Her County: Part 4

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

I had been running for some time before exhaustion overcame me. Every time I whipped around, looking behind me to the blackened woods, my eyes were haunted by the lingering imprint of those wide, hollow pupils, etched into my mind. I slowed, coming to an overgrowth, falling onto my hands and knees, laboriously heaving straining breaths. My elbows buckled with each inhale, quaking threateningly with every hot sigh, like some retching animal. My eyes stung as I forced them open, quickly realising every blink brought back that horrid face, hiding in the darkness of my eyelids. The jagged and harsh menagerie of splintered twigs, damp moss, and dirt sprinkled rocks were a hazy blur in my sight.

My thoughts were elsewhere.

Breathing, allowing myself to feel the sting along my bound ribs, tight beneath my bindings, the darkness of the shrouded night cleared a little. In fact, strangely, it had lightened considerably. A weak crackle and a slowly pulsating flicker in the shadowy depths just in my peripherals caught my attention. Ahead, a red, smouldering dot, like a twinkle of peat, pulsed amongst the trees a few yards before me. The trees around the epicentre shimmered with a burning aura, radiating a soft glow, gently highlighting the nature encapsulating me. Slowly, I stood up and stared at the alluring light.

After a moment’s transfixion, the glowing spot was overcast by a dark shadow rising up from the earthy horizon. Though the light behind was obstructed, the pulsing aura remained, only furthering the effect that this being was an immaterial creature of pure night, shimmering as though it were a black flame upon an unholy wick. I stood there, only partly registering what it was I was looking at, when a voice called out.

“Pól!”

Stupidly, I ducked, convinced, in my childish way, that I hadn’t been spotted. Time in the monastery, though spiritually rewarding, had robbed me of common sense. I hunched over my knees, waiting. For what, I wasn’t entirely sure at the time. Movement? Shouting? Other voices? As far as I remember, I hadn’t expected for the voice to call out again.

“Pól! It’s alright! You’re safe! You can come out now!”

I was so overcome by surprise that the figure knew my name that I didn’t respond. Somewhere, amidst my rushing, panicked thoughts, I must have spent their patience.

“You can either shiver in the dark or come warm yourself by the fire and we can talk!”

Peeking out over the shaggy overgrowth, I saw the figure sit back down, revealing the bright flare of the firelight once more. I stared, expecting something else to happen. Suspicion kept me hesitant, but curiosity propelled me forward, carefully laying each step upon the leaf strewn ground.

Though not a long distance, the walk was stretched by glances divvied out between my feet and making sure the figure hadn’t returned again. Closer, the fire cast harsher shadows upon the trees and plants, exposing every cracked bark crevice, elongating the looming, wooden giants surrounding me. I came out over the lip of an earthy mound and descended into a small clearing of flattened moss. Only now could I see, hidden just over the horizon, a small circle of standing stones, dotted unevenly around a crackling fire, where the figure sat, watching me with dark brown eyes, so dark her pupils appeared larger than they really were. She smiled at me, but not with her unblinking, hungry eyes.

“Hello, Pól.”

“H-how do you know my name?”

“She told me.”

“She?”

“She. Sit.”

The woman nodded to the opposite side of the fire. I saw a folded shawl, much like her own, which was draped over her dark blonde head, with a clay cup beside it, steaming with steeped leaves and flowers, bobbing and sinking gracefully. I quickly threw a glance to the woman, who, still watching me, was drinking deeply from her own cup, filling it from the stout cauldron perched beside her. She blew to cool the cup, determined to show herself taking another sip to quell any doubts I may still have had. I took up and wrapped myself in the shawl, rolling the cup in my palms for a moment, savouring the warmth, before taking a tentative sip myself. The infusion was sweetened with honey. It was so nice I couldn’t help but go for a second, bigger gulp. The woman took this opportunity to speak again.

“My name is Meabh.”

“I’m... Well, you already know.”

“I only know just enough. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. First, I was told to tell you my tale.”

“Why does that matter to me?”

I didn’t mean to sound so flippant. Meabh appeared a little taken aback, but her slight smile comforted my nerves some, though it was still at odds with her piercing, studious stare.

“And I thought you were a scribe, Pól. Verbum Dei In Omnibus.”

“My... my uncle says that.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“The word of God is in all words.”

“But do you know what it means?”

“... It means... God’s in everything?”

“It means everything is connected, that God made everything, good and bad, and all words, the good, the bad, the wonderful, the terrible, should be written down. That is why scribes like yourself, like your uncle, spend all their time writing. Writing by candlelight, writing in the dark, writing words so few will ever read. It’s a tedious and pointless luxury afforded to men. Only men get to be pointless. We weren’t permitted to write nor read at the convent.”

“You... you were a nun?”

“I was. Until I wasn’t useful.”

“What do you mean?”

