A Submission and a Story in Part

Failte, Reader. Welcome back if you're a regular.

This week, I cut her a wee bit fine and fecked up the timezones again. You'd think by now I'd have it down, but sure look, I'm human. I've one timezone on the publishing page and a different one on my laptop. The joys of multi-country living. 

It's been a big week for me. If you've been following, you'll know I've just finished writing my book. Well, I have now also done one submission to an agent. One, I know, sounds like so few. However, one submission equals one proposal, and I'd never written one for a book submission before. Lots of lovely learning curves, and many more to come. I've a bit more work to do on the proposal structure, but as with life, as was the Camino, I'll get there. Just like you'll get to wherever it is you're going in your own time. Everything comes in its own time. 

OK, I'm a bit typed out, even after a mad cold swim in the Irish Sea, looking out across the open water towards what one day would have been an important channel for the fishermen of Ireland and England on their way north. Even after a delightful evening chatting with my Gran. Even after listening to the fabulous Eddie Lenihan tell me stories about the faerie wind. We'll meet her later in this story; probably. Right, let's get down to business. 

New Readers - if you've just come upon this page, below this is the third part of a story I've been writing for the past few weeks. You'll not understand it if you just read today's post, so go back HERE to the first post which starts the story you'll read continued below today. Like last week, I have left you the last part of the story to continue from. Disfruta! Enjoy. 

*****

"I'm not ready. I'm simply not ready. How did I not notice the colours change? I am getting too old. I have much to do." Not far away, the old healer was all in a tizzy, darting in and out of the old, dilapidated cottage, collecting pots, pans, and other accoutrements, stoking a giant fire cracking within a large stone hearth on the west wall of the cottage. To outsiders, the cottage may have looked like it should have been knocked years ago. To those in the know, it had a very different appearance. 

"Where did I leave my bloody saucer? I need to see that bird." 

*****

Twister in a Teacup

*********************

The evening Olivia left Joe's house he was perturbed. It had been a long time since he'd thought about any of this healing and magic business. When he was a boy, many a story used to be told about the old cottage by the church. He had forgotten most of them, but not all. The child's fingers had sparked a memory from somewhere deep down.

"What in the Goddesses' names was that story?" 

Joe pondered a while but it wouldn't come to him. "Sure I'll take a wander up around the place and see if anything stirs," he told the chickens while plucking their eggs from under them. "Do you know what I'll do too, I'll bring a few of these eggs with me, in case someone happens to be up there. You'd never know, you'd never know. They might come in handy as a wee barter for the story. Well done today, chooks. We've a great clutch here. Enough for a barter and a breakfast." The chickens clucked with contentment. 

Joe strolled down towards the old cottage. It sat as it always had, over the wall behind the yew tree along the northwestern hedge of the field when you kept the church wall at your back. He let out another whistle of wonder. "Jesus I haven't been up here since I left to fight for Ireland." A nimble young man no more, having only a few days previous enjoyed the finest whiskey he'd ever tasted, sent to him by an old comrade all the way from America to mark his 90th year, Joe found himself breathing heavily after climbing over the stile into the graveyard. "I'll take a wee rest here again' the wall for a spell, catch my breath."

*****

From the window of the old cottage, the old healer saw the old man climb slowly into the graveyard. It had been many years since anyone came down there, other than the few family members left who visited the graves. Her work was mostly done by distance now, though she'd be called upon at night often enough, asked for a cure or some other sort of remedy under dark skies when the clergy weren't watching. "I wonder what's taken a man of that age all the way down here," she mused, stroking Tuxedo's thick black and white fur. Tuxedo purred a deep, lioness like purr. She'd missed having a human stroke her over the past year, but she'd known the time would come when she would need to return. "I'm glad you're back, Tuxedo. I missed you." The Healer nuzzled into her favourite familiar. 

*****

A rustling at the wall by the field shook Joe from a daydream. "I could have sworn I just saw ... no, no, it couldn't have been. They've been extinct since I was ..." 

"Bejayus and the Mother Goddess. Joe McDowd. How many years it has been since I saw that face." 

Joe started at her voice. The old healer had been the rustle, but he hadn't seen her come over the wall. 

"The war's blown the story out of you, has it?"

"It seems it has, Old Healer. It seems it has. The memory's not what it used to be."

"The blessing and the curse of age, is that, Joe. Still, the wind's blown you up here now. She always knows when a story needs telling. Will you come in for a cup of tea?" 

