Orla the Owl

In the small town of Durrow, fixed three in a huddle were little owls, Paige, Orla and Puddle . Paige and Puddle were in quite a muddle, for mother hadn’t returned with so much as an earthworm. Through the cold blue winter, they called and cooed, wailed and wooed: But to nae, nae reciprocal, nae reply.

“By the eye of Osiris, We’re most certainly doomed.”

“Do not despair. Not while moonlight shines upon this night.” puffed Orla, her mighty white crest beetling bright.

From dusk till morn, she soared. Her senses as sharp as a sword, her feather wings groping the air, carefully, gracefully, as any Owl could. Lost and forlorn seemed the whopping white hills. T’was as god seemed to Scorn the poor petty owlet. Ornery and bored of hunger’s pursuit, she knew… But wait! Don’t let anyone tell you there’s any man greater to listen and yowl than a Great white horned Owl at night on the prowl, forgotten and fowl.

Like a fog lifting high, the heavens and sky, a mouse could be heard, that faint little squeak. Her ears and soul were elated with joy. Despite her scant size, did Orla demise,

“this miserly mouse will soon be my prize. —Please don’t despair, I shall give you rest now, kind mousy.” And with a flash of her wings she swooped down, *SQEEEAK!* the mouse sprang, but to nought, caught behind; *Crush, Snap, Pop.*

Her beak clasped tight, valiantly, she glided, no words could express her glee. She flapped and fluttered, scouting the high cliffs, her wings getting tired now. On a tall crag, a sparrow stood wake glaring with cold disdain. Its bill bobbled bumptiously with pride, its citrus eyes gleaming like wildfire. She laid the rodent in the nest of a tall oak tree, alas, O my O Me!

Poor puddle and Paige, Oh where could they be?

Orla was strong, but daylight was falling. Bated with exhaustion, she yawned , scouring the long and horridly black bulbous cliffs. Hope seemed all but lost when 30 yards north, she spotted a sylph. Spiffed up in suspenders, her ash-blonde curls unravelling in the wind . Orla approached the girl with caution. Hovering a few feet above, she hooted,

Too-whit tu-whoo A kind of friendly tune.

“Away with you fowl Omen! Get back Mary-Anne! What a’r you doing, you foolish Amadan? —Think of your sister, and what about mother?”

“It’s alright father. Don’t be so rattled, it’s just a wee child, —What is it my dear, what pray-tell brought you here?”

Too-whit tu-whoo

As hied as a hare she flapped her wings, all the while singing,

Too-whit-tu-whoo, Too-whit-tu-whoo

At long last, leading the girl through the forest and gloom, they climbed the long narrow cliffs, leading into the mountains. Orla showed her the nest, which was void of all but a Muridae mouse. The girl’s curiosity was boundless, but she could not discern what this poor Owl could want. Father might be worried she thought, I should head back. But as she retreated,

Too-wit-tu-woo!

It was clear this was a cry of distress, but the girl still digressed, Oh what a pain, let this godforsaken Owl be slain.

“Lord give me strength.”

And so she ploughed on, the Owl closely following. She knew not what she was looking for, nor what to find.

“Hallo mein kleine Rasseweib.”

Out jumped a boy, who'd been stalking the two. His eyes glittering like blazing opals in the sun. “What do you want?” she demanded.

“Nothing at all, who’s your floaty friend?”

Anne eased her shoulders. “I’d not yet a name, but I’ll call her Orla, after the polyphonic psalmist, Orlandus Lassus. Now if you’d excuse me, we really must be off.”

Too-whit!

Squelching through the snowy greenwood, twilight nearing, round and round. At last a clearing! Between their path lay a River lough. Fathoming the distance and depth of the trough she began to revise her sense of judgement and scoffed,

“That’s at least 5 yards, I’ll be swept asunder!”

If ever a girl met an Owl such as this, she might topple down willy-nilly off a cliff . Flash of lightning, crack of thunder; from the deep blue Nore, a hunk of ice came drifting by. Ann's mind racing, heart pulsating; If only she could jump, but with no way back. She’d be stranded and stumped . Pacing, sprauchling left and right, she’d sooner go home than meet the angel of death. And for what? She knew not.

*Screech* Never had the girl heard such a ghastly sound. A pain shot up her back like an electric coil. As though her pallid brow were kissed by fate, she recalled a branch she’d passed. She doubled back with haste. Anne bent down to carry her load of timber log when she heard the crack of twigs and saw an unmistakable shadow in the midst of the lofty murk trees.

“Who goes there! Is that you, you sleeveen little creep?”

