Hiraeth

Rolling waves of vibrant green colored the hills and dales on a day that was touched by unfettered beams of light. The richness of the earth gave to the ocean of green strands a sheen that rippled with vivacity. On a high hill, twins, brother and sister, marveled at the shimmering waves that were whipped up by hearty winds. Drawn by splendor they ran into nature’s cradle. Holding each other’s hands they transformed into a small twister. They stretched the chain of their arms until they gripped only fingers, and the world started to spin. The boy let his grip slip and fell. The girl spun a bit longer, feigning falling, tossing her head so that her hair caught the breeze. She began to sing to the gusting word of the air. It rose as if to meet her little voice. The boy rolled around. Enamored with the feel of cool ground that touched his exposed skin as his shirt crumpled, and his pants pulled high above his waist.

As the breeze settled the children looked at each other. Mirrors; pale complexion, golden haired, and freckled. Of her brother, the girl saw his little features. His pointed eyebrows, thin lips, narrow sapphire eyes, and three little dots. Moles rose in a curve above his jawline, decreasing in size as they ascended towards the ear. In his sister, the boy sensed the spirit of their father. Her warmth exuded through every pore like an aura. The way she lifted on her toes, the creases in her cheeks when she smiled, and the smiles themselves. Her face held the secrets for a hundred shapes of jubilation. It baffled him and, in some ways, unsettled him.

Seeking some levity in their moment of connection, the brother composed a little verse,

"Deirdre Deirdre sang to the sky.

Deirdre Deirdre had a glint in her eye.

But deep down inside she had something to hide.

A stinky old fart which she held till she cried!”

The girl’s face lit up like a bulb. Her hands clenched at her side,

“Dylan you dingus! Say you’re sorry right now.”

He got up from the ground and made a face. In a mocking tone he repeated her words. She lunged at him playfully. He darted off, guffawing in mischievous glee. Dylan ran as fast as his thin legs could carry him. Up and over a steep hill and running with its slope to the bottom. Deirdre enjoyed the little sport.

She would say every few breaths, “I’m gonna get you!”, the fierceness of her words overshadowed by the uppity cracks in her voice.

Her threats became more and more distant to Dylan who soon found himself spurred on by a spark in his belly. His muscles were fire in his desire to win this cat and mouse He ran so far that the last things he heard were Dylan. Wait. Too. Then nothing. He had come to the borders of a dense forest. Resting upon a tree, he looked behind, expecting his sister to appear round the bend. So, he hid within the cover of the forest.

Dylan waited, eagerly anticipating Deirdre’s arrival. Any moment now and he would leap from the brush, his face twisted and eyes wide with madness. A priceless scare in the making. A minute went by, his energy still buzzing. Then a couple more, and she was nowhere in sight. Dejected, he kicked at the dirt. “Lame!” He had begun to depart the woods when he felt something brush over his shoulder. His nostrils were filled with the scent of fragrant flowers, lavender, honeysuckle, and lilac. They swirled around him and pulled him by the nose. He turned towards the depths of the forest but only saw the shadows of the deep spaces behind the trees. He winced to see deeper and could have sworn that, for a flash, something was moving. An outline of gold, skipping through the darkness. And a sound. It bypassed his ears and dug straight into his brain. A mirthful giggle which echoed in his mind.

“Dylan…” He blinked. “Dylan…dear Dylan.”

He began to stumble forward.

Then, “Dylan, where are you! Dylan please!”, his sister’s voice.

It was pleading, desperate. He turned from the woods and left its bounds. Heaving and sweating was his sister. Eyes wet with tears, her hands propped against her quivering knees.

“Oh Dylan!”, She cried as she ran up to her brother, arms flailing limp at her side. She hugged him so tightly he let out a wheezing gasp.

“Deirdre, sorry I was...”, then she brought her hand across his face with the ferocity of an embittered she-lion. “Ow! Dee!”

He soaked in the sting, crestfallen and ashamed of the fright he gave his sister, whose eyes were hiding fire behind their otherwise soft-green gaze.

“You’re so dumb sometimes you know that! I was looking for you forever. I thought I lost you, that…that you fell and hit something, or got eaten by a monster, or…”. She let out a despondent breath, “Or that you left. Left like Dad did.”

They shared a silence before he realized the quick approach of night. Something which gave Dylan pause because, surely, the sun was still high when he hid. He capitulated his reasoning and his brotherly instinct took over.

“Come on, we need to get home. Mom’s probably worried.”

Deirdre turned towards the hills and walked off. Dylan slowly trailed behind her. He couldn’t help but look back one last time. And as he did a grey cloud passed over their heads. The shadows of the trees grew longer and sharper. There was a ruffle in the bush, a knowing presence within. It gnawed at Dylan. His heart longed for the first time. For a bliss that could have only existed beyond his world.

The kids’ heavy limbs bore them up the steep grade that their cottage home sat upon. Its chimney was bellowing, and the warm light of its crackling fire could be seen through the thick casement windows. The door was open. Standing in it, the silhouette of tall and slender woman for whom the firelight seemed to shrink behind. Exhausted but delighted, Deirdre flung herself forward falling into the woman’s thighs.

