After the death of my wife I decided to roam
As too many memories lurked in me home.
Carrying all in a bag on my back
I headed up north, seeking untrodden tracks.
And up in the hills of bleak Wester Ross
Tried coming to terms with my anguish and loss.
Clouds falling towards me, thick mist below,
Wandering past patches of last winters snow.
I howled at the mountains, cursed through the straths
Let my feet wander, not caring the path.
Passed on my way a fallen place stone
Deep in a ditch, the colour of bone,
That read in curved script "Cnoc Na Sidhe"
The Gaelic of course, meant nothing to me.
I came upon ruins half buried in moss,
The only thing standing an old mercat cross,
And becoming aware I was losing the light
Decided to pitch up, and stay for the night.
Lighting a fire, I switched on my phone
Of course, no signal, I felt quite alone.
Mused on cruel Clearances, what must have been
Wished these stones could talk, tell what they'd seen.
Of course shadows can flicker, soft wind sound as voice,
Whispering and hissing round my bivouac of choice.
Still it made me uneasy, and without knowing why
I called my wife's name, and fell asleep as I cried.
Waking next morning, I mixed up a brew
Clinging like cobwebs, dreich haar blocked my view.
Looks like I'm stuck here, at least for today,
Might as well look around, make use of my stay.
There really wasn't much, some walls, a blocked well,
Near the mercat cross I stumbled and fell
Over heather hidden stones laid flat in a field.
Rattled, I scraped off the moss, and eventually revealed
"In memory of my lad", I swept weeds from the next:
"To my sweet lost lass" hair stood up on my neck.
The third "For my lost wife" also had more:
A crudely carved hill, cross on top, and a door.
And underneath the picture, a tear-anguished plea
"When the cross is broken, come back to me"
I'd had a Christian upbringing, and from deep inside my head.
I tried to recall the details of Christ's rising from the dead.
So not a door but open tomb, his cross upon the hill.
But why should the cross be broken? Again the creeping chill.
Shivering I rose, and made to go back to my tent
Pondering on the puzzle, wondering what it meant.
Not noticing from downhill, a strange ethereal glow
Filtering through the fog, reflected off the snow.
Birdsong fell silent, and mingling with the grey
A hooded figure seemed to float, and uttered one word "Stay."
Startled, I looked up, stammered "I'm just passing through.
If you're the local landowner, I've no quarrel with you".
"Tell me something traveller" trilled a melodious voice,
"I can take away your grief, just answer me your choice,
Will you stay inside our home, for one day and a year?
"This offer will be made just once, I wish to make this clear.
"If you take away my sorrow, will I forget my wife?
Forget all the memories of the best years of my life?
The joy, the love, the warmth, her smile, our togetherness?
Looking straight into my eyes, he simply answered "Yes".
"In time my grief would pass" I said," and about the three before
After going into your hillside, when did they leave your door?
"Those three we took to save their lives, they live safe with the Sidhe
But because of the religious symbol, cannot be set free..
Because when the black robed men preached we were superstition
Denying our existence through fear,hate and suspicion
Used an iron cross to block the hill,sole exit from our land."
No Sidhe or mortal could emerge, so remain within our hands.
But time flows soft within our realm, they have but aged a year
And of their mate and father, they have no memory clear."
"So centuries have passed, I said, and a year is but a day.
All they knew of life before, has long since passed away?"
But if you pass into our halls, you could teach them truth
And you could have another wife,a flaxen comely youth,
And two sweet children, now fatherless, to complete your family
What say you traveller, will you accept this offer made today?
Let me sleep for one more night, I'll answer with the dawn.
The decision is not easy, there,s much to mull upon.
I can't yet answer yes or no, for perhaps I'm only dreaming
Or griefs making me hallucinate, however real it's seeming.
"Your grief is strong emotion, and that's why I am here
Your love shone like a bright red flame,drawing the Sidhe near.
The past emotions in this village helped us to stay strong,
But when the factors cleared the land, ourenergy source was gone.
Without that fear and love and hate, the Sidhe have fallen weak,
We cannot touch the iron cross, and so your aid we seek.
But if you choose not to help, orsay you don't believe
This village will be your final stop, you will never leave.
For while we cannot hurt your flesh, the weather we control,
And hail and rain will weaken you, strong winds take their toll
Until you can no longer stand, and prone upon the ground
Snow and ice will cover you, your body never found."
