Knockansheen (Part Two)
Part Two of a three-part modern fantasy, inspired by Scottish folklore
When I was little, I loved reading the ancient folktales of the Scottish Highlands. This is written in homage to those tales, re-weaving some of the stories in a modern setting. This is the second of three episodes. In Part One, a curious old man told parents Mina and Kevin that their four-year-old son Ross was not what they thought he was…
Ross’ screams were like knives. The old man approached the boy, holding out the twig with its berries like flames. The boy’s screams grew louder and higher, beyond the range of Kevin and Mina’s hearing, until there was only a razor-wire keening that pulsed and lacerated them. Ross’ mouth was open, showing his tiny shark-like teeth, and his face was contorted like a baby’s.
“Enough!” shouted Mina. Kevin grabbed the bodach by the earthy sleeve of his jacket and tried to haul him from the room, only to find that the old man was tough and sinewy as heather roots. The old man chuckled, and put the rowan twig back in his jacket pocket. The child’s screams subsided. He fled into a corner of the room and hid behind a giant stuffed panda.
“There you go,” said the old man, drawing Kevin back into the hallway while Mina tried to soothe Ross.
“What did you do?” asked Kevin, his face white and his voice strained.
“Nothing,” said the old man. “But the faerie folk — the luchd-sìthe, you know — have a terrible fear of the rowan tree. Craobh luis, as we used to call it. Can’t abide the sight of it.”
“More like, he’s upset by a strange old man walking into his bedroom!”
“You try it,” said the bodach, holding out the twig to Kevin. Kevin shook his head. His eyes flicked to the half-closed bedroom door. They could hear Mina’s low voice murmuring, and then there was the shingly sound of Lego pouring on the floor. Mina slipped out and closed the door behind her. They drifted towards the porch.
“What can we do?” asked Mina.
The lift doors closed behind them, leaving them in darkness tinged pallid green by the emergency exit signs. Kevin grabbed his phone and turned on the torch, the diamond-bright light stabbing until he found a wall switch and a chorus of fluorescent tubes began to hum. Mina kept tight hold of Ross’ hand, but he showed no signs of distress now, or any inclination to run. In his other hand, he carried his tiny silver-grey fiddle. The bodach skipped forward into the cavern of the hospital basement. He was, rather inappropriately in Mina’s view, whistling the tune of Mairi’s Wedding.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Mina. The old man seemed not to hear. Kevin and Mina looked at each other, then followed him through the undergrowth of pipes. The air smelled of raw earth and fast-flowing streams and, somehow, coconut.
They stopped at the far end of the basement. In front of them was a half-size door, one that Kevin would have assumed led to some part of the HVAC system.
“Well, here you go,” said the old man.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Mina again.
The old man tutted, shaking his head. “You young people… doesn’t the very name of this place tell you what it is?”
“Knockansheen?” said Kevin blankly.
“Aye, Cnoc an t-Sìthein. Come, come, surely you know what a sìthean is?”
“I… My granny said once…” Kevin trailed off.
“Why any of you thought it was a good idea to build here, I don’t know. Now, remember what you have to do,” the bodach went on. “Keep on the path. Straight down, straight to the throneroom. Return this one to his true family. But remember the rules. The luchd-sìthe are very particular about the rules.”
“Don’t leave the path, don’t eat anything, don’t drink anything, don’t fall asleep,” repeated Mina. Beside her, Ross was standing quietly enough, but she thought she could now feel an excitement in him.
The old man rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the rowan twig, causing Ross to hiss and tug, his pale blue eyes flashing violet as he turned.
“After you’re in the door, I’ll tuck this in the jamb here,” said the bodach. “But when you’re back this side, you must be sure to plant something more permanent.’
“Wait.. Are you not coming with us? asked Mina.
The old man shook his head violently. “No, no, no. Me and the luchd-sìthe, we haven’t been getting along the last wee while. Just keep to the rules and you’ll be all right.”
“Fine,” said Kevin, his mouth set in an odd mixture of scepticism and determination. He put his hand on the doorknob.
“Wait,” said Mina. “We don’t even know your name.”
The old man bent into a wheezy laugh. “No, no, you don’t know my name.”
“Well, what should we call you? Or where can we find you, after, to thank you?”
The bodach took his tweed cap off and scratched his bald brown head. “Call me Mr Broon. That’ll do. And you’ll no find me, but you can leave a wee cup of milk out every full moon, maybe with a wee drop of the uisge beatha, and I’ll thank you for it.”
“Come on,” said Kevin. “Let’s get this over with, eh?” He opened the door.
The half-size green-painted door in the basement wall swung open. On the other side of the door, Kevin and Mina saw an electrical cabinet sitting in a foot-deep space, with cables running into the wall and spatters of paint on the floor.
Furious, Kevin turned to Mr Broon. He heard the bodach’s voice mutter words in a language he didn’t know, but the wizened old creature was nowhere to be seen.
