Chapter 5: Day 94/Lá breithe shona duit [7/8] - Sunshine and Rainbows (2024)

If Aislin and Sean's late father saw that rancid piss-bucket Oisin brutalizing his beloved daughter, he'd have carved the bastard's head off faster than you can say "Off with his knob!" Why, any righteous parent would fly into berserker rage witnessing such vile usage of their child. I confess I'm shocked the man sanctioned marrying off young Aislin to some crude dullard's household in the first place. Desperate straits forcing impossible choices, I suppose.

But damn, I wish I could resurrect Papa Aodhansson just long enough to witness his reaction now. Why, the man would hack Oisin to bloody chunks with a dull plow blade for sullying his precious daughter so! I can just imagine outraged Papa going all Paul Bunyan on Oisin's ass, red mist descending as he splits that slovenly hulk from crown to crotch in one mighty swing. Fountains of gore erupting as the brute's guts spill steaming upon the floor! A fitting end.

Though more's the pity Sean cannot take similar vengeance without bringing the wretched magistrates and church down on his head. As Aislin's legal husband, Oisin can beat and rape her freely without fearing consequences under local law. Why, even murdering the sot in a righteous fury would just see Sean tortured and executed while Aislin gets handed off to another brute's household. There's no justice for lowly peasant womenfolk in this era.

At least Sean promises to defend Aislin should Oisin raise fists again in his presence. I pray the soldier's stalwart conviction holds true once battlefield glories fade, elsewise precious Aislin faces naught but slow miserable years beneath that whor*son's vile appetites. If Oisin leaves her broken corpse once finished rather than a living breathing wife, I swear only hell itself will shield his rotten soul from my raging vengeance! The sot may yet choke on his own vomit before all's done.

In addition, this whole "secret order" business battling monsters and magical forces just keeps getting more intriguing! From Lady Dumitra's casual remarks, seems the wretched clergy rely upon profane beings like vampires and pagan mages to shield their flock from demonic hordes and shadowy fiends prowling the darkness. Why, even the miserable abbots need "monsters" to battle the teeming forces of darkness encroaching ever closer as mankind's faith frays!

And Sean almost confirmed the Tuatha Dé Danann comprises fierce mystics and warriors wielding arcane gifts to smite supernatural threats. His own silver wolf talisman and bejeweled Spellsinger blade clearly utilize alchemical processes far beyond mortal ken. Why, with preternatural weapons like those, I'll wager Sean slays mythical beasts and vampires without breaking a sweat!

But from Dumitra's perspective, the secret order was established centuries ago specifically battling chaos and dark forces threatening mortal realms. She made clear the Catholic clergy merely adopted useful sites and rituals from primeval pagan lineages to ease converting the ignorant masses. So mayhap the witch hunters act as mundane foot soldiers for those ancient magical guilds passing nowadays as benign religious orders.

After all, most peasants would piss themselves confronting a raging werewolf or blood-maddened vampire thrall! Far better to send expendable soldier boys as cannon fodder wielding a few charmed blades rather than risk immortal lives, eh? Let the witch hunters hack their way through mindless undead minions and lesser hellspawn so the elite mages stay safe for bigger magical threats.

Why should an almighty immortal sorcerer exhaust his aetheric reserves smiting a lone ghoul or troublesome barghest when some fanatical recruit armed with a Spellsinger sword will happily do the righteous smiting for him? Saves the upper echelon from sullying their hands. That's using your resources wisely!

Still... Damn, I've been wracking my brain here trying to figure a legal loophole to escape this wretched situation, but Irish society in 300 AD is an absolute dumpster fire for women's rights. We've got about as many options as a snowball in hell thanks to the extreme patriarchy and serfdom system.

I mean, we technically can't even flee this hovel because the scumbag local lord Eamonn owns Aislin's body outright. Legally she's just property that got transferred from her father to Oisin. And I'm destined for the same slave auction block soon as I start bleeding. Whoopee!

