Chapter 8: The Otherworld

“Tell me about Kaetlynn?” I ask of Etain. I am interested to find out more about my former neighbour and what influence she had on my late wife and why she appeared to want some relationship between Etain and me.

“Kaetlynn was frustrated by the King’s curse which banished we three sisters to the mountain all those years ago. She was the only one of us that was widowed and wanted a new father for her young son and more children to follow.”

“So why were you and Bebhinn in the suitors’ race for the hand of Finn McCool?” I ask, knowing very little of the legend, “Were you both after a husband or taking part just to support Katie?”

“Aye, mostly to help Kaetlynn win the race. Neither Bebhinn or I were interested in marrying Fionn. I was a messenger with the King, a job I was the best there was at; Bebh had started out as a messenger before me but was more interested in making medicines based on honey. Kaetlynn married young, to a coastal farmer. She had had three young children, but the two youngest had only recently been killed along with her husband. Deaths were common in babies, even with witch medicine and witchs’ healing powers, but even a witch can do nothing about pirates and marauders and more Irish people were killed by invaders in those times than died by natural causes. Kaetlynn had been a messenger but as a married woman she became an experienced midwife and was away from the farm that night, staying in the nearby town with a woman in labour. Her eldest boy was about 5 and he had the sense to run and hide from the pirates.”

“Poor Aunt Katie,” murmurs Caoimhe, in sympathy with her once babysitter.

“Aye,” Etain agrees, “She was never the luckiest of us. A woman found it as hard to raise a child on her own as you did, Richard, Kaetlynn was aware of that as she helped you with Caoimhe whenever she could. Kaetlynn was employed as a runner, a king’s messenger, before us and had given it up to marry and work the dairy on the farm as well as midwifery. Bebh and I helped keep her pace up as we ran the mountain path in that race and we were certain that Kaetlynn would win the hand of the great hero, until that bitch Gráinne appeared from nowhere and neither Bebhinn nor I could catch her, we were so puffed by then and she was fresh as a daisy covered in morning dew.”

“So you hatched this ... spell was it?” I ask.

“A witch’s curse can be a powerful thing, Richard, especially when delivered with passion,” Etain reflects, “Not every witch can curse to make something momentous happen, but Kaetlynn was the best curser of we sisters able to do that, but with all three of us working out the best phrases for the curse, and Bebh’s heady and sweet concoction of honey and beeswax perfume, we successfully persuaded Gráinne and one of Fionn’s righthand warriors, that they were in love with each other and they immediately eloped during the wedding breakfast.”

“But you didn’t get away with it?”

“No. We didn’t but we didn’t care. We wanted to right an injustice. In truth, Gráinne was happy with her new mate and their life together. They had five children and lived a long life together. It was a powerful curse and they were in love for life. Even Fionn saw the funny side of it during the brief Court hearing, I suspect that it was Gráinne herself who had paid for a love potion of her own to help her woo the great hero to desire her heart and body, but her potion was nothing to the power we three sisters together could bring to bear,” Etain laughs.

“Remember, Richard, witches cannot use potions or magic to influence a man to love them or even a close relative, especially someone who is linked to the witch in a known or unknown way. A witch’s prayer is only that, a prayer, a hope, we cannot use magic to benefit ourselves.”

‘OK,’ I think, ‘she can relax me with a touch or a kiss, but still leaving me aware of it, but then Ella could relax me or excite me by a look or touch; being with Caoimhe and seeing her grow and learn, also affects me emotionally. Seeing a pretty girl in passing or something humorous seen in everyday life can also please or antagonise as they occur. Those are organic reactions, so I don’t feel at all threatened by Etain. Do I accept she is a witch? Yes I do. The bee hives, the tidying up of my junk, the well-being I’ve felt in these last two days, even allowing for the shocks to my system, make me believe. Oh, not sure if it was anything to do with her, but the karma for that truck driver with the runs, well, it seemed to me like Etain either foresaw it or ... and that doesn’t bear thinking about. Do I feel she will have a positive influence on my future and more importantly Caoimhe’s future? Yes. Even though I have only known her for two days, I find myself happy about her in my life. I almost regret offering to call the electric company tomorrow and having to face her moving back to Katie’s, now her, home.’ We are relaxed in the back yard, talking about those distant olden days of Ireland’s history, sitting in the sunny back yard of our ancient cottage. The bees lazily floating back and forth to the new hives set up only hours ago yet they seemed as though they’d comfortably been sitting there making sweet honey for ever.

