChrisiusMaximus]

Which Celtic legend was this based upon ? interesting stuff I must say.

[SKILORD]

I like it mate. Bravo.

[Kaos XIII]

Whew! I almost missed this story. It's a good thing I found it at the bottom of the thread list. I'm wondering though, is this the end??? I hope not, I want to hear more about the strange liquid and the pool.

[History Guy]

Well, I'm working on a second story, but I've been a little delayed. I should be done tomorrow, or perhaps even later today.

Thanks, guys.

Chrisius, these stories are all based on a few different tales that I've taken together as one. The first one deals with the fear of witches in Celtic culture. The original story has its origins in Ireland.

Kaos...I'm rather afraid that the first story is over. Like most Celtic legends, some of the odder aspects are left unexplained. The liquid seemed to me to be some sort of essence of her suitors.

I'm working on the next one this evening.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Well it was a most enjoyable read, thanks for posting it.

[vovan]

Agreed. Very nice stuff, HG.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

HG feel free to post the second story whenever your ready Im certainly looking forward to reading it.

[History Guy]

Don't worry...I'm actually working on it. Unfortunately, I've had a nasty head cold for the past three days, which held it up.

The second story is not uncommonly heard in Britain.

[History Guy]

The Swan

There came once down that road, laddie, what you would call one of them old bards. He was a tall, hobbling sort of man, walked with a limp and a great stick made of some old elm. He was the last of his kind. His like’ll ne’er be seen again on these shores, and that is a promise, I am loath to say.

You see, this bard walked along down this road from wherever, might ‘ave been ancient Tara, or what’s it, and came to our inn down the road, owned by the younger Mr. Cribbins now, as you know. I myself was just a boy at the time, you see, but I was a right privileged young thing to be able to see the last of an ancient and great breed. In the old days, the bards used to have a say over everything. The old camps always had a bard, whether they might be on the march again or settled. If the bard spoke against ye in his pretty prose and cultured tongue, you felt three inches tall. It was disgrace in those days. Aye, you see, they lived like kings did back then when there weren’t no kings.

This old bard, you see, was the last bard there ever was. He was already one hundred and one years of age when he arrived at our inn, and blind as a mole too, for that. Be that as it may, he never needed us to help him around, nay, he walked on blindly himself, and he never took a wrong turn. They say that he’d walked across this island many times and more, and he knew every cobble path or bending lane.

The time that he was up in the tavern, boy, was a time to be remembered. He walked up in there and the innkeeper, rest his soul, was jolly pleased to see such a man as he entering. He’d recognized him from one thousand yards away you see, keen eyes, like a hawk, had the elder Cribbins.

Fact is, he sat down by the hearth and was mightily pleased at the beer he drank and the food he ate. Had his eyes not been so plastered o’er by the whiteness of his scales, one might have thought that he could see just as I see you here before me. We laid all our hospitalities upon him in hopes that he’d live up to the bardic expectations of old, you see. And he did, lad, he did, but he took some coaxing. A bard’ll ne’er speak till he’s comfortable.

“So then, how’d’ I find ye this evenin’?” he would ask. We’d go on about how pleasantly things were going, or how unpleasantly, when the mood took us. He nodded and listened, and answered that it was all fine.

Now, we were beginning to suspect that this man was no more bardic than you or me, for he’d been sitting comfortably smoking his pipe and swigging his ale for more than an hour, and yet no line of olden times had we heard emerging from his withered, gray lips. The innkeeper was sure that he was entertaining one of the old wise men, of course, but he had been sure of a great many more things before hand that didn’t quite fit together. Odd fellow, the elder Cribbins. Not to be praised, of course, but a good man all the same.

“Don’t ye worry. I’ll not disappoint ye,” said the old bard, finally, after puffing away at the elongated clay pipe that sat between his two rows of yellow teeth. “It takes a while to prepare for such things as this, and it is a thing you’ll never be hearin’ again. ‘T’will, I trust, be no waste of yer time.

“Now, you will, I believe, recall that, in pagan times, people sought out devils to ask for their heart’s desire. It was in the close of nature that such spirits were thought to dwell, and so they did, before Patrick’s time. It was known that such spirits roamed the woods, for example, or lived in caves by the sea. They were commonly found so, and if man was wise enough to outwit them, one could receive some favor from them.

