Brigida
Daughter of Maeve, Part Two
I stare at her long dark red tresses, a shade darker than my own. I’m fascinated with my young self, and this effect of time travel, the strangeness of it. The feeling of separate, yet the same. I get chills watching her, knowing the experience of her future — this babe that is me and not yet me.
A noise catches my attention. I look up towards the stairs that rise just behind the hearth. There on the last step, on the landing staring at me, is my mother Maeve. She’s dressed in the puritan style of the day, her basket of laundry spilled on the floor. Covering her mouth with both hands, she utters a muffled cry.
I look down at myself, wondering if I’m appearing as a ghost to her, not truly knowing how this time travel works. I’m fully formed, but realize my clothes are modern, blue jeans, a pink cable-knit sweater, cowboy boots, and a blue puffy coat. Perhaps that’s what’s alarming. It doesn’t occur to me that just a stranger in her home might be the frightful part. I don’t think of that, because this is my home.
Dropping her arms to her side she reveals her face. It looks familiar to me. Not because I remember her, but because she looks like me. Copper-red hair peeks out from under her white coif, and eyebrows of matching color sit straight without curve above her piercing blue eyes. They are paler than mine and catch the light from the window behind her, making them glimmer in the dimness of the house. Her lips, straight but full, are set under a straight small nose, while tiny light-colored freckles cover her otherwise creamy skin. She looks about twenty-seven, the same time I quit aging. To look at us, anyone would think we’re sisters.
She smiles at me brightly with joy and marvel. Perplexed by her reaction, I’m unsure if I should run or stay in place as she rushes me with her arms wide open and grabs me in a fierce loving hug.
“Thee hast come!” she says breathlessly as if she’s run a football field to get to me. “Oh, my daughter, my beautiful daughter.”
Releasing me for a moment she touches my face with shaky hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. I don’t know if I should console her or hug her; I feel awkward. This woman, whom I don’t know seems to love me so desperately and earnestly. But more importantly, how does she know it’s me?
“Sitteth,” she says pushing me down into the kitchen chair. I look over to where my young self is playing, still blissfully unaware of what’s happening. “How old art thee? What time art thee from? Thee art here for the transmutation?” Her litany of questions fire at me in succession. The early modern style of her English snags my ear for a moment, making it hard to focus on what she’s asking. It takes a second for me to adjust to the old style. I watch her take a seat across from me at the small kitchen table.
Realizing that I’m more amazed by my being here than she is I ask, “How do you know who I am, and why aren’t you afraid?” She reaches across the table and lays her hands open for me to grab.
“I hast seen with mine own eyes, Brigida. Thou art special.”
“Brigida, mine own, thee shall bring forth a new age. Hast thou found oth’rs of our kind and united those folk? The purpose thou art h’re be to transmute?”
“No mother,” I say softly, as my hands reach out to grab hers across the table. Looking into powder blue eyes, different from my own cornflower-blue ones, I say the words. “I’m here to save you. To stop you from dying. I’m here to stop the hanging.”
A look of surprise, then puzzlement crosses her beautiful face. I worry that I’ve upset her with the news that she’ll be hanged in the future.
Squeezing my hands tightly she states slowly and deliberately, “Daughter, thee art the harbinger of mine own death.” Dumbfounded, I recoil, but she holds me steady in her firm grip. Repelled and confused, I break our gaze.
“Daughter, hear me. There is naught be done about mine own death. Thee cannot rescue me. Thee hast already been h’re and I am already dead, as be the way of time.”
With pain and despair written on my face, my eyes well with tears waiting to fall. “Why didn’t she tell me! Why didn’t she say?” My voice sounds whispered and forced, as I speak through the growing lump in my throat. “Brigid let me believe I could change the past and have a new future with you. Why would she do that?”
I feel it again, that rage growing inside me.
“Daughter, be thee calm,” she says sternly, gripping my hands tighter and focusing her gaze on me. I notice my hands start to glow with a golden light, something I hadn’t noticed before. The light starts to brighten as my feelings of betrayal and fury grow. My mother starts chanting in the same guttural way that Brigid did to send me here. At the peak of her chanting, the room now lit with the radiance of my wrath, she lets loose one of my hands and with great will and intent of movement softly touches her index finger to my forehead.
All is released. My anger, my sadness, and my light are now all gone. Unclenching my other hand Maeve sits back in her chair looking like she’s run a marathon and smiles an admiring smile.
“Thee art powerful,” she says breathlessly.
Worried that my young self is scared by what just happened, I look over to the little girl on the floor, now asleep on the blanket. Surprised at the sight, I look back at Maeve, questioning her with my eyes. Understanding my unspoken concern, still tired and smiling, she waives her limp hand dismissively toward the sleeping babe, “A deep sleep always falls upon thee when the sun draws low.”
Feeling relieved at the news, overheated, sweaty, and emotionally numb, I stand and remove my coat placing it on the back of the chair. Keeping my eyes there, I ask, “What did you do to me? What’s actually going on here? Why am I really here?” I realize, speaking these words that my naïve ideas of rescuing my mother and changing the future are horribly misplaced. I feel embarrassed on so many levels. I don’t even possess this basic knowledge of time travel. Worst of all I feel conned by a goddess and my dead mother.
As if reading my mind, Maeve sits up in her chair and points over to the sleeping babe on the blanket.
