‘But that’s more or less what you were saying the other day, though I think you tell it better.’
‘Go on. This is where it gets interesting.’
Each Celtic tribe had a sacred tree that was a symbol of wisdom and spiritual energy. This belief survives even today. Take, for instance, the Howth Oak, which grows at Howth Castle, Ireland. The St Lawrence family, the Earls of Howth, are associated with a particular oak tree. It is believed that when the tree falls the Howth family direct line will become extinct. This explains why, today, the branches are strongly supported on wooden uprights.
Trees were often associated with ancient stone circles. Although the identity of the builders of these circles has been lost in time, it is certain that the later
pagan peoples believed in the power of the stones, adopting the circles for their own rituals. Trees were encouraged to grow around them in the belief that the tree spirits would guard the stones. Over time, the identity of these guardian tree spirits became merged with the circle itself, the focus of worship shifting so that the tree also became the object of worship. Many of these trees feature in legend.One outstanding example is the story of the Kranon Circle, which still exists today, sited on a hillside a few miles from the City of Limerick. Sadly, as with many such relics, some of the stones were disturbed during the nineteenth century. However, the circle is still remarkably intact, comprising eighteen pillars, the tallest not above two metres. Once it stood on land that was part of a private estate. The property now having been dispersed, the circle has fallen under the protection of the appropriate authorities and may be viewed by the public.
‘You’re not thinking this is the same circle that was on the Sullivan land?’
‘I’ll bet anything you’d name that it is.’
‘Surely not? There must be hundreds of stone circles in Ireland.’
‘No. Dozens maybe. And not all in Limerick. And certainly not that many that are still standing.’
I read on.
According to legend, in early times the area was dominated by a wealthy and powerful tribe whose leaders numbered among the early Irish Kings. Their Druid priests used the circle for their ritual work. A ring of oak trees was said to surround the stones,
forming an outer circle. One tree grew particularly strong and tall and outlived its fellow sentries by several hundred years. This oak was said to generate a power of its own and it gradually became identified with the aura surrounding the area.Apparently their priests made liberal use of blood sacrifices, animals of course—a practice not unusual in those days. However, when their homes were threatened by invaders, they took more drastic measures to invoke the protection of the local spirits. Human sacrifices were made, not only within the stone circle, but also to the tree spirit. The victims, it is said, went willingly to their deaths, which were arranged so that their blood mingled with the roots of the tree.
That particular oak became the personal protector of the descendants of one of the Irish Kings. It continued to flourish, as did the house of Kranon, until the Middle Ages when, with the arrival of St Patrick, it was struck by lightning. The roots were burnt out by the blast and the tree was apparently dead. (One must acknowledge a not insignificant degree of dramatic licence taken here as, of course, these events did not occur overnight. The fall of the houses of kings and the Christian conversion of Ireland took a great deal longer than this account would indicate.)
But the legend holds that the Kranon priests, determined not to submit to such blasphemy, took the trunk of the tree and carved various artefacts from it—sword handles, staffs, shields, etc—creating magical weapons for their own preservation.
Interestingly enough, like early Christian relics, these items turn up from time to time in various
folk tales. And like their Christian counterparts, the application of these items did seem to be efficacious to some extent. Their powers undoubtedly lay in the faith and belief of their handlers.
I sat back from the table, for once lost for words. It was Liam who spoke.
‘Can you see the pattern? The family history in Ireland repeating itself here. And all that stuff about trees, one tree in particular. Human sacrifices.’
‘Yes, but what does it all mean?’
‘I’m not sure yet, it needs thinking about. But the answer’s in there somewhere, I’m certain. However,’ he reached over and turned the computer off, ‘it’ll have to wait till tomorrow. This evening we’re going out.’
‘Are we?’
‘Naturally. Have you forgotten it’s New Year’s Eve? Maggie’s booked us for dinner down at the pub and I promised I’d take the fiddle and give them a few tunes in exchange for a pint.’
‘Oh, is that right? And I’m going with you, am I?’