“Now, then, with that in mind, I shall begin my story.

“There was once not far from here a woman named Mirion who lived by a lake that was surrounded by woods. By the lake, as you may or may not know, stood the old ruins of some great stone structure, long worn away and crumbled. As a girl, Mirion had played amongst such ruins in the shadow of the woods.

“Now, her home was old and made of white stone, for it was an ancient dwelling place of wise men. Indeed, her father was what they would call a wizard, you understand. Her mother had died, but she lived with her father in this old house near that lovely lake in the midst of those old woods.

“Those woods themselves, you know, were said to be haunted. Now, you will recall what I said about wood spirits…such things were known to dwell in the woods out there. If y’ ‘ere quick enough, one might be able to catch a quick glimpse of such a spirit before it receded into its hiding place, if it was just such a spirit bound by time.

“There was one spirit who lived in the forest who wasn’t bound by neither time nor space. The ancients had a name for him, long forgotten, but we know him as the bull god. He strode through the forests with his horned head, emerging in the darkness from beyond time itself to walk through his forests. He guided everything that went on there, you see. Whether he was a benevolent or malevolent spirit, none can tell.

“Now, there was also living in those parts a young huntsman by name of Lagohaire. Now, he was young, as I said, but also rather bold as well. He was a handsome man, tall in stature, well built, sporting a mop of blonde hair and a well-trimmed mustache. His eyes were a sharp blue, and were exceedingly good for him, being the sportsman that he was. Aye, eyes like a hawk had he.

“The hawk, you see, was an animal he had no lack of use for. He contented himself by sitting on the back of his mare, holding out his hand for the hawk to grasp with its long and sharp talons. In those days, you might launch such a bird off ye and to a smaller bird in the air. The hawk would engage the animal in mortal combat, slay it, and drop it down from the sky to the huntsman.

“But Lagohaire was gifted in all manner of hunts. He made fine traps, and strung a bow with ease. He aim was particularly good. He could strike down his prey at any distance when he could see it easily enough. It’d go down, and he’d collect it. He usually didn’t need to take another shot, it was most always perfect the first time.

“And so it was that Lagohaire the huntsman one day came upon Mirion as she bathed in the lake on one summer evening, and fell in love. He was, as might be expected, on the hunt, as was usual, when he saw her. She swam gracefully like a swan, and had a neck to match. Her hair was golden and shone in the light of the dying sun like gold, catching the huntsman’s eye. As it did so, she caught his heart.

“They would meet, now and then, as lovers do, and so these rendezvous would increase in number to every evening.

“Her father, of course, being a wise enough man, that being his trade, was sure enough of his suspicions that she was seeing a man. He could tell, you see, in the way she spoke and acted. He could see it in her very mood. And so, he knew. But he knew not what he was that had caught her eye so.

“’What is it, Mirion?’ he would ask her, ‘Why do you look out at the woods, so? Why do you sigh? Why speak ye not to me?’

“She would ne’er respond. She would simply sigh, and go on looking for her lover’s sign, for he would always wave his hat from the woods. Now, she could see it from the glint of the silver pin he had spiked through its rim. And so, at the signal, provided that her father was not watching her, she would venture out from that white stone house and to the woods to walk with Lagohaire.

“And so they would walk together until there came a time when Lagohaire left the area for a spell to go on a hunting trip with friends in the north. At this time, you see, there was a demand for the heavy furs as were found on the animals of the colder regions. Such furs made good use in clothes or in wall hangings. Whatever the use, it was profitable hunting. Off of his shares, Lagohaire would become a richer man indeed; rich enough to support a family such as he hoped to have with his Mirion.

“As summer past into autumn, and autumn into winter, and the days grew ever colder and shorter, Mirion began to fear for Lagohaire, hunting north in those great hulking mountains that towered above the horizon so many leagues away. That winter was unnaturally cold, and many men were known to have perished in accidents up on those remote and terrible slopes. Mirion knew that Lagohaire and his party would be in certain danger up in the snows, but she knew that if he were never to return she could not readily accept his loss.