“Women, all people, but especially women, are used, like tools or livestock. Men, all people, but typically men, have a unique capacity to use others for their own benefit. But much like a broken tool or injured horse, women are thrown away once they prove to not be useful anymore. I was a nun so long as I was useful. As long as I was pure, obedient, and virgin. In reality, I had stopped being a nun the first night the priest called me into his chambers. I was such a naive girl then. My mother had left me at the convent when I was only weeks old. The superiors never spoke of the ways of women and men. When I came of age and had my monthly bleeds, all my superiors told me was to scrub extra hard when I cleaned my garments. The priest called me to his chambers soon afterwards. I was still young, so I felt special being called upon. He was so hard to make out in the candlelight. Maybe he wanted it that way. He spoke at first about vows. Promises to God, to Christ, to the church. Promises are very sacred, he said. He asked me to help him with his promises. It’s only a sin, he said, if God tells him so. Of course, I had no idea what he was talking about. And I never knew why he’d always ask for me once a month. Do you know why the church don’t allow us to read or write? It’s so we can’t keep track of all their lies.”

“That’s... That’s blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy? Blasphemy! That’s blasphemy? Aye! I see they’ve taught you well, Pól! When one acts dishonestly, they are to be forgiven, but when one tells the truth, as I did, they are a heretic! There is no greater evidence God is a man than his aversion to accountability! What he did to me wasn’t blasphemy? What he made me promise to keep secret wasn’t blasphemy? And coming to the superiors, when I had finally fallen with child, only for him to call me a harlot and have me banished from the only home I’ve ever known wasn’t blasphemy? If the truth is blasphemy than Hell will be honest company!”

Meabh soothed her throat with a forceful snatch and knock back of her cup. Steam rose from her parted lips. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I waited for her to speak again.

“Responsibility is an expectation of women but a punishment for men. They knew I was telling the truth. They knew I wasn’t the first. And they knew I wouldn’t be the last. But I was more useful to them as a harlot than as a victim. It made me easier to banish with child, as though I had done it to myself. Sometimes I think about it and laugh, thinking they were jealous that they were too old to be taken advantage of. It wasn’t funny for long. I was two months with child. I was already showing. The priest had made sure stories had proceeded me wherever I went. No one would have me. Convents want girls, not gossip. Lords want maids, not mothers. Men want virgins, not victims. I was useless. That’s when I met Brigid.”

For the first time since I arrived, Meabh turned her studious eyes away from me, redirecting them into the dancing heart of the fire.

“Even the nuns and the priest, before I was ousted, spoke of her with whispered reverence, as though they were scared she’d overhear them from the shadows. They told stories of a woman who made kings, warriors, and God himself quake. Some say she was a miracle worker. Some say a demon. For others, a living goddess. I didn’t care what she was. The only story I was interested in uncovering was the one that said she had built a sanctuary for us; the discarded. I followed the stories, like a hunter following tracks in the shape of whispered gossip and timid tales. And while few offered help, the further I travelled, the more vivid and materialised the rumours became, until, in these very woods, I found her here, at her sanctuary.”

“Here? What do you mean here?”

“I mean right here.”

Meabh threw her drink into the fire, which erupted into a stretching inferno, flaring so brightly I felt my eyeballs singe and burn. I winced and shielded my eyes, allowing the searing flash to fade from my sight. Uncovering my eyes, I was enveloped in a consuming glow, slowing fading away as my sight adjusted. As my vision returned, I was awed by how the dark woods surrounding me were nowhere to be found. Where once there was a clearing barely lit by a modest fire, there were now a long, tilled path where the trees lined the walkway of embedded stone slabs held lit lanterns within their hallowed knots. On either side, past the flanking trees, there were landscaped hedgerows fencing enclosures of crops and livestock. Even in the dead of night, seemingly kept alert by the additional lights, sheep grazed on thick stalks of grass. And before me, looming mere yards ahead, was a wooden structure as high as a hill, shaped and designed like a monastery, only grander, with more candles burning in window notches, shining out into the night, revealing one last amazing sight. I was surrounded by women.

Old, young, tall, short, as pale as clouds, as tan as hinds. Women cradling sleeping babies, women supporting themselves on staffs. The blind, masking their eyes in wraps, holding onto another’s shoulders. Women with scars, much like those of Lugair’s daughters, but many more welts and cuts across their arms and legs. Women with long, flowing curls and women shaved bald. Women skeletal with sharp forms, women fed and round, women stocky and strong. I had never seen so many women in my life, and as they all stared directly at me, I’ve never been more fearful of what will happen next. I had completely forgotten Meabh was still there, until she spoke again.

“All of us found her. Contrary to how it may seem, she wants to be found. To men, she’s a monster, but to us she’s a saint. She’s built a home for us, a sanctuary. She’s done more good for us than any god. When I came here, I was an outcast, forced to be a mother. Do you know what she did? She lay her hands upon me, spoke in a language only she knows, and my child was gone. Well... not gone. A few months later, a nun from my old convent found us here, carrying a newborn. My newborn. That priest who wanted so desperately to be a father woke up one morning with the strangest feeling. Vomiting, mood swings, cramps, cravings. And then his stomach swelled. It got bigger, and bigger, and bigger, until, nine months after I was exiled from my home, our beautiful baby girl was born... and the priest was dead. He died giving birth to the child he forced upon me. From where the baby breached... I’ll let you imagine. Like I was... she’s a saint.”

Meabh looked down to her chest. The shawl shifted and fell to her side, revealing a nursing baby suckling in the warmth of the fire. Meabh’s eyes had finally softened. Unsure what else to say, I asked a question I wondered this entire time.

“What’s the second reason?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said there were two reasons you’ve been waiting for me. What is the second reason?”

“To tell you to do on inside. Brigid wants to speak to you personally.”

#HI