‘Well, of course you are. You don’t think for one moment that I’d leave you in this place on your own, do you? Come on, a quiet evening with a pint and a song to mark the change of the year. Where’s the harm in that?’
I
T
was well past noon when I woke on New Year’s Day. Scenes from the night before floated around inside my head like the debris from a shipwreck. There was something about pigs running all over the road and a contest to see who could round them up first. I recalled slipping into a ditch with a lot of other people. I found my clothes on the floor with my boots, everything covered in mud. I think the pigs won.
I found some clean gear and went out on the deck, trying to shuffle the evening into some sort of order. First we’d said hello to Maggie. She had managed to find plenty of help, and Bev, who had joined her behind the bar for a while, was able to spend the time catching up with the latest gossip. Several people had booked dinner and Maggie’s father turned out to be an excellent chef. After that the crowds turned up, everyone in the district apparently. Liam was joined by some guitarists and a whistle player and the tables were pushed back to make way for dancing. Feet were stamped on and beer spilt and come midnight I was kissed by everyone in the place. There was a fight at one point, which would account for the bruises on my arm, but Maggie’s father said it was a seasonal tradition. I’m not sure what happened after that; but, as there was no sign of my truck, we must have walked home,
which would explain the encounter with the pigs.
I sat on the steps trying to decide if I should report the truck missing. Bramble, sensitive to my fragility, did not bound all over me for once, but lay with her nose on my lap and her big, toffee eyes melting with sympathy. All the local birds were shouting at once and the noise of the cicadas went through my skull like a dentist’s drill. Then another sound cut through my ears and set my teeth on edge. There it was again, a sort of high-pitched yelp, but vaguely familiar. Liam burst through the trees pushing Badger in the wheelbarrow. A wicked grin spread over his face when he realised my delicate condition.
‘Great party, wasn’t it? Do you want to come for a walk?’
‘Oh, bugger off!’
‘Ah, you’re not feeling so good? Perhaps some coffee first, then. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Why don’t you put some oil on that bloody wheel?’
‘That bad, is it? Well, never mind. A good stroll in the fresh air will put you right.’
Just then a complete stranger drove up in my truck. Liam seemed to know all about it and gave the man coffee, which saved me the effort of talking to either of them. Eventually he left and Liam bullied me into action.
‘Bit of exercise—best thing for you. Here, bring your water bottle, the afternoon’s going to be a hot one and dehydration’s the curse of a hangover.’
He set off through the bush with the dogs as if all that beer he’d swilled hadn’t even touched him. I trailed along behind, deciding whether to sulk. I wouldn’t have minded so much if my self-appointed chaperon hadn’t sounded so damned cheerful. After a good, long trek he halted at a fallen tree and sat down, waiting for me to catch up.
‘Are you feeling any better now? Here, take a seat.’
‘Thanks. I must be out of practice. You seem none the worse for it.’
‘Ah no, where I was brought up the drinking was an essential part of a person’s education.’
‘I’m all right, you know.’
‘Yes, well it usually wears off after a few hours.’
‘That’s not what I’m talking about. Look, I’m not stupid. We both know it’s me, not the dog, who’s being taken for a walk. I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m a bit stressed, that’s all. I’m not being threatened by anything.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that. After what we found out yesterday I think you could well be taking a risk. I don’t want you wandering off on your own.’
‘Well, I don’t understand it all. Tell me, exactly what is it I’m being protected from?’
He paused for a moment, biting his lip, then took a deep breath.
‘Yes, you need to be told, but it’s where to start. Now, I’ll try to explain, but you’re going to have to stretch your imagination. And your credulity.’
‘OK. Try me.’
‘Well, you know that big tree, the one you introduced me to?’ He spoke slowly and carefully, as if he had rehearsed the words. ‘You’ve felt the energy come from it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you talk to it, as if it could hear you? You have a sort of relationship with it?’
I nodded.
‘So, you’d agree that a tree is a living being, that it could have some form of consciousness? Not like a human, of course, or even an animal, nothing that we’d know of, but, nevertheless, some kind of awareness?’