“And so, late one evening, when darkness began to fall, she crept out alone into the woods, for she had also heard of the favors of the spirits. She brought along with her a sacrifice, one slaughtered hare for the bull god’s pleasure as he trod on his great hooves through the misty forest on his nightly walk.

“When she clambered through the woods, she heard at first no sound at all. Oh, yes, the odd bird cry, the snapping of twigs under her feet, that sort of thing, but other than that, she heard but nothing. It was a lonely place at the best of times, that wood, but now, in the darkness, it was especially so. And yet, she knew that all manner of spirit was also making rounds through the trees that night.

“It was when she heard the growl of a wolf that she became afraid. You see, in those days the wolves were much larger and much fiercer than they are today. You’d need to keep special watch for them, especially when children were near. The ancients, in their wooden settlements, had much to fear from a large pack, for they could carry the babes away from the breasts of their mothers or gobble up a young child in a gulp, such was their ferocity.

“Still, for the noise, she could not see the beast itself. It seemed lost in the impendin’ darkness of the evenin’. So, she could not see the wolf. T’was no comfort to her, though, not in the least. It only enforced and provoked her fears. Then, she heard a strange little laugh from behind the trees, or at least it seemed so to her. The voice, she could tell, was female. The terrible thing about it was that though it appeared to be coming from a tree right in front of her, it sounded as though coming from a long way away, as though from the end of a long tunnel.

“Now, she knew about spirits, her father being a wise man. She knew that they came in all shapes and sizes, or none at all, without being constrained to any form whatsoever. But everyone knew about the female spirits who could either work good or evil. She decided that she’d encountered one, and immediately removed, or tried to remove, any sign of fear on her face. She certainly did not wise to offend the spirit so that it might wish to do mischief to her, as some of the more malevolent such ghosts were known to do.

“But then she heard a running noise, something leaping out of the direction of the trees in front of her and running down a slope amidst some great confusion. Then she heard another such boundin’ noise, as though some great beast had leapt out at her. Then, from some source she could not identify, she saw a ray of light descending. It fell first upon the rabbit she held, and then upon the beast itself.

“And there, before her, was the bull-headed nature god of our ancient race.

“Aye, and beast he appeared to be indeed. His face was like that of any bull, but in the light she could not tell whether or not he had eyes. She could clearly see the twisting horns upon his head, more like those of a stag than of a bull. His fur was black and thin, and he gave a little snort as he bounded forward, standing upright before her like any man.

“’Do not be afraid, girl,’ he said with a timeless voice that sprang from the very jowls of the beast. It was a strange voice indeed, containing the recognizable tones of a man, but mixed with some strange bestial quality that cannot be described or imitated by any man, bard or otherwise. Whatever the case, it cut through Mirion like a knife. Despite his words, she was almost too scared to speak, and certainly too filled with fright to think.

“’Who are you?’ she asked timidly after a good many moments of silence, augmented only by the ruff noises emerging from the god’s throat as he breathed in the air of the woods.

“’I?’ asks he incredulously, ‘I?”

“’ I am a stag: of seven tines
I am a flood: across a plain
I am a wind: on a deep lake
I am a tear: the Sun lets fall
I am a hawk: above the cliff
I am a thorn: beneath the nail
I am a wonder: among the flowers
I am a wizard: who but I sets the cool head aflame with smoke?

“’I am a spear: that rears for blood
I am a salmon: in a pool
I am a lure: from paradise
I am a hill: where poets walk
I am a boar: ruthless and red
I am a breaker: threatening down
I am a tide: that drags to death
I am an infant: who but I peeps from the unhewn dolmen arch?

“’ I am the womb: of every holt
I am the blaze: on every hill
I am the queen: of every hive
I am the shield: for every head
I am the grave: of every hope.’”

“And so, he then demanded to know why she had come, and what she had brought to appease him. She nervously held forward the hare, you see, and placed it at his feet, or rather, at his hooves, for she found that he had the arms and legs of a bull as well. His body was not shaped so, however. She found it to be furrier and less bulky, like that of a stag, or perhaps a bear. In this light, she could not tell for sure.

