C.E. Murphy - Truthseeker

Heafy leapt to his feet again, eagerly sorting through books. “Oisín the poet. Plenty of lads today carry that name, but I give yours credit for telling a good tale. The first Oisín, though, now there’s a story I know well, and that reminds me of something. He was an Irish poet stolen away by the fairy queen Níamh—”

“Her name was Rhiannon, I think, in this version.”

“Ah, Rhiannon of the white horse, that’s all and well, too. Stolen away and when he returned thinking only three years had passed, three hundred had gone by in Ireland. He returned to Tir na nÓg, that’ll be the Irish name for Annwn, or close enough, to live out his days, but there’s a story I have here, me love, that tells of his second return to Ireland.”

“He only—” Lara bit her tongue. Oisín had only told her of one time he’d returned home, which didn’t mean that had been the only time he’d gone. “When did he come back the second time?”

“Upon Níamh’s death.” Heafy seized a book from the shelves, flipped it open, and plunked it triumphantly on the desk in front of her. “It’s a favorite story of mine, crossing two great legends of Irish mythology as it does. Do you know of Saint Brendan?”

“The one who crossed the Atlantic in a leather boat?” The last word turned into a squeak and Lara leaned forward to study the book. This one, at least, was written in English, but Heafy spoke more quickly than she could read.

“That’s right, searching for the Isle of the Blessed. There’s more than one tradition, me love, where that might mean Annwn or Tir na nÓg itself. Now why, I ask meself, would a Christian priest monk be searching for the fairylands? There are stories that say an angel sent him sailing as punishment for disbelieving the word of God, but a prophet and an angel might be thought the same.”

“And Oisín was a prophet,” Lara murmured.

Heafy beamed at her. “Just so. A prophet from the land of youth. Now doesn’t that sound a wee bit like an angel from Heaven to you? Sending a holy man on a holy quest? But here’s my thought: maybe it’s not to fairyland, but far from it that Oisín sent our man Brendan.”

Lara flattened her fingers against the book, though she was watching the professor. “Away from Annwn with the weapon that nearly destroyed it.”

“And Brendan,” Heafy said gleefully, “came to America.”

Lara laughed out loud. “Would you happen to know where he hid the weapon?”

“Ah.” Heafy sat down, as suddenly defeated as he’d been exultant. “I’ve never thought to sort that, no. You’d have to speak with one of my colleagues in the Native American Studies Department, perhaps. I can ring them up and make an appointment for you, if you like?”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

Heafy nodded and dug out a phone directory from within his desk, muttering and flipping pages until he found what he was after. He lifted a finger to admonish Lara to wait a moment as he dialed, then was clearly transferred twice before getting to the person he wanted. Lara’s search was explained in a few quick sentences, before his eyebrows rose and he offered the phone to Lara. “Professor Cassidy wants to speak with you.”

Lara lifted her own eyebrows, but accepted the phone curiously. “This is Lara Jansen.”

“Hi, Miss Jansen. I’m Ellen Cassidy, one of the department heads. Look, I don’t want to waste your time, so if you’re trying to find pre-Columbian contact in the Americas, you’re going to want to go to Canada. The Viking settlements and trade agreements there are the only halfway verifiable data we’ve got, and that doesn’t go nearly as far back as Brendan’s legendary voyage. I’m really sorry, but we’ve heard this all before and it’s just got no basis in reality. I wish people could accept that the Native American cultures were entirely capable of complex societies and interactions without European interference.”

Uncertain notes trembled under Lara’s skin, finding issue with some aspect of Cassidy’s rant, but she nodded into the phone anyway. “I understand. Thank you for your time, Professor.” Lips pursed, she handed the phone back to Heafy, then smiled wryly. “I hit a sore spot there, I think. I didn’t mean to imply native cultures were in need of Western guidance.”

“Perhaps you can find someone else more willing to talk mythological theory,” Heafy said with a smile. “I’m afraid it’s back to work for me, me love, unless there’s something else I can do for you?”

“I don’t think so. Thank you very much, Professor. This was more helpful than I expected.” Lara took her leave, Cassidy’s words still buzzing in her ears. A phrase stood out: it’s just got no basis in reality . That was opinion, Lara realized. Informed opinion, no doubt, but as with any facts from a prewriting society, it was at best an inference, a leap of logic. It was no more certain to be possible Brendan hadn’t made it to America than it was to be sure he had.

And her immature truthseeking talent, only a matter of days ago, would have taken Cassidy’s firmly believed opinion as gospel truth. Lara climbed into the Nissan and sat there awhile, staring sightlessly through the windshield. The magic was strengthening. Eventually she might be able to do as she’d always thought would be helpful: know the truth even when someone told her its exact opposite with their full confidence behind the telling. For now, though, the sour notes suggested there was still a path to be followed.

Her heart suddenly quick with anticipation, she turned the Nissan on and headed back to Boston. The research she needed to do now could be done in a library, free of most slants of human prejudice.

“Do you have any idea how many sacred Native American sites there are just in New England?” Lara dropped an inch-thick stack of photocopies on Kelly’s kitchen table and put her fists on her hips, as if explosive actions would cause Kelly to have the answers.

She didn’t. Instead she eyed the papers, then Lara, then went to stir the macaroni and cheese cooking on the stove. “Not a clue. Are you going to drive around to all of them and see if any of them sing to you?”

“I hope not.” Lara sat down and flipped through her stack of papers. “I narrowed it down to places on or near rivers, for right now. Brendan came back from his Atlantic journey, so I’m working on the idea he never abandoned his boat anywhere.”

“And that doesn’t make you itch?” Kelly waved the macaroni spoon as Lara frowned at her. “You usually look like somebody dumped itching powder on you when you hear lies. So I figure a badly wrong theory would make you twitchy.”

“I’m counting on the idea that it would.” Lara held her breath, looking at the papers again. “This is over my head, Kelly. I’ve never tried using this power to discern before. What if I can’t?”

“Then Annwn’s screwed,” Kelly said helpfully. “‘Spoken in a child’s word,’ Lar. Your superpowers are just starting to mature. Maybe you’ll be surprised what happens if you push them a little.”

“It’s not a superpower.”

“It totally is. It’s not quite as good as Wonder Woman’s golden lasso, but that’s only because a little bit of bondage can be fun. You’re totally a superhero, and you’re going to save the world.”

“The horrifying thing is you believe every word you just said.”

Kelly grinned as she poured mac and cheese onto plates. “Look, if I can’t be a superhero myself, at least I can be the plucky faithful sidekick. Do you want tartar sauce?”

“With my macaroni and cheese?”

“With the fishsticks I’m about to take out of the oven. Oh, crap, I forgot to make vegetables. I tell you, I should not be let loose in a kitchen. Thank God Dickon can cook.”