LJ Idol 7, Week 15: Nimbus
It was a bright, cold noonday in winter, with a clear blue sky that would likely not come again until true spring. Meabh did not ask to go out, and no one invited her. She was either disappointed nor envious. It was simply the way of things. She stayed in the tent with Old Aunt.
The Tuatha, who loved all manner of trickery and cleverness and tried to cultivate it where they found it, considered lying an admirable trait. But Meabh's lies were not sort of kind of lies they admired. Did you count how many scoops of barley you put into that pot? Yes, of course she had. Did you remember to tie up all the straps? Yes, of course she did. Were you even listening to what I just said? Yes, of course she was. That wasn't lying; that was laziness, pure and simple laziness. What did you do with a child that could not make the effort to come up with a decent falsehood?
Since no one trusted her, very little was asked of her. To make sure she did not profit from her lack of responsibilities, she was granted no favors. In summer the other children were sent to drive the sheep into the river, or to pick berries, or to rob beehives--work that doubled as fun, in other words--while Meabh was given all the monotonous duties of chopping, mashing, grinding, sewing, scraping: things that she could do right under Old Aunt's eye to make sure they got done. No one could tell a lie to Old Aunt.
The other children called her Meabh the Liar, Meabh the Laggard, Old-Aunt-Meabh. This last would get them in great trouble if any of the adults heard it. The title 'Old Aunt' was not meant to be used as an insult; it was no disgrace to be old. But the children knew on instinct that it was a disgrace to be so useless that all one could be trusted to do was chop roots and peel willows by the fire.
There was a rustling noise behind her, as of dried husks shifting in the wind. A chill crept up Meabh's back. Old Aunt had stood up by herself and was watching the girl across the dimness of the tent. Old Aunt never stood up all at once, only in stages: first she got to her knees, then she used Meabh as a prop, practically crawling up her body until she stopped doddering back and forth. Always this was accompanied with a series of dreary grunts and creaks and muttering about her hip, her back, whatever bones had failed her. Old Aunt was Meabh's mother's sister, so old that she might as well be her grandmother, skinny as a bird, grey as a cinder, hoping she outlived her final set of teeth.
But Old Aunt was also the clan's Seer. She knew, sometimes as many as ten days in advance, when to move the camp ahead of the human-folk. When a pony went missing, she knew that it was useless to search for it. She knew if a child would be born male or female, frail or sound. She smelled of watery cabbage and musty, long-unwashed hair, and when she Saw, her voice took on a particular sweet, mocking cast that Meabh hated above all things. She was using that voice now, as if she was trying to forgive Meabh for being too stupid to see.
Meabh's heart hammered under the woman's scrutiny. She tried to think nothing at all lest Old Aunt hear her thoughts. She was always in terror that Old Aunt would See that Meabh didn't like her.
"Meabh the Liar," said Old Aunt, "where have they all gone to?"
It was hard to talk while not thinking. "To the bottom of the hill, Old Aunt, to play in the sun."
"The sun." Old Aunt snorted in derision and made her way to the front of the tent. "I'll show thee something of the sun, Meabh the Liar. It's a secret, though it won't be for long. I didn't tell them. Only thee, Meabh the Liar, only thee."
Meabh bundled the blanket she was holding into a packet, then slipped it under her arm. She hovered anxiously behind the old woman and wondered if she should put a stop to this. If anything happened to Old Aunt, Meabh would be the one to get in trouble. They would add Meabh the Murderer to her many nicknames.
"Come on," said Old Aunt with such impatience that Meabh abruptly decided that whatever became of Old Aunt was better than what Old Aunt would do to her if she didn't obey. "There's not much time."
"Time for what, Old Aunt?"
"Time for never-you-mind." For all her skinniness, Old Aunt was not fragile. Once she was on her feet, she could move as fast as any hunter. Meabh walked full-fast, never having to linger or speed up to stay beside her.
On the leeward side, out of the wind, Old Aunt ordered Meabh to sit, then carefully lowered her old bones down next to her. The winter grass was brown and cropped by sheep, but the sun above made it almost warm without the wind on them. "Look up," Old Aunt ordered. "Lugh is about to play us all a trick."
Meabh looked up, and was instantly dazzled by the light. She put up a hand to shade her eyes, looked as hard as she could for as long as she could bear it. There were no clouds, no birds, nothing but bright Lugh looking back at her. She could not match his brilliant stare.
"Keep looking," Old Aunt said sharply.
Meabh shaded her eyes and squinted upward again. She felt the old woman watching her, waiting for acknowledgement. "I see nothing."
"Thou'st only one set of eyes, little-girl eyes. I would give thee better, Meabh the Liar." Old Aunt leaned back, grinning. She never looked at the sky, only at Meabh. "Look at the shadows."
