Chapter Eight: TALK OF THE OTHERWORLD
“Tell me about Kaetlynn?” I ask of Etain.
Once we are sitting back in the canvas garden chairs and wiped the tears from our eyes, 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 desire some future relationship between Etain and me.
“Kaetlynn was frustrated by the King’s curse which banished we three sisters to that bleak mountain all those years ago. She was the only one of us that was widowed, had lost two children and a husband, and left with a young child to raise on her own. She wanted a new father for her son and desired yet more children to follow."
"So why were you and Bebhinn in the suitors’ race for the hand of Finn McCool?" I ask, knowing only very little of the legend, "Were you both after a husband or just taking part to support Katie?"
"Aye, it was mostly to help Kaetlynn win the race. Neither Bebhinn or I were interested in marrying Fionn or anyone at all. I was a messenger with the King, a calling I was the best there was at; Bebh had started out as a messenger before me but by then was more interested in keeping bees and making medicines based on honey. Kaetlynn had started out as a messenger at 12 years old like me, but she married young, to a coastal dairy farmer who she was sweet on. They 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 a witch can do nothing about pirates and marauders. More Irish people were killed by invaders back in those times than died by natural causes. Kaetlynn as a mother had became in demand as an experienced midwife and she was away from her farm that fateful night, staying in the nearby town with a woman in labour. Her eldest boy was about 5 at the time of the curse and he had the sense to run away and hide from the pirates. The babies and husband perished as the farmhouse was burned to the ground."
"Poor Aunt Katie," murmurs Caoimhe, in sympathy with her once babysitter.
"Aye," Etain agrees, "She was never the luckiest of us. Any woman found it as hard to raise a child on her own, just as you did, Richard. Kaetlynn was aware of that as she helped you with Caoimhe whenever she could. Kaetlynn had given up being a runner, a king’s messenger, before us in order to marry and work the dairy on the farm as well as her midwifery.
“Bebh and I helped keep her pace up as we ran up the mountain path in that race and we were certain that Kaetlynn would thereby 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 the passion we had conjured up between us in our disappointment and anger," 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, sweet and persuasive concoction of honey and beeswax perfume, we successfully persuaded Gráinne and one of Fionn’s righthand warriors, that they were completely in love with each other and they immediately eloped during the wedding breakfast."
"But you didn’t actually get away with launching of this curse?" I state, knowing the answer.
"No, Richard. We didn’t but then we didn’t care if we got away or not. We wanted to right an injustice. In truth, Gráinne was happy with her new mate and their new life. They had five children and lived long lives together. It was a powerful curse and the couple were in love with each other 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 himself to desire her heart and body, but her potion was nothing at all to the power that 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 to love a close relative, especially someone who is linked to the witch in either a known or as yet unknown way. A witch’s prayer is only that, a prayer, a hope, we cannot use magic specifically to benefit ourselves. Even if we try, it simply won’t work, it is a Witches’ Law that cannot be broken."
‘OK,’ I think, ‘this witch can relax me with a touch or a kiss, but still leaving me aware of her effect, but then Ella could relax me or excite me simply by a look or touch, it is chemistry not magic; being with Caoimhe and seeing her grow and learn to develop into a confident and rounded person, also affects me emotionally. Seeing a pretty girl in passing or witnessing 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 anything Etain makes me feel. Do I accept that she is a witch and can do what withes can do? Yes I do. The bee hives appearing by magic, the tidying up of my junk, the well-being that I’ve been feeling in these last two days, even allowing for the shocks they are making to my system, make me believe in and respect her power. Oh, I’m not sure if it was anything to do with her, but I remember the karma on that truck driver, the one that splashed her two days ago, being brought down with the runs, well, it seemed to me like Etain either foresaw it or … oh damn, that possibility doesn’t bear thinking about! Do I feel that shewill have a positive influence on my future and more importantly Caoimhe’s future? Yes. Even though I have only known Etain for two days, I find myself happy about her being involved in our lives. I almost regret having offered to call the electric company tomorrow and having to face her moving back to Katie’s, now her, home.’
So many thoughts, such that I haven’t entertained since Ella left and I’m now worried that if this …. whatever this is I’m feeling … doesn’t work out.
We are still relaxing 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 humming and floating back and forth to the new hives set up only hours ago yet they seem as though they’ve comfortably been sitting there making sweet honey in this idyllic spot for ever.
