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“Our dead are restless, Kathleen.
They're missing someone, and they'll be here soon.”
I let the wooden screen door go as
I turn to face her; I jump a little when it bangs shut behind me. I look across
the sunny kitchen to where my grandmother is bent over the table, kneading
bread. Her silver hair is pulled back in a low pony-tail. I watch her and I’m a
little jealous of her elegance and grace. No matter what she’s doing, she is
perfect and I love her but when she starts this “dead” stuff I want to bail. It’s
creepy. What’s even creepier? I know exactly what she’s talking about because I
can feel them too. I just refuse to listen to them. “God, Mimi, stop saying
crap like that; it’s not normal!”
“Kathleen!” Mimi laughs. “You’re
fifteen so stop acting like a child. We both know you feel them. They’re a part
of you. I’ve told you before; it will serve you well to pay them some
attention. If you continue to ignore them, they’ll make trouble; they don’t
like to be ignored. They like to feel needed. It’s their purpose.”
I shiver. I hate when she goes all
Celtic spooky on me. It’s not like we even live in Ireland. We live in
Massachusetts. We’re not even all that Irish anymore. There’s just residue, not
the good stuff either. All I got was freckles and an affinity for the dead,
both of which I’d give away in a second.
“Fine!” I frown. “I’m not
discussing this anymore! The dead are dead. They should stay that way!” I turn
and leave, letting the screen door go with a smack. I’m practically running by
the time I get to the woods. I hate being around people – dead and alive - when
everything is restless. I just want to be alone. I run through the woods until
I reach the meadow where I collapse. I’m drawn here whenever I’m upset. I don’t
understand why, but it makes me feel calm.
“SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE! I don’t
care what you want. I hate you all. You’re more than useless. I don’t know what
you want! Go see Mimi. She likes you. Me, I hate you and wish you would die
forever.”
Our dead don’t really talk to me.
Not really. That might actually be kind of cool. I could walk up to people and
freak them out by telling them their secrets. But then there’d be those who
would want me to help them contact their poor old aunt or find out where
Grandpa Sal stashed his money. It doesn’t work that way for me ‘cause our dead
are lame. I can only “hear” our dead. Our, as in family, dead. Dead relatives
stretching back generations. Yeah, totally and completely lame.
I don’t really “hear” them as much
as I feel them. They’re not here all the time. They only show up when someone
in the family is going to die. The problem is they never tell you who it is or
when it’s going to happen. I don’t even have to know the person who dies. We
have relatives all over the world and the dead let me know every time one of
them joins the club. Mimi told me that I’ll be able figure out how close the
doomed person is by the intensity of the dead around me. Super fun times.
Mostly they just hang around and make trouble, moving stuff, hovering, making
me jumpy and gloomy. Whenever they’re here I feel like I’m swimming in
melancholy. They surround me; they’re in the air I breathe and the water I
drink. A pressure that grows as the event gets closer.
As I lay in the fragrant grass with the
sun warm on my face, I remember the first time I came to the meadow. I was
twelve and was having my first experience with our dead. I honestly thought I
was going crazy. I was thinking about asking my mom to take me to the doctor
but didn’t know how to tell her that her only daughter was insane. It was early
summer but it was already hot and sticky. A scorcher they call it here. I was
sitting on the front porch rail trying hard to stay cool and failing miserably.
I loved to sit on the railing and imagine I was a bug meandering up the
climbing roses. I was sure being a bug was exhausting. Bug legs are so small
and the climbing roses reached almost to the top of the trellis. Our porch is
wide and deep with shadows clinging to its corners. It runs the length of the
house and then some. Stairs mark the center at the front door and again at the
side yard. It has six square columns equally spaced along the front, three on
each side of the stair and they are the perfect size for leaning. I sit,
slumped against the middle column behind the trellis, one leg dangling off the
side pretending I was a lady bug on a very important mission, when Mimi finds
me.
“Come on Kitten, let’s have a
walk.”
I didn’t want to move since I was
already sweaty and sticky, but she’s my grandmother so I really had no choice.
Mimi headed for the flagstone path that ran along the side of the house,
stopping to pull a weed from the flower bed, and headed for the woods behind
the house. With a heavy sigh, I jumped off the railing and hurried after her,
not sure where she was taking me but determined to be as miserable as possible
about it. We walk in silence until we are well into the woods.
“I’ve been noticing lately that
you’re not yourself, Kathleen. I know it’s hard when they first realize you can
hear them.”
Whoa. I pretend I can’t hear her but
undeterred she keeps talking.
“I was your age when I first heard
them. I think it was the summer before I turned twelve.”
I stop walking. “What did you
say?” I asked her quietly. Pretty sure my mouth stayed open there at the end.
Mimi turns to look at me. “Our
dead, Kathleen, I know you can hear them. I also know that when it first starts
it can be a little disorienting.”
“DISORIENTING! I think I’m going
crazy and you call it disorienting?” I stare at her. Standing there in the
middle of the woods with my hands on my hips, I open and close my mouth willing
it to say something that resembles a coherent thought.
“You’re certainly not crazy,
Kathleen. Come on, it’s not far, now.”
“I’m not taking another step until
you tell me what you know!” I cross my arms and set my face.
“I intend to but we really can’t
talk out here in the open.” Mimi replies, undaunted.
“Mimi, we’re alone. In the woods!”
but Mimi, not listening, turns and walks away. I watch as she disappears. Like
disappears, disappears. One second she’s there, the next she’s gone,
disappeared.
“Hurry, Kathleen. We don’t have
all day.”
“Wait. Where are you? What, what
just happened? WHERE DID YOU GO?”
“Keep on the path and you’ll find
me.”