“I was taken from thee early in thy years. This be why thee art h’re; to learn Brigida. If thee knew I could not be saved would thou hast tried? A babe cannot be transmuted.”
“What do you mean transmute?” I ask, fighting through my disappointment to look at her again.
“I will convey knowledge to thee through magics and open thine own power, and in it, thee will be transmuted. We must needs do the deed soon for they come this night.”
“You mean, to hang you?”
“Yea verily. Make haste daughter, touch me.”
“Why doesn’t father protect you? Why don’t you use your magic to get away? I don’t understand why you let them do it?” My tone sounds exasperated, which is how I feel. I’ve asked myself these questions over and over, finding no answer for three hundred years. “I want to know what is going on mother!”
“All will be revealed. Now come. Touch me, daughter.”
Wanting answers, I walk around the table to her chair, stand behind her, and place my hands on her shoulders. Her chanting starts again, like before, but smoother and more song-like.
The melody that she chants is hypnotic and calming, my body naturally sways to its rhythm. Wrapped up in the beauty of the experience I begin humming, enhancing her music with my own harmonies. I notice that we’re both becoming translucent, fading out of this world, but I don’t care, I’m in the magic.
Strangely, my hands sink into her form and we start to meld. Becoming fully engulfed in her I enter her mind space. It’s a pink void and Maeve stands in the center.
Her puritanical dress is gone and, in its place, she wears an ancient gown of medieval style. It’s a gold brocade with bright white, green, black, and red thread making up the floral pattern of the dress. She looks like a princess. Next to her stands Brigid in her black and red tunic with the white glowing cloak, and next to her is another woman with striking fire-red hair. She’s wearing a red toga with black trim, and a moss-green tunic underneath. Then lastly a woman slightly taller than the rest stands at the end. She has strawberry blond hair and is dressed in a delphos gown of moss green with a golden belt. The dress is pleated so finely it looks as if color is being poured down upon her.
Without moving her lips Maeve’s thoughts enter my mind, Brigida, these are your grandmothers. I notice that her accent is gone, which makes odd sense to me, given that these are her thoughts. You’ve met Brigid. She continues down the line, this is her mother, your great-grandmother Mór-Ríoghain, and next to her your great-great-grandmother Danu the origin of us.
I stand there astonished, as it dawns on me that I am one of them, as is my mother. I am a goddess from an ancient line of goddesses. I have so many questions. Bewilderment must be written on my face because Maeve continues with her thoughts.
We’re here to join with you, to assimilate into you, as is our way. You will have the knowledge and memories of all of us. This is why a child cannot be transmuted, the personality must be set before the memories of others are shared, or it will be too difficult for them to remain anchored in their time. Will you accept us?
Not completely sure of what I’m agreeing to, relying on my trust in these women I nod my head in agreement. I watch as Danu turns to her daughter Mór-Ríoghain and melts into her form without disappearing, she sits within her like an overlay. In turn, Mór-Ríoghain moves into her daughter Brigid and so on until my mother, Maeve with all the others contained within her body turns and melts into me.
The merging tingles and barrages my senses. I smell flowers and sweet earth after a summer rain, my tongue tastes vanilla and pumpkin, my favorite flavors, and my skin tickles all over as if thousands of feathers are caressing me all at once. In my mind’s eye, I see all of their memories, their present, and some of the future. My mind expands with knowledge of things I have no way of knowing, yet I do. I hold an instant understanding of time, the universe, and my place in it.
My resistance melts away as I embrace the knowledge and come to terms with my new identity. It’s done. Someone different thinks to me. I know It’s Danu. Her energy feels old and primordial.
About to begin a conversation with her, I abruptly find myself back in my own time. I’m sitting alone in my truck, with the keys still laying on the floor. Feeling stunned, I briefly wonder if it was all a hallucination brought on by extreme stress. But something is different inside me. I feel different. My reality has shifted. It feels bigger and encompasses so much more than my small world before. My mind clicks into place, as I realize I still know things I shouldn’t know, like their memories and the magic. It was real, all of it. Elation and wonderment permeate every cell of my body as I think about my very real experience.
My mind is a jumble as it tries to digest all of these revelations through my filter of reality. To keep myself grounded I focus on practical here-and-now things like picking the keys up from off the floorboard and starting my truck, hoping it doesn’t take too long for the heater to warm the cab.
As I drive away from the barn that I’ve hated all my life, the symbol of my vengeance and wrath, I feel nothing but peace. I understand now why my mother needed to participate in the hanging, for participation it was. The mystery of why she didn’t escape using her power is answered. It’s an agreement she’s made, we’ve all made. To help humanity grow and evolve.
We, the Tuatha De Danann are here to usher in the next phase of human evolution, the great awakening. They are the seedlings of ourselves that we cast a million years before and we are the gardeners tending the crop, ensuring its growth.
I also understand that others like the Fomhoraigh want to stop this evolution, who were against seeding in the first place. I will need to watch out for them as I find my kindred Tuatha De Danann.
It seems strange to me, I think as I head home driving down this dark lonely stretch of road, living in two worlds, a dual reality. I’m a magical being born of goddesses, yet my empty stomach growls for pizza. This thought makes me smile.
“Thank you,” I say out loud, knowing that all of them can hear me. “Thank you for your love and grace. I will find them, the others, and we will do what’s needed.”