“’I wish, if you will let me, to bond my soul to that of Lagohaire the huntsman, so that we may ne’er be separated by any power, be it even death itself,’ she finally said, mustering up her courage.

“’I see. As a god, you know, I can give you this thing that you ask. It is in my power. But know this, I shall need a future sacrifice from you for this, yet one blood offering cannot be enough for it. I shall need another in future.’

“’You shall have it. I shall bring you another beast for sacrifice in the spring when I can catch another animal such as this as it comes out of its hibernation.’

“’So be it, Mirion. I hope that what you have asked for is truly what you desire, for you know not what it will bring upon you.’

“And she would not be budged on that matter, you see. This was what she wanted, and so this was what she would receive in return for another sacrifice in time. And so, the bull headed one gave his promise, and receded into the woods. She swiftly returned to her home and the home of her father, and stirred not again that night.

“It happened, though, that despite the coldness of that winter, it was a short one, and within a few months the snows had disappeared into the ground and the ice had thawed away into the lakes and streams that flowed about the region. But all was not well. The wizard was now sure that his daughter was seeing a man without his consent, and was not going to allow it. You see, he was a very protective and sentimental, if hardheaded old man, and he would not see Mirion marry a man of whom he did not approve.

“And so, when word reached him that Lagohaire was returning from his hunt in the mountains, the old man cast a spell over Mirion, and turned his daughter into a swan.

“Now, he only intended that she remain a swan for a short time, just as long as it would take for him to understand this huntsman’s character. Once he would get a grasp on the personality of the man, he would restore his daughter to herself.

“But, as it happened, Lagohaire returned to the lake with a great bounty from the many furs he had collected. As he rode down through the woods, he glimpsed out at the lake, and circling upon it was the swan, bathing herself in the afternoon sun. Now, of course, he wasn’t to know of what had happened, he took her to be an actual swan, you see. So, he strung his bow, and removed from the quiver on his back a long, red arrow. He aimed his shot, and let loose the bow, the arrow slicing through the air and into the swan’s side.

“For the second time, Lagohaire had pierced the heart of Mirion.

“And so, with nary a squirm, her head fell back and she died. For a moment, the huntsman looked away to replace his bow, and when he looked again, the swan’s body was gone. Now, you see, when her blood was let, and the first drop landed in the lake, the sound was heard by the bull headed one. He, you see, could hear, see, and smell all. The spirits in those days had such powers; they could be everywhere and nowhere, see all, do all… As it was, he sorrowfully took the body away himself, the second bloody sacrifice in exchange for Mirion’s desire. He heard her, you see, and she fulfilled her promise, terrible as it was.

“Well, you see, when Lagohaire finally gave up his search and came to the old house, he could not find Mirion anywhere. He dared not inquire of her to her father, who was both a man he had never met and a man whom he a’fear’d for his powers. But, as it happened, she was nowhere to be seen in the region, though he sought her for many hours.

“Finally, though, as the lights of heaven began to dim, he saw a vague form moving beside one of the strange and ancient white stone pillars. Like a sheet, it was, but long and trailing like the dress of a bride. It was as nothing he’d ever laid eyes upon, though he’d looked upon many a freak of nature in his time.

“It was when a face appeared amidst the milky shape that he shrunk back in such horror. The face was round and pale. The lips were purple in color, the eyes sunken, dark shadows below them. At first, he could not recognize this face, and though he only saw it for a brief spell, he finally saw it for what it was. The face was Mirion’s.

“Now, they say that he would never spend a day for the rest of his life without seeing that sorrowful form float alongside him. He never quite understood, but had considered the story of her father the wizard and remembered the swan with that long, graceful neck. The wizard himself vanished that day onward. The old folk of the region said that he’d left in grief to some barren rock on the sea where he’d been driven mad by the crashing of the waves. No one knows for sure.

“As for Lagohaire himself, haunted for the rest of his life, he retreated into the mountains, tormented by his visions. Some say, strange as it is, that he lives there alone in some dark crevice still. But then, you know, he was never really alone ever again.”

Well, with that, lad, the old bard was finished his little tale. Downing the remains of his ale, he asked for a room, and he left the next morning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Mr. President]

It's always good to read your writing, History Guy!

