Samhainʼs not generally considered an auspicious night to go wandering in old places in
strange moods, not when thereʼs something in your DNA that calls out to the Old Ones
hidden in the deep places . . .
I knew better than to drive through that particular mountain pass, the one that goes to
my favorite trail -- that peters out to a deer path, then diminishes to the gray fox runs
and disappears to the subterranean realms of the burrowers; where the cedar and
sumac give way to the birch with her trailing bark tresses and the wild cherry trees spin
branches gnarled and elf-locked outward -- on that particular evening, in that particular
mood.
But itʼs a section of the Smokey Mountains I love. It stretches across the Tennessee-
North Carolina border, back where my ancestors settled; the Irish and Scots, seeking to
escape British tyranny; a deep place, where they could wear the forbidden plaid and
play the pipes and harp, a place that reminded them of home. And deep within this new
world some of them found their oldest roots -- a faith and wisdom all but lost in the
hellfire and damnation brought by Patrick, knowledge and power all but buried under the
weight of the foreign gods, old gods mocked and painted over to be hidden and
hopefully rendered impotent as images of demigods belonging to the harsh new
religion, older Powers, their Names usurped to be sainted or demonized. Old Gods, old
secrets. The Oldest Powers, old as the land . . . older.
So off we went, the three dogs and me with a roiling case of the Celtic Blacks, that
deep, dark dudgeon that takes hold of the Irish soul from time to time for no explainable
reason. It rolls in on a riptide of despair and subsides in its own inimitable time and
takes the soul along -- sometimes leaving it adrift far from shore. Itʼs not a good mix with
a fair bit of anger and a hunger for vengeance, however justified.
The sun was up when the dogs and I left the car and started our walk. It was hazy and
the light was soft, but looking at my watch and the position of the sun assured me we
had plenty of time for a leisurely trail tromp as long as we turned back before the sun
neared the top of the farthest ridge. Once it dropped behind the ridge darkness would
fall like a shroud and the mountain mists would make a flashlight nearly useless. Not a
big deal, weʼd walked this way uncounted times and had the timing down to a science.
Even without a watch, I could trust the dogsʼ instincts to head us back to the car in
good time.
Besides, what was there out here to be afraid of, me, with my three?
Irritation and that “itchy†feeling drove me to move faster than my usual wont, and my
black mood had me too wrapped up in myself to be aware of my surroundings. Normally
I move through my world with hyper sensitivity. I may not notice people around me, but I
absorb everything else in my environment. I wonʼt be able to recount conversations, but
I can describe, in detail, any creature, any event, any thing and the feelings, emotions
and sensations theyʼve evoked. Long before I would have thought it possible, we had
reached a small clearing Iʼd never seen before, where a large, low mound of earth rose
in the center, too even to be natural, covered in the green of spring rampant with violets
and starflowers blooming -- amid the dying leaves falling around the perimeter of this strange dell.
I was lost in my own dark reverie, weaving curses and sating my evil mood with
scenarios of well-earned revenge, satisfying fantasies of myself as the Morrigan, Babh,
the Battle Crow . . . and didnʼt notice the mist moving in until it had enveloped us. The
dogs were dim shapes ahead of me and I shook with relief when they came immediately
to my side when I called. Clipping their leashes on, as much to keep from losing myself
as to keep them from roaming off, I tried to calm myself by talking to them, but my voice
fell, strained and dampered in the fog.
Silence enveloped us. I felt the dogs straining their senses, listening, tasting the air for
scents, alert, looking for out of place shapes or movement, waiting to be alarmed, ready
to strike at anything that ventured within our circle.
I had to try.