The Sidhe seemed to dissipate, just echoes of it's voice
Leaving me to dwell upon both the threat and choice
That faced me here this very night, would eventually decide
The future that would become mine, if I lived or died.
I wandered to the cross bound hill,trying to find a way
To solve the problem facing me, and live to face the day.
Eventually it occurred to me I was not the only one alone,
The Sidhe that spoke was also trapped, alone outside the eldritch dome.
An idea was born, and clutching straws, I retired to prepare
A desperate plan to trap the Sidhe inside their earthly lair.
Donning all my waterproofs, feet and hand in Thinsulate
I struck camp, repacked my stuff,stealed myself to face my fate.
Dawn approached, and through the ruins, a figure floated near
The sun rose warm, but blood ran cold, as the voice rang out clear
"Traveller have you made your choice, tell me if you will,
Will you join us, soothe your sadness, bide within the hill?
Or will you face the weather's wrath, be lost forevermore;
Will the Sidhe again be free, the family three be four?
Putting a quiver in my voice, I speak; "My choice is made"
And moving towards the iron cross, shaking and afraid
Grasped it halfway up the shaft, begin lifting from the ground
The key that locked the faerie door, kept all inside the mound.
The grey one moved towards me, and stood beside the hill,
Sweat breaking out upon my brow, I heaved again until
The bottom of the cross rose free from the enchanted earth;
The figure gave an eerie laugh, though one bereft of mirth.
Step forward traveller, come with me, I will show your prize"
The grass and earth seemed to fold, and there before my eyes
An opening appeared, dark, with a pathway leading down
Down deep inside the hill. I stood back with a frown
Upon my face and said "Please go first as a guide,
My eyes cannot see in the gloom. The Sidhe floated inside.
I plunged the cross back in the dirt, blocking the magic door,
Placing iron hinges, found on a search the night before
To east and west of the upright, locking fast the portal
Trapping again all those inside, both human and immortal
Before the doorway vanished, a grey wisp and a spark
Jetted forth towards my chest, sunk in without a mark.
And a voice both low and rasping, spat the question "Why?"
Then cursed me with the promise "Grieving 'til you die"
I said this seemed the fairest way, that caused the smallest pain
You rejoin your kinfolk, and though locked in again
The family stay safe from the prying eyes and sadness
That they would surely have to face: this modern world's madness.
The Sidhe themselves, it seems to me, are better underground
For if I freed you to the land, I'm afraid you would have found
That no villages remain in these high mountain passes,
And sheep have no emotions, chewing on their grasses'
And weak with lack of energy, you could not roam far hence
As iron is all around you now, in roads and rails and fence.
Even if you did have my best interests at heart
It's not your world, but the modern one, of which I am a part,
And to which I must return, and start to live again"
A sibilant breeze seemed to hiss "Enjoy your life of pain"
The wind rose stronger, violent now, shrieking from all sides
But strangely did not shift the fog that cloaked the mountainside.
As the Sidhe had promised, water ice and snow
Battered down around me, as I prepared to go.
The night before I'd marked my path, showing the way I'd come
And following my markers, I started heading down,
Praying that my modern clothing, made for such a test
Would shield me from the elements, glad I'd bought the best.
The last time men had had to face this weather borne attack
Just sheep's fleece, plaid and leather were worn upon their back.
I placed my trust in fabrics new, and to the Sidhe unknown
Stout walking boots, warm underclothing, and apps on my phone.
But still there was no signal, and now a blizzard blew,
I had to get beyond fey reach before my tiredness grew.
As if I grew too weary, and had to rest my head
Chances are their plan would work, and I would end up dead.
So before it erased my markings, I trudged on through driven snow
For what felt like hours and endless miles, and still the gale did blow
But as I stumbled downwards, away from crueller heights,
The storm gradually abated and I emerged from fog into moonlight
Shining on the village boundary - that place stone on it's back.
And trying to ignore my aching limbs, ran headlong down the track.
Eventually a signal, and scrolling through my apps,
I opened up the compass, and those helpful well known maps,
Years have come and gone, my life has carried on,
Single, sad and grieving, I meet each passing dawn.
Weighed down by faerie curse I struggle through the day
Wondering if my choice was right, if there was any way
I could revisit those ruins, lost in Wester Ross
And would the Sidhe forgive me, if I again pulled out that cross.
The Bugle 