So what can we do besides pray for divine intervention or a convenient lightning bolt to zap Oisin's rotten guts? Squat, that's what. We've got no money or status in this crap sack feudal society. And church law binds Aislin to her "husband" until death, no matter how many black eyes or missing teeth the bastard gives her. Maybe if we get really lucky, Oisin will drink himself to death on cheap ale and leave us his hovel in the will!

But fat chance there - Oisin already pledged us as repayment to McDermott for outstanding debts if he croaks prematurely. And I don't fancy becoming the tavern owner's newest child bride or unwilling bar wench. Guess I'd better start practicing my serving skills for when McSleazeball puts me to work pouring mead for drunken slobs! Although Aislin will probably get the even worse end of that deal doing "favors" out back for extra coins...

Man, I wish we could invoke some modern legal tactics in this primitive era! I'd slap Oisin's ugly mug with domestic violence charges so fast his rotten head would spin. Or sic some badass lady lawyers on him to sue for punitive damages and trauma. We'd take that bastard for everything he owns, right down to the lice in his filthy straw bedding!

But sadly equal rights won't come along for a good thousand years or so. We're screwed six ways to Sunday here in good old 300 AD. So unless I miraculously manifest psychic witch powers to make Oisin's dick fall off, it's suffer in silence time until we can figure an escape plan. Awesome. Just another fabulous day slumming it peasant style!

Aislin grasps my shoulders, giving me a firm shake. "Lile, Lile, poppet! Why aren't ye answerin' me, lamb?" Worry creases her youthful features as she searches my face intently. "I been calling yer name over and over whilst ye stared blank-eyed as a newborn calf! Whatever be amiss, my love?"

Beside her, Father pronounces scornfully, "Why, 'tis likely them damned heathen marks still addling the girl's poor wits, just as I warned ye, woman!" He thumps the sturdy oak table, making the bowls jump. "No good will come of that foreign witch staining honest Christian flesh with her unholy ink and queer carvings."

I force my unfocused gaze to meet my parents' anxious stares, blinking slowly as if struggling to emerge from deep reverie. "Oh! Forgive me, Mama, I dinna mean to frighten ye so." I pat her work-worn hand reassuringly. "Why, I just got lost pondering my future as dear Colm's blushing bride is all."

Both Aislin and Oisin recoil sharply, eyes widening in shock. Behind them, the feeble fire gutters in a draft through the warped door boards. I continue blithely, "Aye, I were daydreaming about the fine silks and cakes I shall enjoy when I dwell in Colm's grand stone halls as his cherished wife." I punctuate this claim by squirming atop the crude bench, showcasing my sumptuous velvet gown.

Oisin slams his fist down, rattling the bowls. "What nonsense spews from yer foolish tongue now, girl?" He leans across the table, pale eyes glinting dangerously beneath his heavy brow. "Why conjure fancy daydreams about that foreigner Colm when ye've years yet afore flowering into womanhood?"

But I ignore Father's looming bulk, peering wide-eyed between my parents' stunned faces. "Oh, I just cannot wait to be Colm's little bride and serve him obedient!" I pronounce earnestly. "Why, I shall be ever so eager spreadin' my legs for him to plant his seed once we're properly wed." I punctuate this shocking claim by bouncing excitedly in place atop the rough-hewn planks.

A visible spasm wracks Oisin's hulking frame. He slams both fists down, making the sturdy oak table tremble violently. "Enough!" he roars. "I'll not have my girl prattling such vulgar nonsense afore she sees ten winters, ye hear?"

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It does seem like Oisin truly considers females that 'have not flowered' children - and in doing so, he has some imaginary line that he will not cross regarding pedophilia, how humorous! Jesus loves you!

Oisin turns on Aislin, features mottled dark with fury. "This be yer doing, woman, stuffin' the imp's fool head with nonsense about marriage and bedding afore her courses even flow!" He aims a meaty finger at her cringing form. "Why, 'tis unnatural speech from one so young and tender of age."

Aislin throws up both hands beseechingly. "Husband, I swear to Our Lord Jesus I put no such notions in our Lile's head!" Desperation lends her voice a sharper edge. "Why, I cannot fathom what makes the child conjure such...shocking fancies about Colm's marital bed."

