Padraig Falls

Another short story.

The wind raved against the cliffs of Moher which overlook the Irish sea. Padraig always came here on the first Saturday of spring, he used to bring his younger siblings, but both Niamh and Gaelen had grown out of coming with him to hear him tell a story about what all of the magical sea creatures of the ancient Celts. Instead they slept in as late as they could and spent the day in someone’s garage, hanging out and eating as much junk food as they could get their hands on. Padraig laid his jacket on the ground at the edge of one of the tallest cliffs and sat on it (so as to avoid getting too wet), swinging his legs against the cliff. Without thinking he started telling one of his stories aloud to the seagulls and various little creatures around him…

            “They used to say that there were selky people who basked on that rock down there, and out in the waves were mermaids riding on their water Kelpies, watching us human folk make a fool of ourselves with our clumsy legs here on land while they slipped easily through the salty water of the great sea. What the folks who said that didn’t know, is that it were true. See, they’d forgotten where the stories had come from…” while he spoke Padraig adjusted his position so that he was laying on his back with his head resting on his hands and listening contentedly to the waves below and the sound of the gulls in the air. “Even the descendants of the traveling folk had completely forgotten how they’d come to be called that.” Just when Padraig was beginning to feel completely relaxed he rolled over to the wrong side and felt himself falling, falling -- to the arms of the waves waiting far below. At first, he tried to gain his senses in the few moments it took before he struck forcefully upon the water, but even if he had been able to, there was no handhold on the sheer cliff from which he had fallen, so he let himself relax and reconciled his life to the roaring sea which was about to consume him.

           

The moment that he hit the water he was certain that he had died, for there was first a smarting collision and then all of his limbs were numb, his eyes were closed, and he couldn’t hear a single sound over the ringing in his ears. He didn’t struggle, as some do when they assume themselves to be dead or on the verge of death; instead he allowed sensation to wash over him. It was oddly comforting, after the fall, to be in a state of total isolation from his body, which he was sure must be feeling vast amounts of pain. The noise in his ears grew louder and then subsided. Presently he began to notice faint whispers of something familiar; a lulling rhythm filled his whole body as the ache from the fall tingled into his consciousness. So he wasn’t dead. Bracing himself for the sting of salt water, he squinted open his eyes. Nothing. He opened them wider, straining to see or feel something in them. It was too bright to see anything, but the light didn’t seem to hurt his eyes. For that matter, even the irritation to his body that he assumed to be a bruise from striking the water seemed very mild when he compared it to what he thought he should have felt.

            The familiar sound in Padraig’s ears grew less distant from him and thought that it must be the waves, striking against him and whatever he was resting on, because he couldn’t be under the water if his eyes didn’t hurt. Through the vast amounts of light flooding in past his lashes, Padraig noticed a small black shape drifting above him. A seagull? There wasn’t much that it could be, but it must be closer that he first thought, because it was very large. He wiggled his toes. Still intact. Sitting up, he glanced further around him. It appeared that he was in a dream of sorts, probably the result of being knocked out by the force of the fall, and that he was sitting inside a ring of alternated pillars and white trees. On the ground under his feet were patterns of light, almost like when you shine a flashlight on tub full of water and the ceiling ends up covered in web-like strands of light.

            “Why were the travelling folk called what they were?” The voice came from behind the nearest tree.

Padraig peered around the trunk to find a boy who bore a striking resemblance to his little brother, when he was younger. “You were listening, then?” He asked, though the answer was obvious.

“I always listen.” The boy replied “So?”

“Well, Truth is, I don’t know either. Nobody could ever tell me. But I think it must be that they were the children of the nymphs who had to leave time and time again, when their lands were settled by humans.”

The boy nodded and then his attention seemed to be diverted by something. He looked up at the gull that Padraig had noticed a minute before and said “I always hate this part.”

“What part?” Padraig looked up, too and saw that another, larger, thing was moving its way towards the bird. Afraid that it was a predator of some sort he yelled, trying to scare it off, but it didn’t alter its course. “What’s it doing?”

“Watch.” The boy said “You’ll see”.

Padraig watched, and as he did he saw that the larger thing was nothing at all like a bird, and little disturbances puddled around the thrusts of its movements, almost like water around the paddles of a boat. A boat in the sky? Someone leaned out of the boat and reached towards the gull, which he realized was not a gull at all, but a person. As man in the boat’s arms went around whoever he was saving Padraig felt his bruises throb as though in sympathy. He sucked in his breath. “What is it?” His bruises still hurt.

“Its…” the boy’s voice trailed off.

Padraig grew angry as the boat in the sky moved away with its newest member “What was that, and why is it there?!” when the boy gave no answer her grew frantic, his mind bursting with questions “Who are you anyway? Answer me! Why do you look as though that thing was -- was dead?” He realized he was shaking this boy who looked like his little brother

The boy moved his gaze from the retreating object and turned his now baleful eyes upon Padraig. “Couldn’t you tell?” Great tears welled up in his eyes “Never mind. You’ll find out soon enough.” The boy’s face brightened as if by force “I’m Alan. Come on, I’m going to take you to meet Maisey, you were talking about her earlier.”

“I don’t know anyone named-“

“You know Maisey. She’s the slekie, she’s…”

Feeling a little bit ashamed of himself Padraig followed behind Alan and thought through what he’d seen and felt. And then he did know. As they came upon a lake of perfectly crystalline water and saw the selkie-girl, Maisey, he knew exactly what he had seen. Suddenly, Padraig knew why Alan looked so much like his brother. There had been an uncle who died before he turned twelve

“They say he fell off the cliff while he were on a forbidden walk. They brought ‘is body back in a boat the next day, poor little man. Didn’t know what hit ‘im.” Padraig remembered the conversation from long time ago, after someone had asked him who he belonged to and the looked sadly at a friend and told them the story of uncle Alexander. “The mother was never too well after that, Mairead the sad, folk called her… ‘till she jumped in, herself. Though -- she were never quite right, even before that, you know -- always walking to the cliffs alone with….” He couldn’t remember the rest of the conversation, but he could guess it.

He looked at Alan, finding it hard to ask the question; “It was me, wasn’t it?”, and Alan nodded solemnly. “It’s true,” he whispered

“What about Niamh and Gaelen?”

Uncle Alan furrowed his eyebrows “You never know”. He said “But… I think they’ll be alright”.

They continued towards Maisey and Padraig smiled as he greeted his grandmother, the selkie, for the first time. Because that had been true as well.