Aibric:
A beach.
Somewhere on the
shoreline of Tir-na-nOg…
A pale grey-green
sky heralding another dawn.
In the distance, the
sound of seagulls…
a raucous
counterpoint to the rhythmic waves
beating against the
shoreline; four largish birds
silhouetted, circling.
And circling. Listen.
Something’s about to
happen that will unlock the magic and mystery of this tale..
about Tir-na-nOg- the island of eternal youth,
mentioned in Irish
legends, folktales and faerytales…
an oral tradition staring
down centuries; an island
where Time seems to
stand still, or at least long enough
to help us forget
about there ever was a Time…
1st
Drowned Voice: for
here no rain falls, nor sleet, nor snow, and the people who live here—for the
most part the Sidhe—always seem to be young..
2nd
Drowned Voice: an
island that moves, always seeking a new and different compass destiny. Tidal,
and alternately non-tidal, magically drifting up and down these Atlantic
shorelines, sometimes off the Skerries, sometimes kissing the arch of the Aran
Islands, sometimes lingering by Doonbeg…
Aibric:
and occasionally, once in a moonless
moon,
directly above the Soul Cages, the home of..Coomara,
sometimes known as The Lord of
these Soul Cages;
along with yours
truly, you can also find some winsome Merrows,
keeping the place
under the waves all ship-shape and shipwreck-friendly…
Aibric:
But to our tale..
1st
Drowned Voice: it
seems that a small boat, a corragh, has gone aground on the rocks jist off the
Skelligs..
2nd
Drowned Voice: and
a young fisherman by the name of Colm O’Driscoll had lashed himself to a wooden
plank and was drifting..
Aibric:
with the drowned sailors’ magnetic
pull closer and closer to Tir-na-nOg, that jist happened to be ‘moored’—if
indeed that’s the word of the moment—a hop, skip and a swim from Skellig
Micheal..
Colm
O’Driscoll: in
a salt-water induced haze, occasionally lit be a cloud-begotten moon, I could
see a shoreline jist ahead of me. Some force greater than mine pushed me, with
a strange but gentle force onto the waiting shoreline. There I grabbed a hold
of the welcome sand and pulled myself up from the shoreline..
Coomara:
Jist then a tidal surge began pulling
on the waves, dragging young O’Driscoll slowly back down the beach towards the
murky moonlit blackness
1st
Drowned Voice: where
we were waiting, willing the waters to capture another soul and take him..
2nd
Drowned Voice: to
a home under the waves in a kaleidoscope wing of the Soul Cages, full of dead
sailors’ souls, chirping in unison: Join us…join us…join us..
Colm
O’Driscoll: in
desperation, I looked around quickly, saw a clump of sea kelp attached to a
thick driftwood branch and grabbed a hold of it. I felt me legs being pulled
downwards back to the sea shoreline, as I tightened my grip inside the kelp,
wrapping as much as I could around my wrist…
Aibric:
for Tir-na-nOg was slowly moving,
swaying first this way then that as if waiting for a definite tidal direction..
1st
Drowned Voice: the
seawater began to tear at him from all sides, slowly back into the jaws of the
impatient waves, pulling him ineluctably down, down, down.. But….jist
then something magical happened…
Malicho
Dan Doonan: there
I was out for a constitutional, when I noticed this supine body on the
shoreline, moving ever so slightly every time the fading gibbous moon left the
clouds behind..
Aibric:
and Dan, being a man of action, ran
quickly to that shoreline, extending his long left hand to the gasping grasping
young man…
1st
Drowned Voice: and
that’s when we released young O’Driscoll from our magnetic clutches…the Soul
Cages would have to wait..
Colm
O’Driscoll: ..that long arm was a lifeline so I reached
out and fastened my hand to its hand. My saviour’s arm seemed longer than a
normal man’s arm, but the sand and sea coating my eyes blurred what was right
in front of me..
Malicho
Dan Doonan: I
pulled the young man—for young man he was…a fisherman I’m thinking—across the
sandy shoreline and out of the fitful darkness…
Aibric:
the young man could make out the shape
of an oversized man, his long arms a welcome mystery to a drowning man..
Colm
O’Driscoll: ..those
longish arms covered in tightfitting tweed, a face that resembled a finely
carved turnip, hair every which way, all framing a puckish grin..
Malicho
Dan Doonan: the
Malicho Dan Doonan at yer service. Call me Dan. Or The Doonan, if ye feel
inclined…
Aibric:
..and thus begins our tale of mystery
and magic, magic and mystery..
not seen or heard of
on Tir-na-nOg since the time Niamh rode over the waves on Embarr, with Oisin
the warrior in tow..
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