I look over at Etain and pull myself out of my reverie.
“So, the Hero of All Ireland wasn’t too put out by the curse, then?” I ask, happily grinning.
I watch Etain who appears lost in thought herself, no doubt also deep in memories. She’s probably 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 once 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 long pause to think. "Fionn was in his cups on honey wine, while we sisters were lashed up together on the beaten earthen floor at the side of the King’s great hall and denied food, drink or even the basics of creature comforts. It was the King out of all present that was most angry at us! He could do little to punish his wayward daughter Gráinne, who caused him such embarrassment, she was already away on the road with her new lover long before the guests had been served their wedding breakfasts. He had immediately sent patrols out searching, but Gráinne managed to elude capture for many years. Of course the king knew Kaetlynn, Bebhinn and me very well, hadn’t he told the three of us in turn his most secret messages of trade, politics and intrigue for the past seven or eight years?"
"You were all messengers?” Caoimhe asks.
"Our mother was once a messenger, a fine runner she was all her life. We children were nippy runners, but we were also poets who could render the King’s message in verse and learn the lines exactly and deliver them as quickly and accurately as possible to the recipient."
"So there was no hiding and getting away from the King as Gráinne managed?"
"Not a chance. Even Gráinne knew who we were, as did most of the courtiers around us. So King Cormac summoned all his advisors and the other 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 and forget about us until the sun eventually bleached our starved bones. Sadly, we couldn’t have Kaetlynn’s surviving child living with us, as there was no furl for a warming fire, no shelter and nothing there but bare rock to build a decent shelter with, nothing even to forage for us to eat and only brackish streams to quench our thirst."
"You were just left exposed on the mountain, merely for exposing a couple of cheating lovers?" Caoimhe says, a little incensed.
“Aye. Starved and abandoned we were, by a vindictive king who we had previously served well. He was mostly a wise king but where his favourite daughter was concerned he was blind to reason, blind to her cheating. We’d hoped all his messages went astray and his darkest secrets cried loud throughout the land. Our 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 decreed that we ‘could ne’r sleep elst ’cept Slievenamon, elst thee’d three’d ne’r wake a more’, and, as you can imagine, all young and healthy witches love to dance in the moonlight."
I laugh, "Of course you do!"
"Poor Kaetlynn," Etain continues, "was, however, completely distraught, and she cried night after night as she mourned so for the loss of her only surviving child, she missed him so. Our mother, the powerful witch Sabhadama, well, she could do naught to mitigate the King’s curse but was an angel to us nonetheless. 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 and drink. 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 I find that 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 now, Richard?"
"Well, that’s what you said you were last night," I counter as quietly as I can, conscious of my reddening face, with my big-eared 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 but very attentive face.
"Aye," Etain agrees, "I did admit that to you yesterday when you so cruelly shrugged off my amorous advances, and with so little consideration on your part for my hurt feelings.”
“Hey, I’m a confirmed and determined single widower with some standing in this community, I never, ever, get involved in virgin territory.”
Caoimhe giggles 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 mountain race and not-so-wee maidens we both still remain. Of Bebhinn’s state I am certain as she was always ever so determined, and though I love her as a sister, even I have to admit she is the plainest in her looks of all my sisters and her bees care little for a girl’s looks when generously sharing their bounty. As for my own state, well, you know my position on my maidenhood, Richard, I have already staked my claim in that regard.”
She smiles at me before turning 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 of mixing all the parts together differs each time. Each potion has to be matched to the intended couple, so it works on them both, to entice them each to look inward and outward and to fan any spark at all that might exist between them. No spark betwixt them, however, means no burning flames of passion, 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 intended 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 in my observations.
"Love potions are powerful things," she insists, "that are not to be trifled with. But also, no love potion really ever goes to waste."
"They’re not quite like ‘smart bombs’, then 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’s household.
"And what do you know about ‘smart bombs’, young lady?" I chip in.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
"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 do hit their targets often leave consequences."
"Smart leanbh," Etain says, giving Caoimhe a squeeze, "a good love potion delivered with care is a wonderful thing 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."
"I told you before. You can’t mix a love potion for yourself, Richard, even if you do it won’t work on either party." Etain smiles at me quite sweetly in forgiveness, still squeezing my daughter, with both Caoimhe’s arms wrapped comfortably around the slim woman’s 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 a 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 Caoimhe missed Aunt Katie when she disappeared from our lives without any warning only a few months ago and she needs a woman in her life, especially as her own time of entering womanhood looms large in the coming couple of years.
