A MIDDLE GRADE CELTIC FOLKTALE
“Dallan, hip hop to the forest and cut me some rowan berries,” his mother requested one late August afternoon. “The Reverend has a bit of a cough. I think a few jars of my sweet jam should spark him right up. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, Mum.” Dallan loved wandering through the thick Kerdrenkenn Forest’s shadowed undercarriage. It was a place of broken boulders, green grassy sedge, and best of all—adventure.
Dallan cut a sack-full of rowan berries as his mother asked, but he wasn’t ready to head home just yet. After all, mother wouldn’t start the jam preparations until early morning. He hopped over a juniper bush and leaned his back against a towering oak tree. A slight but warm breeze speckled his face in the evening sun. He tilted the brim of his faded cloth hat to shade his eyes. The summer scents of azaleas and lilies lingered about as Dallan fell asleep.
Crickets chirping and frog croaks startled Dallan awake. Moonlight poked past bundles of branches, leaving patches of gray on the ground. He knew his mother would be upset for staying in the forest so late into the night. He dragged his feet, knowing his mother’s wrath would give him a headache when he got home. With his shoulders slouched and his eyes focused on the path, Dallan walked in and out of shadows praying his mother wouldn’t be too mad.
Suddenly, a silence blanketed the forest. The cricket chirps and croaking frogs ceased. The rustling of tree leaves quieted to less than a whisper. He looked up into the sky and watched the clouds twist in patterns overhead.
Clunk…Clunk…Clunk… The thud was slow, but loud, with long pauses in between. It sounded like a wheel with a flattened edge. Gray mist circled the moon and darkened the surrounding oak and rowan trees. A cloud shaped like a skeleton finger appeared to point where Dallan stood.
Just then, a horse pierced the distant fog. This was no mighty horse. Its neck collar hung loose on its shoulders and its pale skin poked through patches of dull, black hair. A dirty traveler led the sickly horse by its bridle.
The man’s clothes hung loose and tattered. Dirt swirled as he moved because his right leg dragged over the dirt. Toeless shoes and rotted soles wrapped his feet. And like his horse, his head hung low and submissive.
Another horse marched directly behind the feeble horse leading the pack. This horse’s mane carried no reins or collar. A second man walked in stride with this stallion. They both had physiques like prized champions. Each wore a sleek black coat which made their shoulders seem broad and powerful.
The clunk quickened and matched the thump with Dallan’s heart beat.
His eyes widened and his body froze when he saw the strangers headed toward him. The even louder clunk scared Dallan to hide behind nearby hazel bushes for protection. He watched the lead horse’s long leather straps stretch from its bridle, past the second horse, and to a platform on wheels.
A towering figure hovered over the front of the carriage’s wooden planks and blocked the skyline. The sinister looking man wore a black cloak and matching wide-brimmed hat. His gray and oily hair rested on his shoulders. He had a crooked nose and protruding chin. Dallan observed the man as tall and powerful and demanding respect.
The shadowy man stretched its arm forward revealing light gray tissue paper skin. His outstretched arm held a metal scythe. The blade curved forward, as though he could slice a person in two by pushing them away from him.
Dallan shivered from behind the brush. He watched the second walking man open a set of gates that lay before the horses. The carriage lurched forward. As it passed, Dallan noticed a wooden box attached to the back of the planks. The clunking sound didn’t come from a broken wheel. It came from a single stone that bounced in the rear compartment as the carriage moved over the rocky path.
Dallan stood from his hiding place and watched the horses, men, and carriage disappear. He ran home with the rowan berries tucked in his knapsack. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he wrapped his arms tight around his mother’s thin frame.
“What happened? Why are you white as a ghost?” Dallan’s mother held his perspired face in her delicate hands.
Dallan’s eyes pooled with tears. His voice shook when he explained all he had seen. His mother guided him toward the hearth and wrapped him in a wool blanket.
“My dear, you saw The Ankou and his traveling companions. He takes the living to the Otherworld by way of his carriage. The number of stones he carries, is replaced by the same number of souls he takes,” she said.
He shivered under the wool blanket and asked, “But why are the two sets of horses and men so different?”
“Death doesn’t care of the strong or the weak, a king or peasant. No one is exempt from Death’s grasp,” she stated with no hitch in her voice.
Dallan knew then that he had been spared.
The next morning, he set out to collect more rowan berries. A crowd surrounded the Reverend Bernard’s gates. He listened to the villager’s chatter. The Ankou took the Reverend to the Otherworld the night before. It was then that Dallan remembered the single large stone in the wooden box of the carriage that now lay on the Reverend’s entryway.
By Rebecca A Dolence
References:
Curran, Bob., ed. Celtic Lore & Legend: Meet the Gods, Heroes, Kings, Fairies, Monsters, & Ghosts of Yore. New Jersey: The Career Press, Inc., 2004.