Out stepped the boy not much older than herself,

“I’m sorry to intrude but there’s no need to be rude.”

“Help me with this log and then by god leave me to my wits.”

Together they heaved the great trunk and with some force and spunk, a bridge was formed. Crossing The Nore, her mind swimming its depths. She was lucky she had bonzer balance or she’d be whizzed to Hell and Waterford. As she reached the end of the log, her reverie was intruded by the crump of cannon fire echoing from Cullahill Castle. She began to sway, catching her left foot in the air. But before she could restore her footing, she was thrust, swirling like a spinning top into the tall grass meadow. *rolly-polly bop*

As she struggled to get up, she was struck down flat by the same boy. As Mary-Anne turned to face her attacker, the boy retreated, his awestruck face screwing up in horror.

“You tried to kill me!” cried Mary Anne.

“I contend that was hasty, but retort that you’d be bashed and bloody by now if I’d not intervened. —If anything you should thank me.”

Incredulous with fury she puffed up her cheeks,

“I’d rather be crushed, you accursed blighter.”

The owl hooted impatiently edging to be followed . She got up and tore her eyes of revulsion, pranced along whimsically, casting out the boy and the premonition of failure. Garnering her wits, she neared a withered watchtower. She rumpled her hair playfully. She’d not seen the tower this close. Observing it, she noted the stone was marbled with moss and lichen and upon it, lay an inscription:

'All who oppose the forest will learn its will, of yore for aye'

A feeling of angst, the presence of something old and enchanted washed over her. Anne couldn't shake the feeling she should tread lightly. Most of all, she longed for some butter and avocado toast.

Anne gazed up in question to the solemn Owl and then to the peak of the tower. What I would give to fly, she thought dreamily. At that moment she had an epiphany; she raced to the watchtower, hoping to gain a vantage point. As she climbed the staircase, a step gave way, and then, falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole, she descended into darkness landing on something quite soft. She got up on her knees feeling around the stony pavement. An underground tunnel? Propping up, she planted her feet, the stench of sulphur overcame her, using her shirt, she managed to filter some of the filth. Surely this can’t be the end, choking on my own sick, buried in the ground. What would father think?

Desperately looking for a way out, she called for the boy who she so despised, peering up, the hole from which she was expelled was invisible to the light. “Oy! —Get someone to help, you blistering lump, I can hardly breathe in this slump!” —“Hello!” Above, what could not be more than a dozen feet, Orla was perched on an old lime tree, the boy staring aimlessly.

“It’s no use child.” broke in a voice, as if reverberating from her skull.

“Who said that?” whispered Anne.

The voice seemed to encompass every space, giving dimension to the tunnel.

“Do you know why you are here? You were chosen.”

“Excuse me?” —I didn’t choose to fall in this dump!”

She searched around, her nerves unstrung. All Around, encircling her, a ring of hellfire was cast and the voice which fore was deep and profound now spoke raucously:

“You, of untainted soul, will yield and become one with the forest. We are beautiful and forever! You could not understand that which I offer thee, faithless one.”

“I’ve heard quite enough.”

The fire verging impetuously was surrounding and enclosing her like a lamb for the harvest. She wished to scream but to do so seemed as hopeless as flying. Squinting, the height of the fire reaching above her eye’s height, it’s warmth forcing sweat and torment. The heat grew unbearable, the white-hot flames stole her sight and breath. She felt her body falling as she lost consciousness.

Flung from the nightmare, she awoke. Feeling the cold stone beneath her, she screamed, writhing like a worm in the beak of a sparrow. Promptly, she relieved herself of the madness that had seized her, scrambled to her feet, and looked about her guardingly. What had become of that dreadful demon and of the flames which she was sure had engulfed her?

The voice and darkness had cleared, and yet still she was trapped in a narrow cave. She approached the light of a warm, dim lantern; the room which previously resembled a large dungeon now looked like a dingy underground tavern. In the front veer of the room, a skinny bookshelf stood tall, its top nearly reaching the ceiling. Beside it, something of a study with a feather quill in a bottle of black, with pages dispersed around clumsily. She glanced at the dusty shelves which were filled with some collection of old, colourful Celtic texts, a plain black notebook fell open on the desk, etched with incomprehensible formulas, recipes of alchemy, from which she gathered little. Under the desk, she noticed a bag of coin, there must be at least a hundred pounds! Why would anyone with that kind of money live in a place like this? she thought. She stuffed it in her waste, trying not to make any noise.

Further, through a large doorway, there lay something of a kitchen with a furnace oven, stove and pot. To the right, there was a bedroom. Pondering the reasonably cozy hole, she resumed her search for an exit, dreading who or what should live here.