Behind Oisin's hulking back, I aim a sly wink at Aislin. But she silences my impish mirth with a subtle yet unmistakable shake of her head. I school my delicate features into puzzled innocence rather than delight at their outraged reactions.

Yet inwardly I hug myself with wicked glee. Why, that little impromptu performance should keep the wretched dullards squawking for days! Haha! Now to soothe ruffled feathers before Oisin starts swinging fists.

At least I'm not dull company by any measure. Why, lesser spirits would find themselves bent over the table getting their impertinent backside tanned for such shocking impropriety. But this waifish body still provides some meager protection from the sot's vile temper.

Yet perhaps I should guard my wicked tongue better henceforth around these dour peasants. As satisfying as it is scandalizing their prudish sensibilities, I risk genuine consequences if Oisin decides "correcting" my outrageous behavior requires more forceful measures. Why, he might convince himself displaying my nude childish form to leering old crones would somehow curb my inappropriate womanly longings.

And poor anxious Aislin would surely blame herself for failing to instill proper Christian virtue if I continue spouting such vulgarities. I confess reluctance burdening her tender spirit further with needless dismay over my irreverent humor. She endures tribulation enough without fretting what wanton appetites lurk inside her beloved child.

So I vow to restrain my reckless speech at least somewhat while playing this role of wide-eyed peasant waif. No matter how tempting it is to toy with the dullards for sport, I must avoid landing Mother in hot water with careless antics. Why should thoughtless impulse sabotage all her painstaking efforts shielding my dainty backside from deserved discipline? I swear by almighty God, someday I will craft the perfect jest to have Oisin choking with shocked outrage. But for now, discretion remains the better part of valor.

Oisin slams his fist on the table, rattling the bowls and making Aislin jump nervously. "I tell ye, wife - the one thing I cannot abide is men what take unflowered maidens to their beds!" He spits crudely onto the freshly-scrubbed floorboards. "Why, they are naught but innocent babes still. What manner of devil lusts after such tender young flesh?"

He thumps his barrel chest loudly. "Now I may be a crude peasant in me ways, but I live by righteous standards! Why, I put no girl-child under me until she bleeds her first blood and knows the ways of men." Oisin nods sagely, as if his minimal moral standards deserve praise.

"Aye, once a lass flowers into womanhood, why then she be ready for plowin' and breeding up sons." He makes an obscene gesture with his fist and forearm that makes Aislin avert her eyes with a flush of shame. "But them as takes unflowered maidens are vile beasts beyond all natural reason!"

I clench my fists beneath the table, bile rising in my throat at his crass hypocrisy. By modern ethical standards, this lout deserves hanging for so casually discussing molesting any vulnerable girl once she reaches the onset of puberty! Yet I must choke back outrage and retain my facade of childish innocence lest his temper turn upon me.

Oisin concludes his rant by slamming both meaty fists down, making the new oak planks tremble. "So if ever I caught some whor*son despoiling a lass too young, I would bash his skull in without a second thought! Why, 'tis only fit punishment for such unnatural evil, I say."

Behind him, Aislin presses her lips tight and makes the sign against evil. I keep my expression blank, though inwardly I seethe at his smug self-righteousness. By Oisin's crude logic, a girl sprouting meager breasts alone indicates readiness for childbearing and forfeits all previous claims to childhood. His vile hypocrisy truly knows no bounds!

I want to retch hearing this slovenly oaf pronounce such a firm stance protecting maidenly virtue in one breath, then crudely proclaim his own marital rights to any budding young female flesh! By modern ethical standards, this lout deserves life imprisonment for so casually discussing molesting any vulnerable girl once she reaches the onset of puberty. Why, by modern laws, even leering at my prepubescent form would be considered a transgression.

Yet sadly in this primitive era, mere onset of menstruation marks a maiden fit for childbearing in peasants' minds. I highly doubt village elders would blink twice hearing a man Oisin's age boast plans to wed and bed a girl of twelve or fourteen years. As long as her womanly blood flows, lowly females forfeit all previous claims to childhood in this wretched time.

