The Maiden of the Cross

The old Irish fisherman hobbled into the inn and sat down in front of the fireplace. The flames raged like the wind and rain outside. The light revealed the deep wrinkles in his face, tanned and worn as the leather chair on which he sat. A few children in from the rain were warming themselves by the fire. The man sat for awhile and watched them. Finally he spoke in a hushed voice, as rough as the gravel path leading to the inn.

"Gather "round children. Did I ever tell you "bout the maiden o' the cross" No' Sit down and take a listen...

A long time ago, there was once a quiet, young maiden that lived o"er on Tory Island. It's rumored she was so beautiful, all the lads had wanted her. It's a small island, mind you, only "bout a hundred folk, so the poor lass didn't have much competition. She only had eyes for a young lad, the blacksmith's apprentice. He was enamored with her as all the other lads an' began courting her. Soon they were to be married.

The morning o' the wedding came. The young maiden was dressed in a beautiful white gown handed down to her from her mother an' grandmother "fore her. White flowing lace, cool for the summer heat. It seemed like the "ole town was packed inside the little church, but the bride an' groom never came in. Guests waited, until a group of young lads an' lasses came frantic into the church. One o' the lads ran to the Priest an' begged for his forgiveness. The Holy man asked them what had happened. One by one they told the tale.

The group of angry lads an' jealous lasses stole the bride as she prepared to attend the ceremony. They had condemned the maiden for using witchcraft, knowing that she must be a witch to hold such power o"er the lads o' the town. It was their duty to stop the wedding. The groom had witnessed this an' followed them to the Tau Cross in the Port an Churraigh. He attempted to stop them as they tie the lass up to the cross, but the strongest lad pulled him back. The strongest hit the groom with several blows, then condemned him for helping the witch. The strongest threw the groom's lifeless body out to the roaring sea."

The Banshee's Silver Comb

Fiona always had a silver comb in her hair, ever since the day she awoke from death, just a few short months ago. Just like many days before, Fiona found herself wandering in the woods off the Irish coast, away from the country folk who would run from her unnaturally pale complexion and shimmering silver hair. She continued to walk through a glen along a small creek and stopped when she heard someone humming behind her. She turned to find an old country woman in a hooded gray cloak sitting and scrubbing clothes on a washboard by the side of the creek.

The old woman never looked up, but said sweetly but in a harsh aged voice, "Why, lass. I di"n't mean to startle you." Fiona looked at her for a moment and judged that woman must be blind since she was not alarmed by her appearance. Before Fiona could speak the old woman said, "Dear lassie, one o' me blouses is caught on me washboard. Could you be a dear an' unknot it for an ol" woman?" Fiona looked down and saw the ripped blouse that was twisted around the washboard. She tried to pick the knot loose, but it was such a tight squeeze between the boards for even her small fingers.

"Use your comb, lassie," the old woman suggested. Fiona pulled the comb out from her hair and begun to untangle the threaded mess. When she successfully loosened the blouse from the washboard, she handled them to the old woman, with the comb still in her hand. "What a beautiful and useful little tool," the woman said sweetly as she picked up the comb from her hand, leaving Fiona holding the blouse and washboard.

Fiona watched as the old woman pulled back her cloak that had covered her face. Her long, dull gray hair flooded out from the hood, framing her winkled face with pitted cheeks and sunken clear eyes. The old woman began to brush her hair with the comb. Fiona opened her mouth to protest, but her mouth lay open in shock. She watched as the old woman's dull gray hair turned to a vibrant, lustrous silver with each stroke of the comb. The woman's face became as smooth as a young maiden's and her gray eyes shined as bright as her silver hair.

"You there! Give me those!" A man said from behind the woman. She turned to face him as Fiona stood up next to her. The man waved his small iron dagger at the woman and repeated "Give me those!" Fiona stood next to the woman, unarmed and weary.

The woman stood tall and said to Fiona, "Finish him!" Fiona stared back at her blankly. "You useless creature," the woman yelled at her, "Here, hold these." She dropped all of her trinkets into Fiona's arms and changed into a horrific creature, instantly scaring the man to death. He collapsed as she returned to her beautiful young guise.

"How pathetic of a banshee are you," the woman mocked Fiona, "You've no idea how to change into a horror. You probably can't even access your human form." She started to take her trinkets back from Fiona, one by one filling her arms again. "Wait, where is my..." The woman looked frantically in the pile for the comb. She looked at Fiona as she pulled back her hood revealing her pale flawless complexion and her silver comb in her sparkling silver hair.

The young woman laughed, "You are bright, even for a young lass that don't know "er wail from the wind." Fiona began combing her hair. The woman goaded, "Aren't you going to say anything in your defense?" Fiona stared at her.

"Oh!" the woman shrieked in surprise, "You can't even speak yet.? The woman laughed as she disappeared in a quick puff of white smoke, her laugh lingering in the wind longer than the mist. Fiona raised her hood and wandered back into the woods nearby, eagerly awaiting the day that she would be able to call on power similar to the one like she.