They had all heard the rumors as they grew up. To stay away from the forest. When people ventured too far into the woods, they had a tendency to never come back. The villagers of Coolavin called it The Craos or the Maw, a curse brought to the land by the Fomoiri, ancient supernatural beings, who had been forced back underground and behind the veil. Niamh O’Boland knew better than most. Her grandmother had lost her youngest brother to it when she was a young girl, or so she said.
“Stay away from the forest,” Mamó would tell her. “It will swallow you up and Ankou will take you away in his cart to the land of the dead.”
Niamh was not so sure if she believed such nonsense but her mother and grandmother’s warnings were enough to keep her from stepping too far into the silky shade of the trees. It had become a game to the young folk in the village to see who would be brave enough to venture further into the wood. It was said Lugh, legendary hero and High King of Ireland, had some of his troops lead invading enemies to The Craos to be swallowed up. She would soon believe her grandmother’s forewarnings.
Niamh woke early and dressed in a freshly laundered leine, slipping her favorite dark gray wool dress over the other garment. She padded barefoot into the cottage’s small kitchen to snag an apple out of the larder. Her mother was there, carding wool to spin into thread.
“Maidin mhaith,” Niamh said before taking a bite of her apple.
“You’re up early today,” her mother said, not looking up from her task.
The younger woman shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m to meet Máire in the village,” Niamh said, running fingers through her mass of black curls to break up the tangles.
Her mother looked up and rolled her eyes.
“She’ll be wanting to gawk at the blacksmith’s boy, I imagine,” she said with disapproval in her voice. “She should know better than that as she is betrothed to someone else.”
“It matters not to Máire,” Niamh said. “She likes her fantasies.”
“I hope you don’t encourage her.”
“Mam!” she whined, shutting her blue eyes with frustration. “It isn’t my business nor is it yours. Máire can get into trouble by herself. I’m going to be late. Where’s Da?”
Her mother waved her hand toward the windows.
“Out somewhere in the fields with the sheep. I think one of the ewes is giving birth,” she said. “Your brother is helping him.”
“Tell them I said hello,” Niamh called over her shoulder as she raced down the dirt path towards the village.
When she was out of sight of her mother, she paused to kilt her dress up in order to run the rest of the way to the square. She loved the freedom running gave her, even if her mother disapproved. Her bare feet slapped against the worn path as the village loomed ahead. She stopped again to put her dress in order and to dab the sheen of sweat off her forehead. Niamh strolled into the village square, looking past the vendors hawking their wares to find her friend.
“Hello, Niamh,” said one of the vendors.
“Hello, Brigid,” she said. “Have you seen Máire around?”
The weaver looked worried.
“I saw her slip into the forest,” Brigid said. “Dubhán came back from there not but 5 minutes ago. I didn’t get a chance to tell anyone until now. You’d best go after her. When that daft blacksmith is involved, crying or babies are sure to follow.”
Niamh huffed in annoyance and stealthily made her way into the forest. All she needed was to have someone report to her parents she had been in it. She traveled deeper and deeper, becoming more and more uneasy. Every bird call sounded ominous and she jumped as a twig cracked loudly underneath her foot. She needed to find Máire and get out of the cursed forest.
She found her best friend sitting on a boulder, crying loudly.
“What happened?” Niamh asked, going to her and taking her hand.
“I met Dubhán here,” Máire said through hiccupping breaths. “I thought he had finally noticed me. He had left me a note last night to meet him here in the morning. But he was awful. He told me I was an ugly cow and needed to stay away from the smithy because I was scaring away customers.”
Niamh patter Máire’s shoulder as she sobbed.
“I wish I were as pretty as you, Niamh,” she said, green eyed rimmed with red and her cheeks blotchy. “Mam says you’re pretty enough for a faerie prince to steal.”
“Oh what nonsense,” Niamh said, waving her hand. “You’re beautiful. Don’t listen to Dubhán. He’s a dolt. He may be pretty to look at and have muscles from smithing, but there isn’t much going on up there. He’ll disappoint whoever he marries in more way than one.”
She knocked against Máire’s head with her knuckles as her friend gave a gargled chuckle.
“C’mon. Let’s go home.”
As the girls stood, Niamh felt the ground roll beneath her feet. Máire stumbled forward and turned to look behind her. A look of absolute terror crossed her face. Niamh felt the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she slowly turned as well. The land was ripping apart, opening a great rift with jagged earthen teeth visible.
“The Craos,” Máire whispered in horror.
“Go!” Niamh yelled, pushing her friend forward. “Run to the village!”
Her red-haired friend was frozen in wide-eyed panic. She wouldn’t budge. If she didn’t move, the both of them would disappear. Niamh pushed Máire as hard as she could before the ground gave beneath her and she was swallowed whole. She fell down in the deep, dark blackness, the echo of Máire screaming her name ringing in her ears. The descent felt like it took years until she had the wind knocked out of her as she landed hard against the ground. Niamh groaned as she pushed herself up, sand digging under her nails. The walls gave off a faint bluish bioluminescence but she could not make anything out in the dim light. She pulled her knees into her chest and did her best to suppress the sob in her throat. She had been eaten by The Craos.
Craos means maw in Gaelic, while Mamó means grandmother. The Formori were terrible creatures that were battled by Ireland's legendary hero and high king, Lugh. Ankou is a Celtic god of the dead, normally seen as an hooded figure in a cart. Maidin mhaith is good morning in Gaelic. Coolavin is a barony in County Sligo in Ireland and I did my best to keep the clothing of Niamh authentic to the historic time period I imagined this story to be in.
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