Gorta Mor (Part 5)

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Jenny watched as the brothers sped down the road away from her. She thought that at least following these guys would keep her mind off her starving children. So she followed them down the road.

“Wait up!” She called after them. The both stopped dead in their tracks and once she was with them they set off at a steady pace. After a few hours of travelling the trio find a field that is only half ruined. Feeling that they might be able to glean something from this sight they all rush into the field.

“What do you suppose is causing the blight?” Shamus asked.

“Only half of this field is gone, perhaps we will find out.” Darbish answered.

Bent over in the middle of the field they could see a demon talking to the potatoes. He seemed to have lost control of his mental faculties and is damning each potato individually. As he put his curse upon each potato, it would wither away and die. The three travelers all feel the horror at once.

“What are you doing?” Yelled Darbish at the demon.

“What am I doing?” The demon turned away from his work and gave an appraising glance at the travelers. “I’m fixing a problem. Ireland used to be a wonderful and lush land to live in. The animals thrived, the plants blossomed and bloomed plentifully, the sun shone down on the land and in return it smiled back at the sun. This expanse used to be astonishing and remarkable. All my brethren loved to spend time here. Then one day, the despicable and detestable humans came along. They tore at the loam. They ripped at Erin’s heart. They forced more spuds, taters, and tubers into her and made her use her life force to sustain them.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t do any of that.” Shamus said dismissively.

“You!” The demon seemed enraged at this interruption, “You absolutely did do this, you and all of your kind. I can hear her weeping at night. I feel her pain as you plough and pull and till.”

“We are just like any other animal here,” Jenny threw in, “we all deserve the right to live off of the land. Who are you to tell us otherwise?”

“Who am I? You ask,” the demon seemed to take Jenny in for the first time. He sat a moment and pondered if it was even worth his time to convey his name to the filth that had become his enemy. “I am Gorta Mor. I look after Erin and protect her from the likes of you. I will destroy the consumption that you have created in her, and happily take you with it.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that Mor.” Darbish forcefully explained to the demon. This caused Gorta Mor to sneer at the misuse of his name. “We need these crops to survive, we will not die like this. We will endure and carry on, and you won’t be able to stop us.”

-V-

Read Part 6

Gorta Mor (Part 1)

Gather round young children as I tell you a tale of the two McDerbin brothers.  In the Early nineteenth century Ireland was a lush and beautiful place to be. The people were happy and they sang songs of joy to how great their lives were. Now many have heard about the Irish ability to imbibe copious amounts of spirits, but it was not known that at this time nery a drop of intoxicating drink would pass the lips of any Irishman. There is even a saying from the time, “By avoiding liquors, lagers, and ales, one can be sure to be happy, wealthy, and wells.” Let us look now on the hamlet of Claouth where the brothers live happily with their mother.

“Shamus! Darbish! Come inside. I need help.” Erin called to her boys. She was old and frail, life had been mostly kind to her, but the years were easily wearing on her by this point. The two young men entered the house, they were breathing heavy from tilling the farmland behind their cottage. Shamus, who always seems to have a perky glint in his eyes, looked around the room and saw his mother standing over a large pot on the stove. Darbish, the elder by a year, pushed Shamus aside as he entered.

“What is it yah need ma?” Darbish asked with a slight annoyance in his voice. “We still have half a field to till before sundown if we are going to get a good crop this year.”

“Watch how you talk to be boy!” Erin exclaimed as she painfully turned to him. “I need help moving the pot off the stove to cool your supper.”

“Absolutely ma,” Shamus said as he ran over to the stove and pulled the pot off. Erin smiled at her youngest son, and then shot a pensive look at the other.

“You could learn some manners from your younger brother, Darbish.”

“Oh aye, I could.” Darbish said in a playful way, “or I could get the fields done so that we will have more supper to eat in the future.”

“One day we will figure out how to have many riches and we won’t have to worry about fields anymore.” Shamus said dreamily.

“Corse, an I hope that day comes soon. I can get supper from here,” Erin chided, “Go and get the fields done with yah.”

For the McDerbins, life was going well. But, as they say, not all things can stay great forever. Then one day, the crops began to die off all across the land. The people had no idea what was happening, fear and doubt was working its way into the collective psyche. Erin, whom was already quite frail, came down with an affliction. The doctors that came to see her were bewildered by her condition, as it wasn’t just the normal passing of time on her and it wasn’t anything else they had seen before.

The townsfolk took this as a serious omen and convince themselves that the failing crops and Erin’s malady are connected. Rumors began spreading all around the village and with each retelling become more and more blown out of proportion. Within days most of the residents believe that Erin is a witch and she is causing the crops to fail as she is passing. In the middle of the night the villagers formed a mob and with pitchforks and torches assembled in front of their home to satiate their aggressions and fears.

-V-

Read Part 2