[ChrisiusMaximus]

History Guy that had me spellbound, I was totally immersed in the story as I read it.


SUPERB

[History Guy]

Thanks, guys!

I certainly hope I won't take as long with the next one, which deals with the Druids themselves.

[unscratchedfoot]

I read the first story and will certainly read the others as soon as I can. It was indeed a good read. I really like these once upon a time stories of old.

[unscratchedfoot]

I read the second one. Stunningly well written.
I wanted a happy ending though.

[History Guy]

A happy ending?

*gasp*

In a Celtic story?!

Ah well.

The next one is on the way. Sorry for the delay.

[History Guy]

Good Lord...

Once again, I note that I haven't done much of anything for too long... (O! what a sorry thing RL is...)

However, I actually do intend to finish these last two stories...

I hope this (very) short story holds you chaps over until The Talisman is done...

It is an Irish tale, I believe...
--

There was once a young fellow who often saw at a park a lovely girl who wore a green ribbon around her neck. He saw her admiring the lake in the midst of the park from a large ornamental bridge. Beside her stood an elderly lady in a gray dress.

Now, the young fellow saw her often and became rather interested in her, her companion, and her green ribbon. On occasion, he would, when he saw them, offer them his greetings. Indeed, on other occasions, he would engage the young lady in conversation. Strangely, he always felt that the gray lady was apprehensive of such meetings.

However, in the end, after meeting them regularly in the park for a year at least, he began to court the young lady with the green ribbon around her neck. It so happened that, one day, after many months of courting, he finally proposed to the young lady, and she accepted.

A funny thing, though, happened on their wedding night. Now, you see, the young man found it quite odd when he discovered that his wife had gone to bed still wearing that strange green ribbon. Playishly, he began to undo it, but she tore it from his hands and kept him back.

"My dear, you must never take this green ribbon off me if you love me," she said. As he opened his mouth to ask why, she said again, "Nor can you ask me why I say these things. It is a secret I share only with my aunt."

The gray lady, the aunt, was given a room upstairs in the young man's large old house. She often would come to look after the young wife and would talk with her often. For the time being, all three seemed to be very happy indeed, but the young man always noted an unsettling feeling that the gray lady was afraid of something.

It just so happened, though, that after only two years of marriage, the young lady fell ill with black scarlatina. And so she began to die, and neither the aunt nor the young man would leave her bedside. Even now, in her final illness, she wore her green ribbon round her throat.

Seeing this, the young man commented that he had never seen her without it. She nodded slowly and painfully, and she said, "My dear, do you wish to know why I wear this ribbon?"

The young husband sheepishly nodded. This ribbon had always remained mysterious to him, and despite his wife's own terrible condition, a part of him still wanted to know the truth of it all.

The dying girl looked up at her aunt. She slowly and tearfully nodded. The girl with the green ribbon then looked again at her husband.

"Well, I am dying of this fever as it is. Undo this ribbon, my dear, and see what I have always hidden from you," she said. She gave him a kiss, and sat up expectantly.

Slowly, the young man reached for the ribbon. There was some strange feeling inside him that he should not touch the thing, and yet, another part of him reminded him of his mystery. And so, looking into her eyes, he unwound the ribbon, and pulled it away from her throat.

Plop!

With that, her head fell from her neck and rolled across the floor...

[ChrisiusMaximus]

You daft beggar you I dont believe I sat here and read this not ever expecting that ending, BRILLIANT

[Kaos XIII]

I just read the "Green Ribbon" story. Very cool, I thought the ending was going to deal with the aunt. Nice twist in the end.

I've just noticed "The Swan" today, I'll have to read that one later.

I like these scary stories. Just don't do one, about any oui-ja board. Cause that's waaaaaaaaaay too EVIL!!!

Edit: Just read the Swan, I wait patiently for the next story, or stories.

[SKILORD]

Fascinating, that green ribbon story does indeed have a surprise ending.

[unscratchedfoot]

Good story

[Nuclear Winter]

Fantastic stories! All o´em!!!
The first one made me feel the smell of old, humid walls,
The second one involved me in such a manner that I couldn´t stop reading untill the very end,
the third one astounished me and was indeed frighteng.
Please continue to entertain us with these great tales!