"Indeedin' I'd be more than grateful," Joe smiled. "Wasn't it a fair walk down here, and aren't I not as nimble as I once was. Though I didn't see how you came over that wall. You're no spring chicken yourself, no insult intended." 

"Did you drop something?" 

Joe bent down to pick up the eggs. He'd placed them on the grass gently while resting, so as not to disturb the shells and waste the spoils of a good clutch. When he stood up he found himself sitting on an old wooden rocking chair, a giant fire crackling within a large stone hearth in front of him. The rich, earthy scent of burning turf that must have had pine sap drip onto it, wafted into his nostrils, sending his thoughts swirling. Somewhere behind him he could hear cups and saucers tinkling. 

"How in the name of all things holy did I get myself here? Trickery it was. That Old Healer and her trickery."

"You would have preferred the walk, would you Joe?"

"N-n-no, no now, that's not what I was saying at all."

The healer smiled a knowing smile, waiting for Joe's mind to catch up.

"Here now, hauld on a second woman. Out of my head it is you're to get. Sure, I didn't say out loud a thought. Aren't I only thinking them. I'm too old for all of this." 

"Hand me over a shovel of the ash from the bottom of that fire. Make sure there's a lick of black through it, and a healthy pile of the grey stuff. Don't spill it, for Goddess sake. My hands are worn sweeping that floor." 

Joe lifted the fire shovel and dug it into the ash pile beneath the dancing flames. As slowly as his limbs would allow, and as carefully, he stood up and moved towards the healer, shuffling over with the shovel tight under his grip. He'd held enough guns in his lifetime to know how to keep a shovel steady. The healer held out a bouillon spoon as Joe approached. 

"Hold her steady now, Joe. Keep your grip firm. There might be a wee jolt now. Keep that ash off the floor." 

"Are you honestly that worried about your bloody floor and you up to all sorts of strange and odd things here in front of me?" 

"I am Joe. I am." 

Joe's shovel and the healer's spoon moved towards each other. As the healer pushed the spoon towards the ash, the air between them seemed to ripple for a moment. 

"What happened there, Healer. What happened? I saw the air move. Did I see the air move? Jesus on earth, what have I got myself into at all?" 

"Hold steady, Joe. There'll be one more now when I move into the ash. Do not let a drop of it hit that floor! Are you ready?"

"I have no notion, Healer. Am I ready for bloody what? I'm holding steady. That I can promise you." 

Once again, the healer pressed her spoon towards Joe. He had to use all the might inside him to hold the shovel steady. The force trying to keep them apart was stronger than anything he'd ever experienced, and Joe had experienced a lot in his lifetime. Suddenly, the spoon hit the shovel, scooping into the ash. As if the sap had become syrup, the ash began to congeal, twisting and turning into a multitude of shapes. Black swirls rose and fell. Grey whisps spat out from its sides, evaporating into nothing before reaching the floor. 

"Hold it steady, Joe. We're almost there. Hold her now!"

Joe held on for dear life, gaping. He didn't dare take a breath, but the healer did. He watched as she inhaled slowly and deeply through her nose. Not a sound did she make. 

"Ready now, Joe. This is the moment. Hold on." 

"I'm holding, woman, I'm holding."

One of the old healer's gifts was exsufflation, the power of forcible exhalation. Into the ash she blew, her lips closed almost as tightly as if she were trying to whistle a high pitched tune. The swirling ash started to shape itself into an image. From the centre of the shovel and spoon rose the sun. Around it trees, fields and birds emerged. It looked to be an early autumn evening in the countryside of an Ireland Joe no longer remembered.  

"What is happening?" he squeaked, trying to sound manly and brave, stifling his scream. 

The shadow of a bird blocked the sun. Its wingspan looked to measure almost 2 metres. 

"That's the bird I saw in my daydream earlier, just before you arrived. Please, Healer, please tell me what is happening. I am too old for all of this." 

The image began to dissipate. What remained of the ash trickled, as slowly as honey drips off a spoon, down onto the shovel. 

"Pour it onto the saucer on the table, Joe. Then, sit down. You are the keeper of a prophecy which must be shared within your lifetime. It is time to remind you of a gift you received many years ago, before the War had a chance to blow the story out of you." 

The old healer covered her ash-laden saucer with lambskin and tucked it into the back of her kitchen dresser for safekeeping. As she made the tea, Joe sat, exhausted by the afternoon's activities, and not entirely certain he was ready for what was next. 

"You're a man of duty and honour, Joe McDowd. You'll fulfil whatever it is you must. That you will."

"That you will, Joe. Are you ready to hear the story?"

"That I am, Healer. That I am."

*******

To be continued.