“So, the Hero of All Ireland wasn’t too put out, then?” I ask, grinning.

I watch Etain who appears lost in thought, no doubt sending her mind back to the mountain of Slievenamon all those years ago, long before Irish history was ever written down, a dark age of romantic conjecture and mysterious myth for us living in the modern age but all too real to a young maid whose life was irrevocably changed through a princess’s desire to marry an old and worn-out hero.

“Ha!” Etain resumes after her pause to think. “Fionn was in his cups on honey wine, while we sisters were tied up together on the beaten earthen floor at the side of the great hall and denied food, drink or creature comfort. It was the King that was most angry at us! He could do little to punish his wayward daughter Gráinne, she was already away on the road with her lover before all the guests had been served their wedding breakfast. He had patrols out searching, but she managed to elude them for many years. Of course the king knew Kaetlynn, Bebhinn and me well, hadn’t he told us his most secret messages of trade, politics and intrigue for the past seven or eight years?”

“You were all messengers?

“Our mother was once a messenger, we were runners, but we were also poets who could render the message in verse and learn the lines and deliver them as quickly as possible.”

“So there was no hiding and getting away?”

“Not a chance. Gráinne knew who we were, as did most of the courtiers. So Cormac summoned all his advisors and the witches in his employ that he knew would all be jealous of my family. Thus we were convicted by a hastily drawn up court with King Cormac determined to curse us to live on Slievenamon forevermore. Sadly, we couldn’t have Kaetlynn’s surviving child living with us, as there was no shelter and nothing there but bare rock to build a decent shelter with, nothing even to forage for us to eat.”

“You were just left exposed on the mountain, merely for exposing a couple of cheats?”

“Aye. Starved and abandoned we were. Family and friends slipped past the guards and brought us food and drink after dark and we slept on the mountain and danced together at night as the curse said we “could never sleep anywhere except Slievenamon” and all young and healthy witches love to dance in the moonlight. Poor Kaetlynn was, however, completely distraught, and she -cried night after night as she mourned so for the loss of her only surviving child, but our mother, the witch Sabhadama, well, she was an angel to us. She would travel up from the coast and bring Kaetlynn’s boy Feimhin to the Mount several times a year, to visit with us for at least a day and a night. Others living near the mountain took pity on us and brought us food. We thanked them with fortune-telling and medicines, but mostly making love potions for them.”

Caoimhe makes “kissing” noises with her lips and laughs and we both join in the fun. Never in my life had I expectations of having so much fun talking to an avowed witch, but Etain is a fun person to be with and her story is absolutely fascinating.

“Really?” I ask, between giggles, “Love potions? And you a, a...”

“Virgin?” Etain grins at my embarrassment, “Is that what you’re asking me, Richard?”

“Well, that’s what you said you were last night,” I counter as quietly as I can, conscious of my daughter hearing and understanding every single word and yes, I can see Caoimhe is looking at us both with an unreadable expression on her innocent and very attentive face.

“Aye,” Etain agrees, “I did admit that to you yesterday when you so cruelly shrugged off my advances, and with so little feeling for my own feelings.”

“Hey, I’m a confirmed widower with some standing in this community, I never, ever, get involved in virgin territory.”

Caoimhe giggles even more behind her hands, while Etain rolls her eyes, rather cutely, I notice, damn it!

