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Youth will in time decay, Eileen Aroon.
Beauty must fade away, Eileen Aroon.
Castles are sacked in war,
Chieftains are scattered far,
Truth is a fixed star, Eileen Aroon.
     Eileen Aroon, an ancient Celtic song

Chapter 6

In the late evening, the ruins of a large castle rose up before us. A few partial walls were left. The rest had crumbled. Grandfather sat down and stared at it a long time.
     "Sacked," he said.
     So I learned even great castles get sacked like our village. The scene brought back the agony I had been trying to lose. Being homesick is a deep pain, but being homesick without a home is an even greater pain.
     "Could we spend the night here?" I asked. It was not home, but it had been somebody's home.
     "No," Grandfather answered. "The spirits of those who once lived here may return at night. 'Twould be better to move on."
     I envied the spirits who could return home each night. But I could see that Grandfather was really afraid. He studied a spot of ground where no grass grew. His voice was slow and secretive.
     "Maybe otherworld people come up from the sea and dance at night. An ancient curse can live a thousand years."
     Fear is contagious. As we walked quickly away from the ruins, I made frequent glances over my shoulder. Even after dark came, Grandfather was not ready to stop for the night. Each time I inquired whether we were far enough, Grandfather said: "Walk on." Driven by fear and Grandfather, my exhausted feet stumbled down the dirt road.
     Out of the night, a light appeared ahead. I remembered coming home at night and seeing in the distance the light from our cottage, a warm, happy place of refuge from the world. I longed for that familiar place of rest and companionship.
         But as we came closer, the light took on a strange form, not readily identifiable to two weary wanderers, who were already fearful of the unknown. The light flickered and twisted around a large dark place in its middle. On the bottom edge, the rays split in many directions. When on a night journey, one encounters such wonders and strange sights, it is better to face the danger ahead than to hazard going back, or so Grandfather said. With cautious feet, prepared to retreat, we continued walking down the road.
     As we came closer, we saw that the light came from a fire behind a wagon with a little house on it. The spokes of the wagon wheels split the rays of the light.
     "Tinkers," Grandfather warned. "MacaTutties."
     I knew that tinkers were to be feared because it was said they sometimes murdered travelers and sold their bodies. MacaTuttie was substituted for the real name MacPhee because it was bad luck even to say their real name.
     A crackling voice spoke to us from behind the wagon.
     "The otherworld people told me the moon would not come out on this dark night." The voice stopped. I trembled. Then the voice continued. "But two flatties would come."
     If ye were not a tinker, the tinkers called ye a 'flatty'. As we got past the wagon, we could see the source of this croaking. It came from an old woman stirring a boiling pot over an open fire.
     "We're just passing through," Grandfather said with a weak voice.
     "Ye must stop for the message."
     We stopped. She offered us some meat soup. Grandfather shook his head and assured her we were not hungry. This was a lie. The soup smell coming from the pot awoke my hunger and made the juices rumble in my stomach But hunger was better than eating poison soup and getting yer body sold. My knees and body became so weak with hunger I had to lean against Grandfather.
     "What message?" he asked.
     We suddenly became aware of a man with an ax in his hand standing like a statue in the shadow of the wagon. The wrinkled tinker woman threw back her shawl and dipped from the hot caldron of soup. She drank from the bowl without using a spoon, ignoring the ends of her stringy white hair draping down into the soup. She set the bowl down and looked at us.
     "I know the past. Ye have been driven from yer home."
     She could have easily guessed our plight by looking at our clothes and by knowing the Clearances had put many people on the road.
     "I see ye now, but I have a second sight." Then she whispered, "I also know the future."
     "Sometimes, the future is better not known," Grandfather told her and glanced nervously at the axman.
     "For the little girl." She flashed a dingy smile at me. I could see the dancing fire reflected in her eyes. She picked up a silver cup. "In the leaves of this tea, yer fortune is drawn."
     I feared, but I wanted to know what her tea leaves had to say about me. I wanted to know where I was going and what was going to happen to me. My desire to know was stronger than my fear.
     "I know ye cannot give away such valuable knowledge," Grandfather said. "But we have nothing to give ye."
     She held the cup high with one hand and with her other hand, she fingered the red and purple chains of beads around her neck as she spoke. "Give me a coin from yer shoe, old man."
     Grandfather retrieved a coin hidden in his shoe and handed it to the tinker woman.
     "Give me a promise from yer grandchild."
     "What promise would that be?"
     "If she would know the secret of the future, she must promise to help the next traveling person she sees in distress."
     She meant I must help the next tinker I saw in distress. Tinkers call themselves 'traveling people'. It sounded like a fair trade to me. Grandfather drew back. 1 could tell that he wanted to leave, but I had to know what my fortune would be.
     "Yes, I promise," I said, "Tell me, please."
     She whirled the tea in the cup so furiously that the liquid flew into the air splashing on Grandfather and me, leaving only shredded leaves sticking to the sides of the cup. Her deep-set, dark eyes gazed into the cup. The fire popped, the soup boiled, and her voice sounded faraway as she slowly began to chant:

"Yer golden cattle will come back to ye
     Led by yer golden unicorn with a twisted horn."

I was seized with amazement. She could not possibly have known of our cattle loss or especially of our one-horned bull. My attention was fixed upon the words that slipped from her wrinkled lips.

"And on them ye shall ride home across the rolling sea.
     The old will rest under a cloudy mountain.
     The young will go strong to a young land to meet long dreams."

She turned away from us and said not another word. Grandfather pulled me away, and we hastened down the road.
     "Nonsense," Grandfather explained after we were out of earshot and the tinker's fire could not be seen. The cool night air collided with the perspiration of our haste. We trudged on in a trance, our tired limbs seemed to move effortlessly. Suddenly the moon rose at the top of the steep hill we were climbing. It was so large, I knew we must be getting very close to it, and the road appeared to touch it at the crest of the hill. Grandfather gestured toward it with glee.
     "See! I told ye the tinker woman didna know what she was talkin' about. She said there would be no moon tonight."
     After another hour on the road in the light of the full moon, Grandfather pointed to a tree. "Bless us, my child! We have found a rowan tree. Just what we need on a night filled with evil spirits."
     The rowan tree is said to have magical powers to protect those who rest under it. It also protects cows from lightning. With its rough root for a pillow, I pondered the words of the old tinker woman until sleep came.

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