Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 3 2018 | Page 108

Air. Spring meadow air. We had meandered through the Irish Sea to the magnificent Isle of Man, the
greatest tax haven ever existed! Nevertheless, we couldn’t enjoy this moment for even a jiffy. A thewy man
with a golden aura surrounding him on our miraculously reconstructed ship materialised…
With great pride and pomp, he bore a great chariot towed by a horse named Enbarr on the surface of the
water. Within his ample hands held a great sword called Fragarach and a silvery cloak made of mist named
féth fíada, it’s edges blurred into the surroundings. Fragarach had the ability to cut through and shield and
wall and gave a piercing would which one could not ever recover from! Furthermore, the féth fíada could
help its owner(s)-the Tuatha Dé Danann-hide from the ever-mooching mortal men! The great Finn
McCool noticed it and immediately prostrated on the soft spring grass with his now astounded expression
and uttered with great reverence, “The Sword of Cúchulainn! You must be Manannán mac Lir! The Churl
in the Drab Coat!” The strange man hollered back with haste and arrogance, “ Incompetent giant! It is
appreciated that you know me and call me the God of the Sea if you please! Now, the Morrígan sisters, the
triad of War Goddesses, have basically screwed up the whole Irish Sea! If you go by sea, even with my
blessings, you’d drown within a twinkling of an eye! You can only go through Tír na nÓg.” Now, if you
go to the Isle of Man, you can still see the boat we left there. It’s called Balladoole.
With such a great dilemma obstructing us, we decided to go with Manannán mac Lir’s advice. He lead us
for one and a half leagues through winding dirt paths and meadows filled with dandelions until we came to
some burial mounds. Mac Lir abruptly walked straight into one of twelve barrows and vanished through it!
One by one, from the bravest to the most cowardly, the Fianna slowly entered the mound. Finally,
everyone was in the mound. Except for Reverend Dominic. My chaplain was busy consecrating all the
burial mounds, humming his compendium of Requiems and giving every exanimated person a Catholic
funeral! Finlay, my loyal bodyguard, was so frustrated he turned as red as a beetroot and bestially seized the
unknowing clergyman and pulled him into the barrow.
“God bless my enemies! I forgive them! Please save almighty God! I devoted my life to you—!” muttered
Reverend Dominic in a swift prayer. “Be quiet! I have no mashed potato to stuff into ye ungrateful mouth!
You knotty pated laughing stock! You dunce-like maggot! Bite your finger! You are as thick as a roux—!”
chided my dyspeptic bodyguard Finlay. Meteorically, Manannán mac Lir broke up the heated debate by
summoning seawater over them and in time, we arrived.
We had reached Tír na nÓg. A beguiling lady with an exquisite white dress, covered in mauve gems rarer
than diamonds, wore a great crown made of the purest platinum, rhodium and lutetium, with tritium-filled
diamond bulbs covering the lot. She spoke elegantly and apprised us her name, Niamh, and how she was the
Queen of Tír na nÓg and daughter of Manannán mac Lir. It was a load of tosh but then, without warning,
she flicked her hand gracefully and we all fell asleep…
“Get out! We have to abscond quickly!” murmured Finn McCool. “My son was here before and he spent
300 years here! Leave!” With such energy and power, we all rose, even the chaplain! We peregrinated
aimlessly until we bumped into mac Lir himself. His face was as crimson as fresh blood and he was
palpitating with tetchiness. “You pox! My daughter was helping you recover from the time difference! You
lot are as thick as the Earth!” Manannán vociferated at us. Soon, we recouped our trust and continued.
Darkness. It was dark, damp and the air smelled of rotting wood. When our eyes slowly adapted to the
light, we saw bones, human bones. They were placed in 3 granite lintels. Triskelions covered the passageway
and we heard a constant scratching noise. It was Finlay making ancient graffiti in the shape of a human!
Nowadays, if you go to Fourknocks, you can still see the face on the left side of the chamber. When we
existed, Enbarr was waiting with his chariot.
In haste we rode, all on the chariot pulled by Enbarr to the coronation. We had arrived just in time to see
Cormac Mac Airt become the High King. Manannán gave his blessings along with Niamh and evanesced.
We retold the story of our adventures to the High King of Ireland. “I want to read it!” I hear you say.
You’re reading it now!