Nestled in a cozy Irish valley was a village with seventy-seven people. Tiny huts dotted the land, surrounded by ancient forest on two sides, snow-capped mountains on the third, and a chilly lake on the fourth, alive with fish despite the perpetual winter.
As the red-orange full moon rose into the sky, Cian, the village head, asked. “Is everyone here?”
“The crone is coming!” Áine, a six-year-old, shrieked, her red-gold pigtails flying as she ran to her mother.
The villagers waited for the old hag to walk to the lake. Unlike them, she wore only a tattered black cloak over a shabby dress.
“Accept the gifts, Danu*, and protect the villagers.” Her voice was scratchy but loud.
One by one, they stepped forward to drop whatever they could afford into the lake and murmured a thank you. Cian went last, offering a dead fish. It came to life and dove back inside with a small splash. The goddess was happy.
The crone nodded in satisfaction. “We return on the next full moon. Blessed be!”
This was a rule the villagers followed without question. No one remembered when it began, nor did most of them care. It was simple enough to follow. However, two wayward drunkards didn’t agree. Still, Niall and Fergus dropped a tiny berry each into the lake, muttering about the waste. They could instead brew a little more drink with those two precious berries!
***
One day, an old man with a long grey beard walked through the dark, cold forest and into the village. The kids stared with curiosity. The adults looked at him with suspicion. After all, they had a visitor after five winter solstices.
However, Cian offered a warm welcome. “What brings you here, Seanfhear*? Would you like a drink and some food for your belly?”
The old man nodded, leaning on his stick. He held a small bundle wrapped in fox fur close to his chest. “The book said this is where I meet my Lord. I’m here to wait for Him.”
“As you please. Why don’t we settle you in a hut so that you can wait in peace?”
***
On the next full moon, the old man looked amused as the villagers made their offerings to the lake. On the one after that, the day of Imbolc*, he stood near the lake with Niall and Fergus on either side.
“No one needs to drop anything into the water!” he declared.
“It’s a rule!” Cian shot back. “We have been following it for ages!”
“And what did that give? You still struggle. Winter hasn’t left you for years!”
“What do you mean?” someone asked in an uncertain voice.
“You follow the rules of false gods. My Lord is the only one who can save you!”
“Give those offerings to him like we did,” Fergus added.
Niall crossed his arms over his chest to look intimidating, but was too drunk to achieve it.
“Oh, that’s your plan, is it? To take our things and abuse our gods when claiming to come to meet your lord,” a villager shouted.
The old man smirked. “My Lord will come when you realize he is the only Supreme.”
“Really? What can he do for us?” Cian demanded.
“Anything you want, but only if you prove your devotion to Him.”
“That would be by giving you our offerings.”
“Who am I but His messenger? What you give me goes to Him. He will shower you with riches once you surrender.”
While many scoffed at the old man’s words, some looked uncertain, and a few, tad hopeful. The crone stood in silence, watching the interaction.
“Áine, what do you think?” she asked the kid she had come to love.
The girl turned pink at the attention and whispered. “I don’t follow the rule because I have to… or for a new dress. I do it because I want to… because they are my gods.”
Then, she walked to the lake and dropped a small boiled root clutched in her hand. The other five kids followed, and soon the villagers did too, ignoring the protesting men.
When Cian gave his offering, the water rose high, transforming into a majestic goddess in vibrant blue and green.
Everyone gasped and bowed. “Bless us, O water goddess!”
“Blessed be, my villagers! Your gifts return to you in the food you consume and the coins you earn through yearly trade on the forest borders. Nothing given with a true heart goes to waste.”
She turned to look at the drunkards who cowered and took off in a run. The old man stalked away, holding the book to his chest and cursing the false gods.
“Good riddance!” a villager murmured and stared as the winter land changed into spring in a blink.
“What’s happening?” Cian breathed.
“A flower!” Áine stared at a snowdrop. “But where is the crone?”
“Cailleach* left,” Danu replied.
“Did we send her away?”
“Is she angry?”
“Where did she go?”
“Cailleach leaves only when she is happy. You proved that true love exists.”
“Will I see her again?” Áine’s voice wobbled.
“She will return after eight full moons, child. Until then, love Brigit*. You no longer have to live through endless winter.” She added. “May the summer goddess, after whom you are named, illuminate your village from Beltaine*.”
Áine* nodded, wiping her tears. When the villagers bowed again, Danu vanished.
***
Glossary:
- Danu: Irish goddess of water and fertility
- Seanfhear: old man in Irish
- Cailleach: winter goddess in Celtic mythology
- Brigit: goddess of spring, healing, fire, poetry, and fertility in Celtic mythology
- Áine: summer goddess in Celtic mythology
- Imbolc: Irish festival marking the halfway point between the Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox (in early February), and celebrates Brigit
- Beltaine: Irish festival to celebrate the beginning of summer (in early May)
***
This story has been written for #InnTales-5, a writing event hosted by ArtoonsInn.
Prompt: There is an isolated village that sits in a valley. This village has one rule everyone follows without question.