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 fades and the air cools 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 besides me’s hungry?”
“Me!” Caoimhe blurts out, but then she’s always hungry, I cannot guess where she puts it all and still 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 quite remembering the results of my distracted Friday store run, which seems so long ago now.
I do have a leg of lamb in there that I had intended to cook today. It would keep for a few more days, though, along with the particular veggies planned to accompany the roast.
Not to be boastful, through necessity, I manage to cook the everyday things quite well, including weekend roasts and regular midweek pot roasts. Ten years as a widower with a hungry growing child has ensured that I’ve learned through many trials and errors. I know that Caoimhe prefers the lighter meats like chicken and lamb to red meat like beef, which is my particular preference.
I find I have some sliced smoked turkey in the frig 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.
It will be a filling meal but I don’t need to rush to do too much prep, so I put on some coffee for me and boil a kettle for tea for the girls, to tide us over until early evening.
Etain has decided to stay outside while it is still light out, with the sun putting in rare appearances and it is dry despite the thickening clouds. Caoimhe fetches some blankets that we keep in a chest in the sun room next to the kitchen. The girls’ bare legs are warmly wrapped up by the time I return to the back yard with the hot drinks and a packet of cookies for us to munch on.
“When the sun goes in, it becomes a bit of a gray day but at least it’s staying dry,” I remark as I pour the tea and pass around the cookies.
“Talking of grey,” Etain says, “reminds me that we were earlier talking about the apparent age difference between Kaetlynn and I.”
“Yeah, you demonstrated pretty damn clearly that you can easily fog my simple mind, so I guess Kaetlynn can look like a 25-year-old?”
“Aye she can, but her natural look is about 40 to 45, I would say,” Etain smiles, “Our mother was a looker all her life, attracting seven husbands during her prime and all my six half-sisters were mostly beautiful girls. So Kaetlynn’s still pretty cute though for an older sister.”
“For someone only 1600 years old?” I snip. “So how come there is some 15 to twenty years or so of apparent ageing between the pair of you?”
“Ah, that’s all because, Richard, I have always been naturally curious about everything in the world about me, and —”
“—Which means you’re naturally nosy?” I can’t help putting my big foot in my even bigger mouth sometimes.
“Let’s just say I’m inquisitive and self-reliant, not prepared to sit on my hands and wait for something to happen. I am somewhere between Kaetlynn and Bebhinn in that respect. I have always been happy with my own company, while Bebh hates being alone but not the least bit interested in marriage, while Kaetlynn needs a man in her life and loves being surrounded by children. She married many times down the years, was always faithful and loving to her current husband, but she tells me that Peotr was the last ever man in her life, an existence she had become weary of … and I helped her to move to the Otherworld."
"The Otherworld?" Caoimhe asks, "is that like the Underworld, where all the dead people go?"
"No, sweetheart," Etain smiles, "It is a place full of life, of eternal youth, health, abundance and joy. A few chosen dead people go there to live again but it is not a mournful realm, it is alive with happiness. It is a place known by many names but the faerie folk I know call it Tir na nÓg, a paradise where everyone lives forever. By my impetuosity I entered the Otherworld and stayed long enough to be affected by it but avoided being trapped there. It is the reason that I look so much younger than both my sisters and will never age."
"So you didn’t stay young because of King Cormac’s curse?" I ask.
"No, we were confined to live on Slievenamon for the rest of our lives. The King did not expect us to survive long in such a hostile place alone. But, thanks to the charity of simple folk who sympathised with our plight, we endured there for many years. I hadn’t realised after a time that I hadn’t grown as old as my sisters. I was not quite as vain as Kaetlynn, there were no pools of water on the mountain to see ourselves in and certainly I had no mirrors. Now, Kaetlynn did have a mirror brought to her and she used it in conjunction with a comb to brush her reddish blond hair until it shone like burnished gold. My two sisters often groomed each other, they were fast friends as well as half-sisters and they stayed close together even during her many marriages. One day, Kaetlynn spotted a grey hair while brushing Bebhinn’s head, one which stood out against her dark brunette hair and she pulled it out sharply and pointed it out to her. Bebhinn calmly retorted that Kaetlynn had dozens of grey hairs at the back of her head and Kaetlynn was depressed after checking in the mirror and moaned that she would soon be too old to attract another man to her bed, even one prepared to live with her exposed on the mountainside. When I next visited them, which I did rarely even back then, they were curious as to why I still looked so youthful, having not aged a day in twenty years."