“Bebhinn and I were both wee maidens when we ran that damned race and not-so-wee maidens we both still remain, of Bebhinn’s state I am certain as she was ever so determined, and though I love her as a sister, even I have to admit she looks plain; me, well, you know my position on maiden hood, Richard, I have staked my claim.”

She smiles at me and turns her attention to the entranced Caoimhe who is hanging on her every word. “Love potions are not just an anonymous mixture of sweet-smelling plants, you know, my girl, the ingredients and even the process differs each time. Each potion has to be matched to the intended couple, so it works on them both, to entice them both to look inward and outward and heighten any spark that might exist between them. No spark, means no burning flame, but even an unsuccessful potion makes both targets open and accessible to another who might be drawn in to see one or the other of the targets as a potential lover.”

She then matches Caoimhe’s giggles and tries to suppress hers with her own hand but the laughter from her lips and sparkling in her eyes escapes to torment me further. “Love potions are powerful things, that are not to be trifled with. No love potion really ever go to waste.”

“They’re not quite like ‘smart bombs’, huh?” Caoimhe says, her eyes bright with the way the conversation is going. That young lady is growing up quickly in this new atmosphere evolving in the Klosses of Thurles household.

“And what do you know about ‘smart bombs’, young lady?” I chip in.

“Well, they’re always being mentioned on the news about Afghanistan and other places where there’s war and conflict,” Caoimhe asserts brightly, “so I thought like smart bombs, they are only supposed to work when they’re targeted on some terrorist holed up in a cave somewhere. So Etain’s love potions are intended to hit the target and therefore there should be no fallout. But even smart bombs that hit their targets often leave consequences.”

“Smart leanbh,” Etain says, giving Caoimhe a squeeze, “a good love potion is wonderful and, I will admit that Bebhinn and Kaetlynn always make much better love potions than I.”

“Maybe your heart wasn’t quite in it?” I say without thinking.

‘Damn!’ I think, ‘where did that come from? And delivered with a hint of unconscious venom.’ I recover quickly, “Sorry, Etain, no offense meant to you, I don’t know where in my immature head that pretty snide comment came from.”

Etain smiles at me quite sweetly in forgiveness, still squeezing my daughter, with both Caoimhe’s arms wrapped comfortably around her middle in return. It occurs to me that simply seeing Caoimhe comfortably building a friendship and trust in this beautiful and smart young woman is becoming something of comfort to me. Caoimhe does have friends of her own age at school, obviously, but there seems to be a bond forming here so soon after Etain has come into our lives. And I know that she missed Aunt Katie when she disappeared from our lives without warning only a few months ago and needs a woman in her life.

The afternoon is wearing on and, as the sun dips lower in the sky, it occasionally disappears behind low building clouds and the earlier warmth of the afternoon begins to cool quickly.

“I think we should be considering our evening meal,” I say. “Usually at the weekends, particularly Sundays, we have our main meal at lunchtime and follow with a light meal in the evening, but we only had your lovely veggie soup for lunch. So, who’s hungry?”

“Me!” Caoimhe blurts out, but then she’s always hungry, I cannot guess where she puts it all and remains so skinny.

“I could eat something,” Etain admits, still grinning at Caoimhe’s outburst.

I go inside the house and look in the frig, not remembering the results of my Friday store run, which seems so long ago now.

I have a leg of lamb in there that I had intended to cook today. It would keep for a few more days, along with the particular veggies planned to accompany the joint.

I cook the everyday things quite well, including weekly roasts and regular midweek pot roasts, ten years of being a widower with a hungry growing child has ensured that. I know that Caoimhe prefers the lighter meats like chicken and lamb to red meat like beef, which is my particular preference. But I find I have some sliced smoked turkey that I intended using for my own sandwiches at the beginning of the week and have plenty of frozen veggies and packets of noodles, so I decide to do a quick stir fry for tonight.