The shadows were . . . shallow. More brown than grey, like the thin shadows before a storm. All the bright greens and blues had leeched from of the world.
Once it started happening, Meabh could not look away. Much as it hurt, she watched it in peeks from the corner of her eyes. A black curve cut into the sun. The world was turning evening in the middle of the day.
"Keep looking." Old Aunt's hand cradled the base of Meabh's skull, the other hand on the girl's forehead, forcing her gaze upward. She shut her eyes against the glare, but she could still see it burning red through her thin lids.
"Child," Old Aunt began, in the formal speech, "I have never liked you."
Meabh was in too much a panic to defend herself.
"You seem a particularly useless thing. Sulking, sullen. I doubt I will live long enough for you to be likeable." The woman sighed. "But mere seeming and true Sight are not the same. I have trusted the Sight this long. I have no reason to doubt what I have seen of you."
Meabh was struck with horrible certainty: that Old Aunt had Seen that Meabh would soon do something horrible--kill someone by mistake, or lead danger onto the clan--and had brought her out here to murder her before it could happen. She would get away with it, too. The clan would believe her. They always believed Old Aunt.
As if already reading the girl's thoughts, Old Aunt looked weary. "Child, heed me. In my life no other one has been born Seeing. Lugh has made me a promise: that if I give up my power freely whilst I live, he will pass it on to another. But only if that one takes it willingly, only if that one will bear it. Meabh, daughter of my sister, blood of the line, will you have it?"
Meabh stopped squirming, stunned. To have the Sight? To be the Seer? The idea loomed before her, enough to blot out the sun in her eyes. Power for her, respect for her. No one would dare leave her behind again. No one would call her Old-Aunt-Meabh "Can I? Can I have it?"
Old Aunt growled. "Aye, girl, but you have to say yes, stupid thing! Say yes!"
Abruptly the sky grew dark. Even through her closed eyes, she felt the shift: it was an evening-dark, a just-after-sunset dark. She opened her eyes in relief.
In the deep blue sky, a pure white glow surrounded a black disc. It didn't hurt to look at it anymore, and she was no longer afraid. She watched in wonder.
Old Aunt snatched up a fistful of Meabh's curly hair and shook the girl until her eyes felt loose in the sockets. "Say yes!"
"Ouch! Yes! Yes I do!" She jerked her head out of reach. In the forest below, a deceived owl woke too early and let out its cool evening-cry. Its mate answered. "Old Aunt," she whispered, "will it come back again?"
Even before she finished speaking, she saw the far outer edge of the sun growing brighter. Something had passed before of the eye of the sun and was slowly sailing beyond. The bright beam split across and she looked quickly down from it. The ring still hung before her eyes. She rubbed them hard enough to hurt, until the world was all darkest black, with a wavering red ring hollowed out in the middle of the darkness, as if her eyes themselves could not forget the last thing they had seen.
"There," said Old Aunt decisively. "No more Meabh the Liar. No more Old-Aunt-Meabh. They'll know it soon enough."
Through watering eyes, through that red ring of fire, she turned toward Old Aunt’s voice but couldn’t find the woman’s face. She could not breath, could not see. There was no air in the air she breathed. She groped for Old Aunt's robe. "Auntie, help me, please! I'm blind! I'm blind!"
Old Aunt chuckled and laid her hand on the girl's head. Instantly air flooded her lungs; she could breath again. "You are not blind, child. It takes some that way. You'll figure it out, Meabh the Liar. I did."
The red ring slowly, slowly, spread outward to the far rim of her vision. Things had shape again--black shapes, outlined in red as if by distant fires, but enough to tell her she was not wholly blind. The ground was perfectly black. She could not see her own feet. Every step felt as if she might plunge to the center of the world. Old Aunt took her arm to guide her.
"You'll need to rest a few days, I think," said Old Aunt. "To wake to the true Sight is not easy."
"But will I be able to see anything else, Auntie, will I?"
"Oh, you'll see all kinds of things."
"No," she said frantically, "real things. Will I be able to see real things again?"
"All kinds of things are real," said Old Aunt.
They stepped into the merciful dimness of the tent. Meabh could not tell the difference between inside and out. Everything was the same color. Black, with a trembling nimbus of red. In the panic that followed she felt herself passed from hand to anxious hand. Then her mother's cool hands were on her cheeks, stroking her hair from her brow; her mother's delicate fingers pried apart her lids, but she could not see her mother's face, and she began to scream.
Kind hands calmed her. Gentle unseen hands urged her down to her mat. Her mother crooned as she placed cool pads over Meabh's eyes and wound bandages around her head to hold them in place. Even behind the pads she saw nothing but the burning ring of the sun, the red corona and the blackness inside.