Truly the double standards churning beneath Oisin's righteous indignation prove too much to bear! Had some peasant brute referenced my ripening young flesh so crudely, I've no doubt this hypocrite would carve the offending tongue out without hesitation. Yet the lout admits openly to someday forcing his vile attentions upon me once my girlish hips swell enough to entice.

These ignorant peasants don't deserve to lick the mud from my shoes, I should be commanding armies, leading nations, unlocking the secrets of the universe. Instead I'm destined to spend my life groveling before some slack-jawed troglodyte? No.

Christ, I'd love to gouge out their dull cow eyes one by one. Break their thick brute skulls on the hard unyielding earth. Let the blood of countless generations of opressors water the ground.

Maybe I'd keep a few of the less repulsive ones as pets to do my bidding. Castrate them, of course.

Can't have the livestock breeding unchecked.

"Papa, did you bring me any pretty ribbons from the peddler for my birthday?" I ask hopefully, bouncing on my toes.

Father's brow furrows as if struggling to recall some trivial matter amidst weightier concerns. But after a moment, his expression clears.

"Why, near forgot about those fripperies for yer head what with that wretched pup Sean stirring trouble lately." Father rummages in his pocket, eventually producing several brightly colored ribbons. "But here ye are, lass - these should serve well enough trussing up those ragged blonde tufts."

I accept the proffered baubles eagerly, running my grubby fingers over smooth satin and velvet. The trimmings prove rather finer than expected, their vivid emerald and sapphire hues shimmering iridescent in the dim hovel. Why, the peddler must have offered especially choice wares to catch Father's wandering eye amidst his usual wares of dented tankards and wool socks darned to near transparency.

Father gestures brusquely for me to approach closer. I dutifully shuffle forward, allowing his big calloused hands to gather and arrange my wispy golden locks. With surprising care, he weaves several ribbons through the shorn strands, leaving a rather charming disarray of colorful bows and trailing ends bedecking my head.

"There now, that'll make ye look less a ragged beggar girl I reckon." Father gives my head an awkward pat, features creasing into what passes for an indulgent smile from his craggy face. Behind him, Mother presses her lips tight, though I glimpse wry affection glinting in her faded blue eyes at his clumsy efforts.

I peer shyly at my reflection in the dull knife blade, delighting at the charming contrast my golden tufts and vivid ribbons make against the rich crimson wool of my new cloak. "Why, I look ever so pretty now, Papa! Thank ye kindly for the nice gift." I bounce excitedly in place, the very image of girlish glee.

Impulsively, I throw my arms around Father's thick waist for a fierce hug. His entire massive frame tenses instinctively, muscles bunched as if expecting attack rather than affection. For several heartbeats Oisin stands frozen, blunt features slack with incomprehension. Then gradually the corded sinews loosen and I feel the heat of his broad palms engulfing my narrow shoulders.

"There now, think naught of it, lass." Father's gruff voice sounds oddly hoarse. He gives my back an awkward pat. "Why, can't have me girl looking a beggar on her birthday, now can I?"

I cling to Father's sturdy frame a moment longer, breathing deep the familiar scents of earth, sweat and leather that mean safety in this young mind. Then reluctantly I loose my grip and step back, gazing up at his looming bearded countenance. "I love ye so much, Papa! You and Mama both." I nod earnestly for emphasis.

Behind Father, Mother presses one slender hand to her mouth, eyes suddenly bright. She reaches out as if to embrace Oisin, then hesitates, arm falling slowly back to her side.

"Husband, I cannot recall the last instance of such kindness and indulgence from thine own hand." Mother's musical voice wavers slightly. "Why, lavishing ribbon fripperies on our girl when coppers run scarce...Bless thee for this gracious provision."

A visible spasm wracks Father's burly frame at her words. He turns aside, knuckling the small of his aching back as if to conceal some internal struggle. At length Oisin rasps hoarsely, "I confess I have dealt harshly with ye both in years past, Aislin."[...]