Cailín (Lass) (Anam Céile Chronicles) (3 page)

As he
listens to her emphatic screams dampened by the thick iron walls, he is reminded
of the original loneliness which elicited her to appeal his support, and
gathers the essential tenacity required to attempt interaction with her on a colloquial
level. 

Ignoring
her cries, he steps forward and speaks to her in a pacifying tone.  “I am
called Tenzin.  I am honoured that you have chosen me to serve as your guide in
your quest for insight.”

“Matter
not to
me
who you be, the right you have not to imprison me in this
manner!” she screeches belligerently.  A moment later she lets out an
elongated, vociferous scream.  “What be this place in which you have caged me? 
Pass through it I cannot!”  Her voice is wild with rage.

“My
sincere regret I give to you, dear one; however, your behaviour has left me no
viable alternative.”  He shifts awkwardly, still feeling the tender remnants of
his own regrets.  “Perhaps now, we will have the occasion to converse freely
with one another.”

“What
be the matter with you?” she demands viciously.  “Why do you not just
feis
with me?  We could both be immersed in gratifying our unshakable needs right
now, rather than this inane chitchat!”  Her voice seethes with her lust, yet
still it is accompanied by fury.

Solemnly
holding back the first reaction that comes to him at her frustrated
interrogation, he pauses to compose himself before calmly uttering, “Dear one,
though the proposition is unduly inviting, please do understand my decline comes
only of the greatest difficulty.  I assure you it is out of the utmost respect
for you, and in my wish to justly be a benefit to you in the profounder
troubles marring your soul.”

The
effect of shame heavy in her lingering silence, Tenzin continues on, to relieve
her indignity, “I know my impression upon your soul will have more significance
than would the satisfaction of our ephemeral impulses of the flesh.” 

Still
she speaks not.                             

“Please
do allow me that.  Tell me, child, by what name are you called?”

He
holds onto his breath as she remains quiet for a long moment.  Finally, she
speaks, “Aislinn, I be . . .” she hesitates, pondering for a moment her next
words.  “And you ought not waste yer efforts on a creature such as I,” she ends
bitterly.

“Someone
such as
you
, Aislinn?” he clarifies, the bewilderment clear in his
voice.  “I have felt your soul and indeed it is lost, but still it is worthy.”

Suddenly
she erupts with a burst of fury.  “
He
did this to me!  That narcissistic
Diabhal
!  Obliterated me life in the dawn of me awakening to love!  Took
everything from me and made me into
this
!  Committed me to this
interminable wandering, entombed within this Godforsaken existence fer nigh two
centuries to wreak havoc upon unsuspecting humans, to relish in me lust driven
feast upon them, whilst simultaneously lurching from me guilt and
wretchedness!” 

Tenzin’s
eyes broaden, once again shocked by her erratic behaviour.

Then
her rage filled raving becomes weeping as she continues on with her tirade. 
“Me
chéile
!  Me
chéile
!  Donovan!  Departed fer so long now he
has been!  Waited and sought endlessly I have, though never since to recover
him.  Weary I be of searching.  He’ll not return to me.  And were he to?  Not
possible would it be he could love this fiend I have become.  A sprite I be,
arracht
disguised by me
álainn
: the ultimate lure, me most potent weapon.”

He
observes quietly as her distress converts, this time into conceit.  Her voice takes
on a clever tone now.  “Undeniably, most adroit I be at bewitching anyone, be
they man or woman.”  With a little sigh she declares, “Yet, sadly, always it
will end in their demise.”

Sadness
envelopes her once again as she says, “That I would not wish fer him.  Still,
would it be unavoidable?  Wouldst I be consumed by me unrelenting desire fer
him, turning to lust fer his blood— fer still he be human and fer too long now
I be not— only to disregard me love fer his soul?   Opt it better to leave his
soul be, no more searching, no more awaiting his return to this earth. 
Deserves a real life, he does, that which never I can give him.  Merely take it
away in one swift kiss I can …”

She
hesitates for a moment, reflecting solemnly before stating, “Attempted to
destroy meself several times I have, to relieve meself continue on with this,
yet nary with triumph.  Oh wise one, I beseech you help me!  I be knowing that
you possess the knowledge of how ‘tis to be done.  I plead of you, please end
me suffering!” 

He
senses her crumple to the ground, sobbing in her desperation.

“Who is
he
you speak of, that you claim made you this what you are, Aislinn?”

Hesitating
as the contempt that has fermented for two hundred years threatens to spill
over, she chokes it back to speak the name at last. “
Voljidaar
,” she
hisses, her mouth strangely twisted, her stomach churning with the seething
loathing for the uttering of that name.  Overtaken with it, she cannot refrain
from the resultant writhing and thrashing.

“You
truly are not aware of
what
you are, Aislinn?” he asks, his tone most
concerned.

Her
tone is perplexed as she enquires, “Whatever do you speak of?  What I know is
worthy of this world I not be.  Seizing the lives of others only that I may
live on infinitely in this state of despair,” she reasons, still ensnared in
her distress.

Tenzin,
in an attempt to calm her, broaches a new subject.  “Do you know your
Dia
?”
he questions. 

He does
not receive a reply from her. 

“Aislinn!”
he demands again.  “Are you acquainted with your
Dia
?”

Disheartened
by her contemptuous laugh in response to this imperative enquiry, he strives to
find the indispensable lyrics of assurance in this delicate moment. 