"You’d already been to the Otherworld.” I state rather than question, to me it was obvious.
Etain smiles, "Of course. I soon took my sisters to the mountain portal, in the shape of a cairn near the top of our mountain that you have to both approach at a particular angle and be recognised by the portal as belonging to or permitted to enter the Otherworld. We went to the portal in the dead of night and I easily sneaked them both in. Both my sisters were amazed that the Otherworld was just as our world, with open blue skies and lush woods and abundant wildlife. Bebhinn immediately plucked a ripe lemon from a tree, but I told her not to eat it until we returned to our own world otherwise she would have to stay there forever. She then picked herself an orange and discarded the lemon, saying that it would taste much sweeter when we got back home."
"You knew of oranges in Ireland then” I ask.
"Of course, my stepfather was a trader from Africa. He was a man of substance that sent ships to every port in the known world and we had more fruit and sugar in our household than anyone had ever seen. Anyway, my two sisters discovered after many visits to the Otherworld that they no longer aged and they could freely enter the Otherworld, without my guiding them, at that and many other portals. However, leaving a portal from the Otherworld was rather a lottery as they could end up anywhere in Ireland and, due to the curse about sleeping on Slievenamon, then they would have to get home to our mountain before they fell asleep otherwise they were cursed to never wake up. That was the major part of the curse upon us."
"But anyone going to the Otherworld would live forever?" Caoimhe asks, "Why would they worry about being away from Slievenamon?"
"Well, honey, the laws of Tir na nÓg apply in the Otherworld and only work in our world when there is no conflict with other laws, the curse of King Cormac overrules those rules but only in our world. Now that Kaetlynn and Bebhinn live in Tir na nÓg, the curse from this world has no effect on them there. Besides, immortality relies not just on a visit, you have to be invited and stay for at least a day and night in the Otherworld, without eating or drinking, or sleeping. Even if you took a flask of water with you, the contents become imparted with the magic of the Otherworld and then you mustn’t drink it either, if you intend to return to this world. When you return through the same portal, even having spent as long as several days in the Otherworld, only a few hours will have past in this world."
“So, how did you first get into the Otherworld?” I ask.
Etain smiles warmly at me. "You know I was a king’s messenger and loved to run and I ran everywhere. I was not only blessed with stamina but I was as swift as an eagle on a hunting dive. And I would avoid people, never engaging with folk on the road. I would run in every direction, always returning to the mountain every evening, where I also explored everywhere. I observed the several ancient cairns, and thought that one in particular looked like it could be a doorway a portal into the Otherworld. My mother, being a witch was familiar with Faeries and was just as observant and taught all her girls everything she learned. Then I found one of the cairns on the mountain. being used by a faerie one night. I ran so fast that I entered the Otherworld before the faerie could close the door and I easily avoided capture. I sneaked around the place for a few days before sneaking out again. I was driven away by thirst, for my mother had warned me that if you sleep, eat or drink in the Otherworld you can never leave.”
"Wow, what a wonderful story," Caoimhe says, looking at Etain as if she was a princess.
Yeah, I know I am in trouble because I had to close my jaw with my hand, I’m sure I am also looking at Etain as if she is an immortal goddess. I have to say something, although I dimly remember having this conversation, but without Caoimhe being present.
"So, you only needed something to break the curse keeping you on Slievenamon mountain?"
"Aye, Richard. Kaetlynn was satisfied with no more grey hairs, but frustrated by restriction to the mountain. The King’s guards did not stay forever, so we were able to move down to the woods and live in more comfort awhile. But Kaetlynn was aware that though she wouldn’t shrivel up as an old woman and die, Kaetlynn still missed her relationships with men. Sure, for many years she would meet men on the mount and couple with them, word got around and she would meet many men as lovers but found that that she could never conceive again, so she frequently suffered from bouts of despair."
"Poor Aunt Katie, she was like a second Mother to me, so sweet. I know she was old-looking, but we cuddled a lot and her skin was so soft and she never had that ‘old woman’ smell, like my Grammy, my great grandmother." Caoimhe looks at me apologetically, "Sorry, Daddy, but you know she does."