I thought about the hours I’d spent wandering through the bush and the pines. Those gentle giants with their soft whisperings. The times I had closed my eyes and felt their thoughts stirring, turning towards me. ‘Yes, I’ll go along with that.’
‘Now, can you visualise one tree, or even a small group of trees, living for centuries, experiencing the changing seasons, the sun, storms, gales, being touched by generations of other life forms, creatures that dwell in it or alongside it? And, much in the same way that our personalities are formed by experience and interaction, can you conceive that, over a vast passage of time, such events could mould a basic unit of consciousness into something quite distinct and unique?’
‘A tree evolving into an individual being? Maybe. But even if a tree had some form of intelligence, what could it do?’
‘Well, that intelligence need not be confined to its physical counterpart—in fact over time it would have evolved way beyond its original form. It might be free to move within its environment. It couldn’t do anything physically, of course, but it could influence other fields of energy. It might even be able to have some psychological influence over other minds.’
‘Like making the crops grow? Or protecting the land from intruders?’
‘Precisely. That sounds far-fetched, I know. But that’s what people have believed for thousands of years. And they weren’t all ignorant, Irish fence-menders like myself. Some of the greatest minds of the ancient world—Roman statesmen, Greek philosophers and the like—have subscribed to this view of nature.’
A tui called from a nearby branch, a call so easily mistaken for something human. I could feel that knot twisting inside my stomach again. I knew where this line of reasoning was going and I wanted to push it back into the pit of superstition it had crawled out of, to heap ridicule on top and stamp the earth flat so I would never have to think about it. But I managed only a weak protest.
‘Yes, OK, that’s an interesting theory. But where’s the proof? If these things—’
‘Elemental spirits.’
‘—these elemental spirits had been rampaging round the forests of Europe for centuries, surely someone would have noticed them?’
‘And indeed they have. Medieval mythology is full of them—the basilisk for instance and the chimera. There’s lots of recent versions too, many demanding to be taken seriously. What about the Yeti, and Bigfoot? And there’s the Wendigo.’
‘Whoa! Back up a bit. I thought a basilisk was a cross between a dragon and a chicken.’
‘A rooster, yes, that’s right. And a chimera is part lion, goat and serpent.’
‘Oh, come on now, you can’t be serious.’
‘Of course not. Not literally. But, don’t you see, that’s how we deal with things we can’t explain in physical terms. We give them a form we can visualise so we can get a grip on something that otherwise can only be sensed. Isn’t that what you do?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You invent a form to explain a concept. Like that first piece of sculpture, the one you showed me. Only, not everyone has your creative ability. In order to explain it they had to use ready-made images to tack together a representation of something, describe it in a language of symbols, if you like—symbols that everyone in their social group would understand.’
Around us the trees creaked and stirred, as if they were listening too, and learning. Students at a lecture. Yes, that’s how he sounded, as if he’d said all this before.
‘I suppose it’s like the Jabberwocky,’ I said.
‘The Jabberwocky?’
‘Yes, you know, Lewis Carroll. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!” Everyone knows what that looks like because every kid has nightmares at some time. But that’s fantasy, isn’t it? You’re talking about something that really existed.’
‘Exactly. What was behind the symbol may well have been
something real. Their fear was real enough.’
‘But what were they afraid of? Even if there were such things, why would they hurt anyone?’
‘They probably wouldn’t if left alone. It’s only when they come into contact with humans that things go wrong. Why do bears attack forest rangers? Why do tigers raid villages? In the Middle Ages people went into the forest and never came back—too many to be accounted for by natural misfortunes. Whatever the cause, they blamed it on something they thought was lurking there, waiting to kill. Hence the basilisk, a symbol of death.’
‘Yes, I can see that. We had one living in the cupboard under the stairs.’
‘What, a basilisk?’