“Kev! Look!” Mina grabbed his sleeve, and Kevin turned back to the door. The dull grey of the electrical cabinet had disappeared. In its place was an arch of gneiss, carved like two hawthorn trees, with an Ogham rune at its apex. Beyond the archway, steps led down to a half-landing a few feet down. Mounted in a silver bracket at the half-landing was a silver lantern burning with a soft blue flame.
Kevin took Mina’s left hand. Her right hand still held onto Ross. In the dim light of the lantern, the child’s big eyes looked even more electric than usual. Kevin and Mina looked at each other, each reading terror and wonder in the other’s face, and started down the stairs.
At the half-landing, the stairs turned to plunge more steeply down, into the heart of the hill under the hospital. Every six feet or so there was another of the blue-flamed lanterns, so they could see well enough, although the army of long shadows that jumped and flickered at their feet was unnerving. As they descended, it began to grow warmer, enough for Mina to loosen her scarf.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, running her fingers along the wall. The rock face sparkled, crystals of quartz and feldspar scattering the lantern light like a kaleidoscope. “Is this what fireflies look like, d’you think?”
“Shh,” said Kevin, his voice low. “Do you hear something?”
There was a high humming sound drifting up the tunnel. As they listened, they heard the hum burst into words, and a tune that was strangely familiar but neither Kevin nor Mina could quite place until the singer soared into a phrase they knew. There’s a starman waiting in the sky…
“Is that David Bowie?” said Mina.
The voice kept singing as they crept down the last few steps to the next landing. Around the corner, a silver-haired young man was dancing, holding an ornate silver spear as if it were a microphone on a stand. Mina pushed Ross behind her. Kevin stood a little taller and cleared his throat. The silver-haired young man yelped and dropped the spear, but before they could quite see how he did it, he had picked it up again and was holding it to Kevin’s chest.
“Cò sibh agus cionnas an d’thàinig sibh seo?”
“I’m sorry,” said Kevin. “We don’t have the Gaelic.”
The balach-sìthe rolled his eyes.
“Who are ya mugs and whaddaya doin’ here?” He somehow managed to sound like a gangster from a pre-war Hollywood movie.
Ross pushed forward from behind Mina and spoke to the balach-sìthe in a strange and melodic language. Mina felt that if she listened to it too long, she’d never want to hear anything else. Both she and Kevin saw how the child resembled the long-limbed creature with the spear. The older lad laughed, then lowered the spear.
“Go on then,” he said, pointing down the stairs.
“How do you speak English?” asked Kevin.
The balach-sìthe shrugged, and there was something heavy in his eyes. “Ah, when I was up top. When I was this one’s size. The parents had a TV. Top of the Pops. John Wayne. Batman.” He twirled his spear wistfully. “Hey, maybe on the way back you can tell me who’s on Top of the Pops these days? Pa doesn’t like me singing these songs at home, that’s why I’m out here half the time.”
“Oh. OK,” said Mina, a little stunned.
“You can let go of my hand now,” said Ross, when they had gone a little further down the stairs. His voice was sullen. “I’m not going to run away.”
Mina opened her hand and let go of his thin pale one, and felt her heart crack a little. “You can speak,” she said. “All this time…”
The changeling shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Why? Why did you do this” asked Kevin.
The child shrugged again. “Not my idea.”
They said nothing more until they reached the bottom of the stairs.
They stepped out of the stairwell onto an ornately carved balcony that ran around the side of a vast cavern. The smell of coconut had been getting stronger as they descended, and they saw now that it came from a species of gorse with pale purple flowers rather than yellow, growing in profusion along the edge of the balcony. The balcony looked over a shimmering city of gneiss and quartz, ponds and fountains, turrets and spires, lit throughout by globes of luminous amethyst and alabaster. Bubbles and gusts of music rose from the city like steam from a boiling pot, reverberating faintly from the walls of the cavern.
“Stick to the path,” said Mina.
“What is the path?” asked Kevin.
“Straight down there,” said the child. He led the way now, down a broad flight of translucent steps to the cavern floor.
As they entered the heart of the sìthean, they met more of the faerie folk. Some were coming and going on the broad thoroughfare that led to the palace at the centre of the city. Others were lounging beneath tall fungoid trees that shed a white-green phosphorescence, or playing silver flutes or dancing elaborate country dances in the more open spaces. The older-looking ones (although none looked very old) paid them little heed, but the younger ones (who Mina mentally marked as teenagers) whispered and said rude-sounding things in mischievous voices, and the children shrieked and ran, or hid behind the older ones. All of them, male and female, were tall and slim and wore their silver hair long, and their kilts and jerkins and gowns glittered with gemstones. Mina was reminded of dragonflies.
“Look at that,” said Kevin, pointing towards a group of young ones juggling glowing balls of gas like tiny stars. He took a step to the side, to see a little closer.
“Stay on the path!” cried Mina, grabbing his arm.
“Keep your hair on! I wasn’t going to go off it,” he replied, a little sulkily.