And
though, before he is able to accomplish the task, at last she does speak.  “Once
I knew of
Dia. 
However, so long ago that be, and I have since accepted
that I have wandered astray fer far too long now. 
Dia
be not fer
creatures as me, but rather fer the occasional good and innocent
humans
.” 
There was an unspoken connotation of sorrow lingering in her voice.

In that
moment, he wishes to uncover the secrets that led to her apparent dejection.  “Aislinn,
I am of the very same existence as you, and I live with
Dia
day by day. 
Those like us are not excluded from that spiritual connection.  On the
contrary, we
are
creatures of
Dia’s
creation.  You are closer to
Dia
than you have believed!” Tenzin informs her encouragingly.

“Believe
that I do.  Nonetheless, it is our actions by which we are judged,” she states
confidently.  Then more desolately she closes, “Our choices that constitute who
we are.”

Recognizing
she is leading him to query further, he ventures forth on this path.  “Right
you are, but do not undervalue the prominence of one’s heart.  Pray tell me of
your
choices, Aislinn,” he requests, seeking to convey a non-judgmental
attentiveness.

Again
she laughs, only this time it is tainted with gloom.  “Well, fer all me
centuries on this earth and the most of it compiled of most unscrupulous
choices, an easy task that not be.  Certain you be of this you request to
undertake?”

Not the
least bit discouraged, he probes on, “You know
Dia
can absolve one who
puts their corrupt past behind them and treads an honourable path.  Do let me
lead you toward that place.”

“Well
then, Tenzin, ‘tis the glutton fer punishment you must be, so, if you insist .
. . Are you sure cope with it you will be able?” she asks, though continues on
without allowing him a reply.  “I understand ‘tis shrouded by me attraction you
be.  Yet, you cannot conceive of the countless debaucheries I have engaged
in!”  She pauses as her mouth forms into a mischievous smile, “Though,
even
you
may feel the need to inhibit yerself from savouring some of me
confessions, me thinks.”

Tenzin
swallows hard, his eyes broadening at her eluded promise of further erotic
overtones.  He knew she would put the limits of his resolution and lifetime of spiritual
devotion on trial.  As they both still stood there totally nude, he cannot hide
the swelling amid his groin at the anticipation of the tales she would reveal
to him.  Suddenly embarrassed and fearing regression to their carnal struggle,
he quickly excuses himself.  

Aislinn
smirks to herself, yet also feels treacherous for afflicting herself upon this
pitiful, benevolent soul of a creature. 
Indeed, behave in a better manner I
should
, she thinks, feigning guilt to herself.

“Let us
hear it then,” he enncourages.

She
smiles and inhaling deeply, commences her tale.

‘
T
was the year 1690 that I be
born, the very same as the Battle of the Boyne.  I be merely five years of age
when Catholics were banned from participating in public life.  And in 1701, the
Act of Settlement passed dispossessing the Irish of their land in favour of
British Lords.  Fortunately, these corrupt decrees had yet to come to the
west.  Still, a sense of urgency there be— especially fer me father, who
comprehended we indeed were living on borrowed time. 

‘Twas
then the year 1702.  A girl of a mere twelve years I be.  Oh, how unaware I be of
the changes me fate soon would rouse.  At that time, the only place in this
vast earth ever I had known be the lands surrounding Ballyvaughan, in County
Clare, in me homeland of the island
Éire
.   

Éire
herself is said to have been conjured up, out of the magic mists, from the
lyrics of a poem.  The small village of Ballyvaughan lies at the corner of The
Boireann
,
a ruggedly desolate, yet beautiful land along the coast of the Atlantic.

In this
land seemingly unchanged by the millennia past, our peoples too were impervious
to change.  Still we spoke in the tongue of our native Gaelic, when the culture
of much of the rest of our Éire had been prohibited and acquiesced to speaking
the language of her British captors. 

I could
scarcely believe the stories I had heard about man, that they could truly be that
cruel and hateful.  And furthermore, I could not understand what reasons there
could be to possibly be so vile to one another.  I have since come to
understand that man’s hatred fer others, his violence, boils down to one
purpose— power and greed. 

Fortunately,
the rugged, untamed shores of the west, were too far and too bleak fer the
covetous British lords seeking to take over its lush farmlands.  Our people
were able to preserve their culture, fer the time being, that is.  Nonetheless,
these lands could not have been more precious to us, and we would not have left
them fer all the gold in
Éireann
!

Enigmas
are abundant in this wondrous place where the very name means ‘Great Rock’.  As
far as the eye could see, there were cliffs of jagged rocks of limestone
jutting out along the shoreline, the white frothed waves crashing unto them in
a perpetual inescapable encounter, the spirit of neither ever to fade.  Much of
the land is covered by the ancient limestone with its unique composition of
fossils of sea creatures from long ago.  Its soft and porous nature allows the
growth of plant-life in its crevices, ranging from native species to tropical
and then to alpine. 

More
inland, the rich soil of its tranquil valleys
long
ago carved by glaciers proliferate an abundance of dainty wildflowers, creating
with tapestries of colour a seductively magical aura, is caressed by gently
meandering streams. 

In a
final apex, rising above its landscape, are the
Dolmens
, the megalithic
tombs of our ancestors, hailing back more than six millennia, even more ancient
than Egypt's pyramids.  Also, there are the
clokkens
, strange stone huts
that once served as medieval dwellings.

This
place endured on, unbroken by time or man, where one’s innate sense of
spiritual reconciliation may flourish.  One could stand witness in awe of the
utter magnificence of it all; or just as certainly, one could feel immersed in
their own smallness amidst the enduring wildness surrounding.  There, one could
walk endlessly to escape the reality of their life, and also realise the
genuine aloneness of their existence in this world.