“We’re sorry mommy! Please don’t be mad at us.” The towering woman looked down at her bedraggled girl and placed a hand over her head.

“Sweet Dee”, her voice was soft, “nothing to be sorry for, go on. Stew is still on the burner. You must be starving after such a long day”.

Deirdre eagerly skipped along to her meal as she hummed a little tune. Dylan meandered up and noticed the handkerchief in his mother’s hand. She held it listlessly near the pocket of her jeans. Dylan looked his mother in the eyes; if she had been tearful, he couldn’t tell. He wore a guilty half-smile.

“What happened Dylan, where did you guys go?”

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

The table was cleared, and Dylan’s bowl was still half-full. The twins had already made their way to their room by the time their mother started cleaning up. Dylan got up the ladder to his top bunk while Deirdre dug through a small bookshelf that was barricaded with toys and plushies. With a squeak of satisfaction, she yanked out the text she was looking for and thrust it flat on her mom’s stomach as she arrived, still needling her brow.

“Oh! Dee! Ah, I know this book.”

Dylan looked over the edge of his bunk frame and saw the cover, Conall and the Kingdom of the Mound. The last gift he received from his father.

“One of your favorites little man”, their mother said, “Come down and lets all sit together and I’ll read it.”

The children tucked up on each side of their mother and peered at each page as it turned.

The first chapter saw Conall running through the fields of Erin, chasing after a hog. Inadvertently bringing him to the Fairy Queen who had appeared from the Golden Woods. She took him by the hand and led him to the land of the forever young. In sleep, Dylan’s dreams became filled with visions of magic and perennial grace. He dreamed he was standing among the fairy folk and drawn to a bright young man. Tall, and fair, his golden hair draped over his shoulders. His face bore an easy smile; his eyes were glistening sapphires. Dylan walked up to the man and beheld him in awe. The man knelt down and opened his hand.

Ten days had passed, and each one was marred by ill-tempered winds and sporadic spats of sidelong showers. Dylan had spent his time, day and night, combing through the pages of that book. Deirdre played alone and wondered how her brother had become such an avid reader, he barely read picture books before. On the tenth night something stirred in Dylan. He leaned over the edge of his bed.

“Psst! Dee, wake up Dee.”

His sister groaned fitfully before turning towards her nosy brother.

“I am awake Dylan”, she made a pitiable whimper. “But I was almost asleep.”

Rubbing her eyes she saw her brother’s pale face become aglow in the shadows. His upside-down smile ran from ear to ear and for the first time in so many dreary days his eyes radiated keenly. She shook herself awake.

“What’s going on, Dylan? Why do you look like that?”

Dylan pursed his lips, “I know where he is Dee, our dad. I’ve seen him and I know how to find him.”

“Dylan, Dad’s gone. He’s in Heaven and you know that.” Her mouth hung wide with exasperation at his claim.

“He is gone, to Heaven, that’s right Dee! But what if you could get to Heaven from here?”

“Here!?! In our room Dylan?”

Keeping his voice low, Dylan chuckled, “No doof, not in this room, but…”

The sounds of creaking in the hall outside caused him to pause. Dylan looked at the door tentatively, expectantly. The creaking stopped.

He continued, “But close, just a couple miles away. I’m going Dee. Once I get there I’ll ask if you can visit, ok?”

Deirdre heard but couldn’t fathom her brother’s ramblings. He started to mouth something, and Deirdre’s consciousness began to fade. A strange torpor overcame her, and she fell deep into the comfort of her pillow.

Deirdre dreamed of a dark and vaporous world. She felt like she was being pulled along through a bog, inside a body that was not her own. She arrived at the edge of the forest. The light of a hand torch flashed on and off a couple times. After a brief moment sparkles of dancing illumined orbs dotted an oily canvas divided by earthen pillars. Chitter chattering and giggling came from the sucking depths of the wood.

“Come, come to us little man. Our hero, yes…you see us, you see us!”.

Deirdre felt the host body move of its own accord, she wanted desperately to scream, to turn and flee. Then, a voice, Dylan’s voice,

“I…I beseech the gates of gilded greens and the Eversong for the truth it sings.

To ride upon the chariot bound, for a city which rests upon the Greatfather’s Mound.

Hearken to my spirit young, thine fairies, and I shall trade what you crave for Kingdom come.”

His tone was shaky.

A synchronous movement of glitter bugs shaped itself into the visage of eyes and a smile.

“You crave the Kingdom, and we crave the plains.”

These words were echoed by a hundred little voices. The trees shuffled and the bushes rattled. The whimsy of spirits had turned into a cacophony of throaty questions and debate. A ropey limb emerged from the darkness. Needle-fine fingers uncoiled from a hand which spun like the head of an owl. A body that wiggled and writhed emerged. Feminine, barely contained, soon became amorphous. It flew close and opened itself wide. A sensation of enrapture. The absence of fear. An embrace that swallowed the world like a cocoon, a filament of leaking fingers.