A few yards further on, a beautiful ban-sìthe approached them. She was carrying a silver platter of tiny round cakes, the colour of honey. “Bith an t-acras oirbh,” she said in a gentle voice, holding out the platter. “Ithibh!”
“I’m alright, thanks,” said Kevin, though he seemed to have difficulty taking his eyes off the faerie woman. Ross took a couple of the cakes and said something in the faerie language as he stuffed them in his mouth.
“Siuthadaibh,” said the ban-sìthe, pushing the plate towards them again.
“Chan eil, tapadh leibh!” Mina dredged the words from the memory of her primary school Gaelic lessons. “No, thank you! Kev, come on!”
The dwellings and chambers grew steadily grander as they approached the centre. The path led straight to a marbled colonnade, which led to a high rune-carved archway. Beyond, they could catch a glimpse of an endlessly falling fountain. Their pace slowed as they entered the colonnade. The child stood straighter and Mina thought he looked a shade paler. Just before they reached the arch, he slipped his thin fingers back into her hand, and she gave it a little squeeze.
“Are you going to be in trouble?” she asked.
“Not really,” he said. “I’ve lasted longer than most of us do on the outside. Though to be honest, your kind are getting really bad at noticing.”
The king was sitting on a shimmering throne carved from the living rock, peeling a tiny golden apple with a long silver knife. He looked up when they entered, but said nothing.
The changeling stepped forward, took three paces towards the throne, then bowed at the waist and spoke from the bowing position. Kevin and Mina couldn’t understand any of it, but felt slightly reassured when the king roared with laughter, his voice like a church bell’s, and beckoned them forward.
The child translated for them. He had been discovered, and as per the ancient rules of the luchd-sìthe and their contract with the children of man, his foster-parents had returned him in exchange for the return of their own child.
The king nodded, and clicked his fingers at an attendant. A few minutes later, an older ban-sìthe — the first Kevin and Mina had seen who looked really old — came in, leading by the hand a slight and scared-looking boy with a pale face and dark brown eyes beneath a mop of long dark-brown curls that fell down over his shoulders.
“Ross,” whispered Mina.
The changeling child looked up at her, then back to his real father. The brown-haired boy clung to the nursemaid’s skirt and said nothing. The old ban-sìthe whispered something to the boy, and pushed him forward. He stepped forward hesitantly, then Mina had wrapped him in her arms, weeping, and Kevin was tousling the long dark hair.
The king spoke to the changeling, who translated for Kevin and Mina. “They’ve taught him the Gaelic, but not that many of us have learned the English yet. They knew this day would ccome sometime, you see.”
“We’ll figure that out,” said Kevin. He stood from where he’d been squatting next to his son, and straightened to his full height. “But I want to know — your majesty — why? Why have you done this to us?”
The king looked at him incredulously, then laughed again.
“It’s a gift,” translated the changeling. “For your son, that is. And for our children. That is, for me. We learn your ways, you learn our ways. It’s all part of the contract, as it has been since the age of Ossian. All part of the rules. It’s awfully hard to feed clann-sìthe, you know. We need this so there’s enough to go around.”
“Let’s just get out of here,” whispered Mina. Kevin nodded.
“Wait!” The king got to his feet. “We’ve prepared a feast for you.”
“Chan eil, tapadh leibh,” said Mina firmly. Kevin picked up the real Ross and held him to his shoulder, in a way that the changeling had never allowed. The dark-haired boy was trembling, but didn’t resist, holding limply to Kevin’s neck.
The king slapped his thigh and said something jovial.
“He said that the old Broonie’s coached you well,” said the changeling. “Also, to tell him there’s no reason to keep feuding, and he should come to see us soon. Maybe in a hundred years or so.”
The changeling bowed formally to Kevin and Mina. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said politely. Mina knelt suddenly, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Bye, Ross,” she said. “Or whatever we’re supposed to call you now. Visit us, sometimes.”
“I am Prince Ionmhasnabeinne,” he said. “Farewell. You’ll see me sometime.” He skipped off deeper into the palace. Kevin and Mina crossed the courtyard with the fountain as quickly as they dared, then passed the archway into the colonnade and back into the main street.
Click here or below to read Part Three!
Knockansheen (Part Three)
When I was little, I loved reading the ancient folktales of the Scottish Highlands. This is written in homage to those tales, re-weaving some of the stories in a modern setting. This is the last of three episodes. In Part 2, parents Mina and Kevin ventured into the sìt…
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this story, let me know with a like, comment or share!
If you liked this story, you might also enjoy:
An Account of a Singular Event in the Parish of Ey
This short story was written for my family’s annual Christmas creative writing spree this year. It attempts to borrow the voice of Martin Martin, a Highland scholar of the late 17th and early 18th century, best known for his Description of the Western Islands of Scotland, Circa 1695
Rowan berry icon from https://creazilla.com/media/clipart/59494/red-rowan, public domain.
Wow, this is enchanting!
Thanks for the links!