For the three days Meabh lay abed, Mother held her one hand and Old Aunt held the other.
The Tuatha, who loved all manner of trickery and cleverness and tried to cultivate it where they found it, considered lying an admirable trait. But Meabh's lies were not sort of kind of lies they admired. Did you count how many scoops of barley you put into that pot? Yes, of course she had. Did you remember to tie up all the straps? Yes, of course she did. Were you even listening to what I just said? Yes, of course she was. That wasn't lying; that was laziness, pure and simple laziness. What did you do with a child that could not make the effort to come up with a decent falsehood?
Since no one trusted her, very little was asked of her. To make sure she did not profit from her lack of responsibilities, she was granted no favors. In summer the other children were sent to drive the sheep into the river, or to pick berries, or to rob beehives--work that doubled as fun, in other words--while Meabh was given all the monotonous duties of chopping, mashing, grinding, sewing, scraping: things that she could do right under Old Aunt's eye to make sure they got done. No one could tell a lie to Old Aunt.
The other children called her Meabh the Liar, Meabh the Laggard, Old-Aunt-Meabh. This last would get them in great trouble if any of the adults heard it. The title 'Old Aunt' was not meant to be used as an insult; it was no disgrace to be old. But the children knew on instinct that it was a disgrace to be so useless that all one could be trusted to do was chop roots and peel willows by the fire.
There was a rustling noise behind her, as of dried husks shifting in the wind. A chill crept up Meabh's back. Old Aunt had stood up by herself and was watching the girl across the dimness of the tent. Old Aunt never stood up all at once, only in stages: first she got to her knees, then she used Meabh as a prop, practically crawling up her body until she stopped doddering back and forth. Always this was accompanied with a series of dreary grunts and creaks and muttering about her hip, her back, whatever bones had failed her. Old Aunt was Meabh's mother's sister, so old that she might as well be her grandmother, skinny as a bird, grey as a cinder, hoping she outlived her final set of teeth.
But Old Aunt was also the clan's Seer. She knew, sometimes as many as ten days in advance, when to move the camp ahead of the human-folk. When a pony went missing, she knew that it was useless to search for it. She knew if a child would be born male or female, frail or sound. She smelled of watery cabbage and musty, long-unwashed hair, and when she Saw, her voice took on a particular sweet, mocking cast that Meabh hated above all things. She was using that voice now, as if she was trying to forgive Meabh for being too stupid to see.
Meabh's heart hammered under the woman's scrutiny. She tried to think nothing at all lest Old Aunt hear her thoughts. She was always in terror that Old Aunt would See that Meabh didn't like her.
"Meabh the Liar," said Old Aunt, "where have they all gone to?"
It was hard to talk while not thinking. "To the bottom of the hill, Old Aunt, to play in the sun."
"The sun." Old Aunt snorted in derision and made her way to the front of the tent. "I'll show thee something of the sun, Meabh the Liar. It's a secret, though it won't be for long. I didn't tell them. Only thee, Meabh the Liar, only thee."
Meabh bundled the blanket she was holding into a packet, then slipped it under her arm. She hovered anxiously behind the old woman and wondered if she should put a stop to this. If anything happened to Old Aunt, Meabh would be the one to get in trouble. They would add Meabh the Murderer to her many nicknames.
"Come on," said Old Aunt with such impatience that Meabh abruptly decided that whatever became of Old Aunt was better than what Old Aunt would do to her if she didn't obey. "There's not much time."
"Time for what, Old Aunt?"
"Time for never-you-mind." For all her skinniness, Old Aunt was not fragile. Once she was on her feet, she could move as fast as any hunter. Meabh walked full-fast, never having to linger or speed up to stay beside her.
On the leeward side, out of the wind, Old Aunt ordered Meabh to sit, then carefully lowered her old bones down next to her. The winter grass was brown and cropped by sheep, but the sun above made it almost warm without the wind on them. "Look up," Old Aunt ordered. "Lugh is about to play us all a trick."
Meabh looked up, and was instantly dazzled by the light. She put up a hand to shade her eyes, looked as hard as she could for as long as she could bear it. There were no clouds, no birds, nothing but bright Lugh looking back at her. She could not match his brilliant stare.
"Keep looking," Old Aunt said sharply.
Meabh shaded her eyes and squinted upward again. She felt the old woman watching her, waiting for acknowledgement. "I see nothing."
"Thou'st only one set of eyes, little-girl eyes. I would give thee better, Meabh the Liar." Old Aunt leaned back, grinning. She never looked at the sky, only at Meabh. "Look at the shadows."
The shadows were . . . shallow. More brown than grey, like the thin shadows before a storm. All the bright greens and blues had leeched from of the world.