Deirdre sprung out of her bed, wailing, screaming, “Dylan, Dylan, NO NO NO NO! Dylan…”

She ran out of her room without a sense of where she was going. Her crying came in a deluge, her face reddened. Her mother was in the kitchen preparing breakfast when she burst in, her head thrashing, her disheveled hair flinging about.

“Deirdre, my sweet little strawberry what is it dear? What in the heavens is the matter?”

“Mommy, mommy, I…”, Deirdre was sniffling and heaving uncontrollably.

“Calm down baby. You were having a nightmare, you must have. What was it? What happened?”

“Dylan, where is he?!? Where is he mom?”

Her mother reeled. She put her hand over Deirdre’s shoulder.

“Baby, who’s Dylan? Was he in your dream?”

Deirdre winced, “Wha…what? He’s Dylan! Our Dylan.”

Her mother sighed, “Oh Dee, it’s just us strawberry, only us.”

Deirdre recoiled and ran to her room. She looked around and just noticed that hers was the only bed, no bunk. Her toys and dresses and things were scattered about but there were no signs of Dylan. She thrust her face into her hands.

“How! I just…how?!?”

“Shh shhh shh, it’s alright Dee. Mommy’s here.”

She held her child firmly in her embrace. Her long arms reaching all the way around to her sides. Deirdre closed her eyes and wished for her pain to die. Deirdre wished for her father and tried desperately to wish back her brother. Until she acquiesced to the whispers of her mother.

“He was never here sweet Dee.”

Deirdre grew and as time went on, she stopped thinking of Dylan aside from that nightmare. Even then, he just became the image of her immature imagination. Many seasons passed until at last, she had become a woman grown. Her days were filled with lectures, law, stuffy tomes, and mock litigation. Far and away from the fields of her youth. The sudden passing of her mother one Spring forced her to return to the cottage.

Deirdre spent a weekend rummaging through her childhood home. A solitary task but uncomplicated as her mother owned very little. There was only some furniture to be marked for an estate sale and some other small things. A handful of toys and childish junk remained; the ones she reckoned her mom had the most sentiment for. A hand knit doll, a couple little dresses, some wooden animals, a few kids’ books. And something else. One morning her foot sank into a wobbly plank that narrowly extended from under the mouth of her mother’s bed.

She removed the loose piece of lumber and found a book. It was battered and dusty. The cover art had lost its saturation, but the figures were still clear. A quizzical youth leaning towards the inviting allure of a strange woman who seemed to be flying towards a castle which towered over the woods it was nestled in. The front cover read Conall and the Kingdom of the Mound. Hidden beneath the book was a little hand carved effigy of sorts. Deirdre held it up to the light. It looked like a boy, but all that was left of his face were the faint recessed traces of shape. It had been filed flat. Deirdre set the odd objects back and felt a chill run along her shoulders. There was a knock at the front door, which Deirdre had left ajar. She came out to the living room and saw a young woman, no older than herself. Though it was hard to get a good glimpse through the rays of the morning sun.

“Ah, sorry to intrude. You’re Deirdre, right, Ella’s daughter?”, said the visitor.

“I am, should I know you?”

Her guest gave a high-pitched giggle, “Your mom never mentioned me, then. Delaney, a pleasure to meet you. Ella and I used to chat over coffee, an exceedingly clever woman. My condolences.”

Deirdre winced to see Delaney clearly but to no avail.

“Delaney, I’m glad she had someone to talk to. Coffee sounds good. Want some?”

Delaney nodded and strolled through the veil of dust motes towards a three-legged table in the kitchen. Deirdre turned on the stove and set the kettle. She took another glance at her guest. Her eyes widened as she saw a girl with a freckled face and hair, dirty blonde. It was like looking into a mirror. She prepped the coffee grounds and leaned against the counter while the water started to heat.

“Not many people in this county. Did you go to St. Brigid’s? I swear I’ve seen you before but…”, Deirdre wondered aloud.

“Maybe, I was your junior. Deadly Dee the boys called you. Honest, I was a bit frightened of you.”

The water had begun to boil.

“A lot of people were, I suppose. Ya know, my mom used to tell me about how I ‘frolicked’ through the fields. Can’t remember that but I guess that was her trying to convince me I wasn’t born a shrew.”

The two shared a metered laugh. Steam vented through the mouth of the kettle. While Deirdre finished up, she felt Delaney’s eyes on her the entire time. She poured two cups and sat her guest’s down first. As she leaned over the table and left Delaney with her mug she was overcome by nausea. Delaney’s face had turned to meet hers, and Deirdre finally got a good glimpse of her. Spikes stung her veins. She fell back into the counter, spilling the pot, tossing the grounds, and launching some sugar spoons into the sink. One. Two. Three little moles rose in a curve above Delaney’s jawline, decreasing in size as they ascended towards her ear. Delaney, unmoved, took a sip of her still scalding coffee.

“Dee…dear Dee. You look just like a boy I met—long ago.”