An owl hoots and I nearly jump out
of my skin. Cautiously, I start walking again. I’m looking around for what, I’m
not really sure. I keep to the path and walk between two gnarled old trees,
their branches s into the path almost forming a barrier; I brace myself for
scratches but feel nothing. I turn to see how I managed to escape harm and I’m
shocked to see two stately old Birch trees. They’re the most beautiful trees
I’ve ever seen, tall and graceful. When I turn back, I see Mimi standing in a
beautiful meadow like nothing weird was going on at all.
I stare, awestruck. I’m standing at
the edge of a small meadow that is surrounded by Birch trees. The trees stretch
upward their branches intermingle to form a canopy. A breeze ripples through
the meadow. The sun filters through the green and gold leaves, giving the
meadow an ethereal glow. Where I entered there’s a delicate metal gate covered
in morning glories. The air is gently perfumed. In the center of the meadow is
a smaller area defined by rocks and boulders of varying size. The light seems
brighter there and I’m drawn to it. The dead that have been crowing me are quieted,
calm.
“Are you sure I’m not going crazy,
Mimi? ‘Cause I kind of feel like I am.”
“I’m sure, Kitten, but I can’t to
explain what’s happening to you without first showing you this place.” She says
as she walks to the edge of the meadow to where a large boulder rests. She sits
down, patting the spot next to her. I walk over and sit on a rock that is more
comfortable than it should be. I am not prepared for what comes next.
“Kathleen.” She says as she takes
my hands in hers. “You’re special. More special than you realize. Our family
has a great responsibility; we are the guardians of this meadow. I am guardian
now but one day it will be your responsibility.”
“NO!” I shout. “This can’t be
real. I refuse to let it be real. I don’t want to know anymore.”
“Let me finish, please. There are
some things that are bigger than one person, one family. This is one of them.
Our family, the guardian specifically, is responsible for safeguarding the
inhabitants of ‘The Isle of the Blest.’”
“Am I hallucinating? I looked it
up and it said that you can’t always tell ‘cause it feels real. That’s why
they’re dangerous. Oh, why am I asking you? You’re part of this. Maybe I banged
my head.”
“You’re fine Kathleen. I know this
is a lot to comprehend and I’ll do everything I can to help you adjust and
prepare for when you will be Guardian – Coimirceoir. I’m still the current Guardian
and I will remain Guardian until it’s time for you to take over. To prepare for
that time we’ll need to start on your training. Let me start at the beginning.”
“But…” I try to interrupt.
“The Isle of the Blest is where
the dead reside, Kathleen. This meadow is one of three gateways still in
existence. Our family guards all three. We have been the Coimirceoir since
before recorded time. In Ireland, we were once considered Priestesses and were
honored and revered above all others. The affinity we have with our dead allows
us to communicate with all the inhabitants of the Isle. More importantly, it is
a way from them to communicate with us. Together we keep the living away from
the dead. It is the most important task, Kathleen, and one our family has
performed scrupulously. Strange and powerful magic resides on in the Isle and
it cannot – will not – be allowed into the realm of the living. This meadow is
a sacred place and it is my – really our whole families – responsibility to
keep it safe.”
“Are mom and dad part of this?” I interrupt.
“Yes. I’ll get to their role in all this but
first let me tell this my way.”
I’m dragged from my memory by the dead.
“What now!?” I demand. They have become thick and suffocating. I can feel them on
my skin, persistent and overbearing. They have coalesced into a low fog that hugs
the ground, curling in and around the boulders at the center of the meadow, an
eerie presence that is both silent and screaming. The fog builds and obscures
the trees until only the canopy above is visible. There is a keening that makes
my entire body vibrate. Our dead have never behaved this way. Then they are
gone. No sound. No pressure. Only the fog remains. I stand there in a silence
so pure it hurts my ears. Then I get it. If the dead are gone that means someone
has died.
“Kitten? Are you here?” Mimi’s
voice surrounds me.
“Oh my god, Mimi, is everyone ok? Who? What
happened? How?” The questions spill from my mouth without thought or order. I’m
practically hyperventilating. “It’s not Mom or Dad? Please don’t be them!”
“They’re fine Kitten.” Mimi whispers.
I scan the meadow looking for her.
“MIMI?” my voice raising in panic. “Where are you? I can’t see anything through
the fog.”
“I’m here, Kitten, but you can’t see me any
longer.” Her voice is wistful and sad.
“What happened, Mimi? Why can’t I
see you?” I can feel the panic starting. “What’s going on? Answer me!” I shout
between sobs.
I feel a hand on my check. I’m
enveloped in my grandmother’s scent, a mixture of lavender, rosemary and Dove
soap. I sob “No. Not you. Please not you. What am I going to do, I can’t
survive without you.”
“Kathleen, Kitten, I need you to
be strong. I need you to be brave. I need you to listen very carefully. You are
now Coimirceoir. In three days, the council will be here to oversee your
elevation. We have a lot of work to do before that can happen.”
“We? Council? Coimirceoir? Me?” I
stammer.
“Yes, Kathleen, who do you think
is going to do it? The cat?” I hear the teasing in her voice and my sadness
softens.
“Mimi, are you really dead?” I
ask. Looking around I notice the fog has receded. All that remains is a light
mist clinging to the grass and spilling over the boulders in the middle of the
meadow.
“Unfortunately so.” She replies.
“Wait, how come I can hear you, like
your voice?”
“It’s part of being the Coimirceoir.”
Mimi explains. “You’ll be able to discern the difference between the stronger
dead. They’ll be able to communicate more directly with you. As for me, I am
your messenger, your Aingeal. I will be with always, helping you as you fulfill
your duties.”