Once it started happening, Meabh could not look away. Much as it hurt, she watched it in peeks from the corner of her eyes. A black curve cut into the sun. The world was turning evening in the middle of the day.
"Keep looking." Old Aunt's hand cradled the base of Meabh's skull, the other hand on the girl's forehead, forcing her gaze upward. She shut her eyes against the glare, but she could still see it burning red through her thin lids.
"Child," Old Aunt began, in the formal speech, "I have never liked you."
Meabh was in too much a panic to defend herself.
"You seem a particularly useless thing. Sulking, sullen. I doubt I will live long enough for you to be likeable." The woman sighed. "But mere seeming and true Sight are not the same. I have trusted the Sight this long. I have no reason to doubt what I have seen of you."
Meabh was struck with horrible certainty: that Old Aunt had Seen that Meabh would soon do something horrible--kill someone by mistake, or lead danger onto the clan--and had brought her out here to murder her before it could happen. She would get away with it, too. The clan would believe her. They always believed Old Aunt.
As if already reading the girl's thoughts, Old Aunt looked weary. "Child, heed me. In my life no other one has been born Seeing. Lugh has made me a promise: that if I give up my power freely whilst I live, he will pass it on to another. But only if that one takes it willingly, only if that one will bear it. Meabh, daughter of my sister, blood of the line, will you have it?"
Meabh stopped squirming, stunned. To have the Sight? To be the Seer? The idea loomed before her, enough to blot out the sun in her eyes. Power for her, respect for her. No one would dare leave her behind again. No one would call her Old-Aunt-Meabh "Can I? Can I have it?"
Old Aunt growled. "Aye, girl, but you have to say yes, stupid thing! Say yes!"
Abruptly the sky grew dark. Even through her closed eyes, she felt the shift: it was an evening-dark, a just-after-sunset dark. She opened her eyes in relief.
In the deep blue sky, a pure white glow surrounded a black disc. It didn't hurt to look at it anymore, and she was no longer afraid. She watched in wonder.
Old Aunt snatched up a fistful of Meabh's curly hair and shook the girl until her eyes felt loose in the sockets. "Say yes!"
"Ouch! Yes! Yes I do!" She jerked her head out of reach. In the forest below, a deceived owl woke too early and let out its cool evening-cry. Its mate answered. "Old Aunt," she whispered, "will it come back again?"
Even before she finished speaking, she saw the far outer edge of the sun growing brighter. Something had passed before of the eye of the sun and was slowly sailing beyond. The bright beam split across and she looked quickly down from it. The ring still hung before her eyes. She rubbed them hard enough to hurt, until the world was all darkest black, with a wavering red ring hollowed out in the middle of the darkness, as if her eyes themselves could not forget the last thing they had seen.
"There," said Old Aunt decisively. "No more Meabh the Liar. No more Old-Aunt-Meabh. They'll know it soon enough."
Through watering eyes, through that red ring of fire, she turned toward Old Aunt’s voice but couldn’t find the woman’s face. She could not breath, could not see. There was no air in the air she breathed. She groped for Old Aunt's robe. "Auntie, help me, please! I'm blind! I'm blind!"
Old Aunt chuckled and laid her hand on the girl's head. Instantly air flooded her lungs; she could breath again. "You are not blind, child. It takes some that way. You'll figure it out, Meabh the Liar. I did."
The red ring slowly, slowly, spread outward to the far rim of her vision. Things had shape again--black shapes, outlined in red as if by distant fires, but enough to tell her she was not wholly blind. The ground was perfectly black. She could not see her own feet. Every step felt as if she might plunge to the center of the world. Old Aunt took her arm to guide her.
"You'll need to rest a few days, I think," said Old Aunt. "To wake to the true Sight is not easy."
"But will I be able to see anything else, Auntie, will I?"
"Oh, you'll see all kinds of things."
"No," she said frantically, "real things. Will I be able to see real things again?"
"All kinds of things are real," said Old Aunt.
They stepped into the merciful dimness of the tent. Meabh could not tell the difference between inside and out. Everything was the same color. Black, with a trembling nimbus of red. In the panic that followed she felt herself passed from hand to anxious hand. Then her mother's cool hands were on her cheeks, stroking her hair from her brow; her mother's delicate fingers pried apart her lids, but she could not see her mother's face, and she began to scream.
Kind hands calmed her. Gentle unseen hands urged her down to her mat. Her mother crooned as she placed cool pads over Meabh's eyes and wound bandages around her head to hold them in place. Even behind the pads she saw nothing but the burning ring of the sun, the red corona and the blackness inside.
For the three days Meabh lay abed, Mother held her one hand and Old Aunt held the other.