In the back corner of the room, unburdened by the light, a swarm of spiders spun their magnificent webs. In the largest web lay a poorly prized dragonfly flailing helplessly, and behind it, a large crack in the wall. She hadn't ever been so happy to see such a ghastly sight. Tiptoeing sneakily, she crept towards the crack, praying she’d be small enough to slip through.

“I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”

She turned her head in alarm, to what she regarded as a hairy brown sloth with a thick fur coat.

“If you wish to reach the ground that is, You must take the path from which you came, or risk being forever lost.”

Taken aback, Anne sighed gravely. A day might have passed and she’d not have noticed. She gathered her focus, making sure she was still on earth.

“What path? I fell below the tower, it’s all gone, the hole and all. You must help me, how can I take a path that's vanished into thin air?”

“I could care less, *yawn* I'm oh so sleepy, well then, adieu.” And off dawdled the creature, blowing raspberries.

“Wait! I don’t belong here, let me out. I demand you let me out!”

Turning with the velocity of a decrepit crone, the sloth croaked,

“Be my guest, have at the tunnels, I don’t want you here anymore than yourself.”

The old beast scurried off, wiggling its hindquarters boisterously. She couldn’t help but notice some faint similarity between the voice of the sloth and of the repugnant unruly phantom that had brought her here. And then, listening through the dainty home, she heard squawking and crying emanating from the bedroom. Just as the sloth had entered the room, Anne yelled frantically,

“Fire, Fire! You’ve left the stove on silly.”

Hurrying behind the door, waiting, as quiet as a whisper, she snuck in the room as the beast left to investigate. Opening the door, she stood dead in her tracks. Bolt shut in a cage, and in quite a rage, were two baby Owlet’s Puddle and Paige.

Eyeing the pair, their plumage bearing the same markings as Orla. Click-Clack, no time to think, She grabbed them and leapt into a sprint. She’d nowhere to go but the tunnels. The atmosphere which was previously warmly lit turned crimson red.

“You think you can steal from me?” The voice deepening, now resembled the phantom.

The creature which Anne had favoured to perceive as a sloth expanded to the height and mass of a black bear, then lunged and struck, with incredible speed. Anne bolted for the tunnels, her heart pounding like a drum. Faster than she’d time to think, she sprung through the tapered gap, jingling. As she turned her head, the room vanished, and all around her, all she could see was darkness. It was pitch black, she continued, dashing, hurling coins in front of her so as not to crash. Anne could only be certain of one thing: nothing good can come from trusting an Owl. If she thought she’d learned her lesson from the previous fall, she was mistaken. A crevice in the ground took her step and launched her, propelling the cage, and coin into the air. Time and space halted. Somewhere in the vast darkness; Voices were screaming, commanding,

“Leave this place, leave at once!”

“I didn't want to come here in the first place you great lousy fairies from hell.”

Bloody and bruised, Anne's mind began stirring like soup, circling, spiralling, her whole body burned, more intense than before, she felt her consciousness slipping again, but it didn't hurt anymore. She felt as light as air.

Opening her eyes, she felt her face being sprayed with a cold wind, she appeared to be floating, her head still pounding like a freight train, a small, yet blinding light beamed unto her. She was being carried by an enormous bird, larger than any hawk or eagle. Before she could make 2 and 2, the ground cracked open, rubble, stone, dirt and roots falling into the pit; the hole expanding as they flew up. *Whoosh, plop*

She could have sworn as she hit the ground, she heard the words,

“Bye-Bye Rasseweib.”

There to greet her were the three little owls, Page, Orla and Puddle, their heads as stiff as china-dolls. The gaping hole which had conceived her had vanished without a trace.

Leaping from the watchtower, they cried,

“You saved us, great mother, just as you'd promised!”

This remark made the girl's stomach turn. I must still be dreaming, she thought, the beast below feasting on my corpse as I melt away from this earthly plane; or better perhaps, still in bed, safely tucked. Anne tried to respond, but her words seemed to ring a most unfamiliar sound:

“HOOOOOT, —Tooo-whit-too-whooo!”

“We love you too.” said the two little owls, and flew away, leaving the poor girl in quite a state.

She tried to scream but could only produce a most ghastly sound, a kind of piercing overlapping of frequencies like the shriek of pilot whales and active sonar stabbing the air. She flapped her arms, as though she’d done it a thousand times, she could fly. A feeling of overwhelming joy and sadness filled her heart.

To know the sky would never look the same, nor the stars; to feel her youth taken in a jiff.