Allusion: Celtic mythology/Style: Letter/Object: key
Warning: There is violence in this story.
When In Doubt
My Daughter,
If you are reading this my precious, Keryn, then you are wading through a period of doubt. I know that no man or woman can make up another’s mind for them, but knowledge can be passed along to help others gain a more thorough perspective for the beliefs they may hold.
When I was a young lass, around the age of nine or ten, I started to disregard the stories my grandmother would tell about the gods and goddesses of old. They seemed ancient and worn for someone so young and new, like myself. So, I stopped believing in what she had taught me and in the things that had been such a large part of my adolescent life.
Her stories no longer held important lessons or meanings in them. The fear of not pleasing a deity was vanquished. My life seemed carefree, and I felt at peace for one of the first times in my young life. Then, everything changed when the Vikings landed in our beautiful lands.
Our village was set to flames, and my parents were killed in battle against the savage gentiles. My sister was the only reason I survived. Her quick eyes, and calm assessment of the situation, allowed us to find a hiding place in a small nook of a hill not far from what was left of the village.
After the Vikings vanished from what was now a pile of ash, we emerged from hiding only to realize that we had wandered into the forest of forbidden figures. It was said that the people who traveled into the forest never came out quite right in the head. It was rumored that the ancient ones abided in the forest, and considered it a sanctuary of sorts. Trespassers were not welcome to visit and definitely not allowed to stay.
Only those brave enough to confront the ancient ones were able to live among them in the forest. Being the tough-headed girl that my sister is, she decided it was best to stay in the forest now that we had already happened upon it. Also, she had decided that we would find one of the rumored gods or goddesses that patrolled the woods and ask them for assistance and guidance through the dark, endless trails. I still held to my recent and misguided beliefs against these so-called ancient ones, but she was older than I and therefore she was in charge.
We started to drift deeper and deeper into the forest as the days dragged on. A narrow flowing stream was our guide. It provided water, and plenty of fish to catch along our journey. Once, when there was nothing and no one around, instead of hearing the normal rush and splash of the flowing stream, I heard a soft voice. It was faint and only slightly above a whisper. My sister thought me delusional but the voice was there and the song it sang was not one of welcome. It was one of doom.
After one full rotation of the moon, my sister told me there was no longer any reason to keep going. We had found a nice clearing, close to the river, and we would live there. To her, it seemed like the perfect place to settle. It provided plenty of food and fresh water with shelter from the harsh elements. She could not hear the warnings from the stream like I could, so again, because she was the eldest, I reluctantly abided by her decision.
My nights became more and more restless as time went on. The dreams I had were filled with the voice from the stream. Taunting me. Calling me. Threatening me. I would wake in cold sweats, sometimes screaming or crying. My sister said I would mumble strange, ancient, calls that she only faintly remembered our grandmother’s mother speaking about.
Everywhere we went we felt eyes on us. I started to believe that perhaps the stories I had been told as a child and the ancient ones themselves might not have been silly old wives tales after all.
One night my sister stayed awake to make sure I fell asleep and as she did this she saw shadows of another cloaked man or woman in the distance. She also heard her name being whispered on the wind that drifted through our shelter. The next day she was filled with disease. I searched for all the herbs that might help her get well and made poultices to ease her pain but this illness was one I had never encountered. It came on so quickly and was strong. Her death came not but two moons later.
As I was speaking the song that lead one to the Isles of the Blest she came for my sister. Cailleach stood before my eyes, as a tall sturdy being, wearing her hood as was told in every story I had ever heard. I watched her come forth to stand close to my sister to take her away but first she turned towards me as if to speak. No words were spoken but her eyes and actions communicated for her. A large black key was dropped into my hands and as soon as I looked up my sister and Cailleach were gone. I was left with the key and nothing else. This lead me on a new journey all my own.
I eventually met your father and decided to halt my journey for I realized it was not mine to finish, but yours. The inscription on the key reads “For she that doubts” and can only be given to those that are searching for something in the faith.
I’m leaving it to you, Keryn. It is your choice whether or not to accept this path. Know that the road will be hard, and your faith will be tested, but the benefits will be worth all the turmoil.
Have faith my heart,
Your dearest mother