"My Grandmother, Mary Goldberg," I tell Etain, "died two years ago, she was 88, so I guess she did smell old."
"What happened to Bebhinn?" Caoimhe asks.
"Ah, Bebhinn was happy to remain unattached and she spent her time gathering ingredients and mixing potions which she sold in exchange for food and clothing at the morning market in Cashel, but she would have to rush back on her mule cart before it got too dark because she couldn’t sleep away from Slievenamon. But customers also came to her at the mountain. Together we built a small cottage in the woods at the foot of the mountain where they lived and I visited.
"It was Kaetlynn that discovered that there was a Slievenamon Road in Clonmel with an inn, where she stayed out all night and fell asleep. Even though there was no written sign, everyone knew it was called the Slievenamon Road. There were no signs at the mountain either, but everyone knew it was Slievenamon. She took a chance, because it was a chance she was prepared to take, as she was so depressed being away from people."
"So what did you think when she failed to return?"
"At first, we were not worried. We often travelled more than a couple of days’ distance, we just had to stay awake. But after a week, we were terrified that she’d died by falling asleep,and not waking up. When she came back a further week later and told us where she spent her time away, and slept soundly at night in Slievenamon Road, we sisters ran in every direction, well, Bebhinn used her mule cart, and we found several roads leading to the mountain that were called either officially or informally Slievenamon Road or Street or Lane, so we found we could extend our roving range and found places to live. Over the years more and more roads named such were able to be used, including the odd Close, Drive, Place or View. Kaetlynn soon set up a home in one of the Roads and married a tailor widower; they had no children but were perfectly happy until he died twenty years later and Kaetlynn returned to the mountain. We were amazed, as her hair was as white as snow, until she washed out the magic potion in a pail of water and, as fresh hair grew, her natural red-blond locks showed through. We were just happy that, sad as she was to lose her second husband, she was pleased to be able to find a kind of release from our curse."
"I must get on with dinner now," I say, "you’ve entertained us with your stories, but I’ve got a couple more minutes to spare. What was the story with Piotr Wisniewski? Ella and I moved here not long after he died."
"Kaetlynn married Piotr Wisniewski who settled in Ireland after serving with the Free Polish Airforce during WWII. His best friend was Sean O’Malley, and both were foreigners who fought in the same unit for the UK against Nazi Germany. When Sean returned home to Dublin after the war, he took Piotr with him because, he told Sean, he had been politically active in Poland before the war and therefore couldn’t live under the new communist regime. Piotr courted and married Katie Byrne in 1950. She lived in Slievenamon Road in Dublin at the time and when Piotr wanted to move out of the town into the countryside, she decided to move back to Thurles in the same named road. She already owned this house. When you’ve lived a long time, immortals can save little bits of silver, gold, and cash money over the years that can really amount to a lot of money, so both buying and keeping the houses that she lived in was no problem. In collecting regular rents from her houses, you can easily accumulate gold, and Kaetlynn was a smart woman who invested wisely. Bebhinn and I were living with Kaetlynn in Dublin when she met Sean and Piotr, when they moved here I went back to the mountain cottage, while Bebh moved into this house. I would visit a couple of times a year, but it was difficult for me to get here from Cashel, the nearest portal I knew. Now, if I’d found the faerie ring in the bottom of your garden, I might have visited more often. Piotr stayed friends with Sean all his life. Piotr passed in 2008, in his late 80s after 57 years of marriage and I came up for the funeral. Bebhinn decided then that she had enough of life here and she wanted to look after her bees in the Otherworld. Those are her bees in the hives, and most of those hives were hers."
"Are the bees in the Otherworld different to our bees?" Caoimhe asks.
"Yes, the Otherworld bees never sting and, when they are all safe in their hives at night, before they fall asleep they sing lullabies to each other."
"Really?"
"Aye, of course. After supper tonight, we’ll go out and listen to them sing until the bees all fall asleep, but you must be quiet."
"How will we know they are sleeping?"
"Well now, when they stop singing, it’ll go very quiet and then you’ll hear the queens snoring. Sure now, they make a terrible racket in the quiet of the night!"
Caoimhe’s face is a picture. I look at Etain’s deadpan face. She winks and smiles beautifully.
"And one of these fine nights, not the night before a school day mind," she says softly to my entranced daughter, "we’ll dance a while at the faerie ring and then I’ll take you both into the Otherworld."