‘No, a Jabberwocky. At least, that’s what my brother told me anyway. Teased me about it for years. I was terrified to go in there. But that was when I was a kid. I did grow out of it. All this other stuff was in the Middle Ages, surely by now…’
‘As I say, the Wendigo is well documented. It’s a creature from the legends of North America. Just an Indian story to frighten the children, they thought. Then white trappers and hunters started reporting encounters with it too. That wouldn’t be remarkable if the stories weren’t spread over such a vast country and the descriptions, from totally unconnected sightings, remarkably similar. The Indians claim that, like the basilisk, it hunts human flesh. They say it’s so thin that, at certain angles, it becomes invisible. Even now hunters report something stalking them, not a bird or a creature, but something invisible. They say it follows them, moving through the treetops and, even though they can’t see it, they claim they can feel its thoughts.’
Oh, yes. I knew all about that. The shadow of a shadow, less than a whisper, less than a breath. ‘This way,’ it said, ‘this way…’ The knot inside me was twisting into a sharp pain; at long last, the first tugs of real fear. ‘And you think there’s something like
that here, something to do with the Sullivan family.’
‘Well, I think I can see how it was in Ireland. An embryonic consciousness evolving within the energy field of a stone circle. The gaining of an awareness of itself linked, inherently, to a line of kings and their land, acting as the focus for ritual worship. The giving of sacrificial offerings, food, wine, blood, and, when they became desperate, their own kin. It must have gone on for centuries. And then there was the family—generation after generation, telling the tale, reinforcing the belief, closing in on itself to hide the nightmare.’
‘I ought to tell you to stop talking such bloody rubbish. But…I’m not sure of anything any more.’
‘And if Michael brought it with him, that would explain the fall of the Sullivan dynasty in Ireland and the rise of the family fortunes in New Zealand. But that’s the part I don’t understand. How the devil did it get here?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t think straight. My head still hurts. Perhaps those early records might tell us—I still think it’s worth a visit to the museum.’
‘That might well be so, but at this moment I’m more concerned about what’s happening to you.’ He laid his hand over mine, so gently, as if I were a frightened animal. ‘Whatever it is out there, I think you already know all about it. Oh, not what it is or where it came from perhaps. But I believe that you have somehow tuned into it…’
I could feel my throat tightening. I had to force the words out. ‘That’s how it often works when I’m studying a subject. I was trying to express something I felt about the trees, yes. There was something pressing in from a subconscious level, demanding attention, it needed to be given form…’
‘And if you’ve become aware of it, then it’s become aware of you. Whatever’s going on between it and the Sullivan family, you’ve somehow got yourself caught up in the game.’
‘What should I do?’
‘You know the answer to that. Get out. Now. Today.’
‘Yes, I can see that, but…’ I felt pulled in a thousand pieces. ‘But I have to finish. Just this one sculpture. Just a few more days then I’ll go. I will, absolutely.’
His hand tightened over mine. ‘For God’s sake Regan, there may not be a few days.’
‘You really think this thing is that evil?’
‘No, not evil in human terms. It’s amoral, no more responsible for its actions than a rogue elephant that stampedes a child. It’s doing what it’s been conditioned to do. It seeks only what it’s been taught to expect.’
‘You mean it protects the land. In exchange it takes life and blood. Sullivan blood. The three bodies buried up there.’
‘And, as you said, there may be a fourth.’
‘No there isn’t. Sarah’s not dead. I’m sorry, I should have told you yesterday. I don’t know why I didn’t.’ So I explained about the visit to that place and what Sarah said about the women. ‘She said John tried to kill her and nobody would believe her.’
‘If that’s the case, then you’re in even greater danger than I thought. You must leave.’
‘I can’t stop now. Just a few more days and it will be finished.’
‘Surely you can finish the damned statue somewhere else?’ he said.
‘It’s not a statue and no, I can’t. Besides, this is a Sullivan thing. What about all the people who lived on the Limerick estate? All the workers here? They were safe enough.’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘Of course they were. If people had kept dying like that it would have all come out before now. There would be stories about things that lived in the woods. People wouldn’t have gone near the place. No, this is a family thing, that’s why they’ve been able to keep it secret all this time. And I’m not family, am I? So why should it concern itself with me? But I promise you, when this
piece is finished, then I’ll go. A few more sessions, a few hours’ work, that’s all I need.’
Liam grabbed my shoulder, fingers digging into my skin, jerking me around, forcing me to look into his face.