The Book of Dreams by O.R. Melling

Author:O.R. Melling
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: ABRAMS
Published: 2012-07-27T06:00:00+00:00

Are your horns the horns of cattle?

Are your ales the ale of Cualu?

Is your land the Curragh of the plain of Liffey?

Are you the descendant of a hundred kings and queens?

Is your church Kildare?

Do you keep house with Brigid and Patrick?

Jean looked at her dismayed. More riddles? But Dana understood the nature of the questions.

“It’s a greeting. He’s just asking if I’m Irish and what province do I come from.”

She answered the saint in the same formal manner.

“I am of Ireland and the holy land of Ireland. I am of the province of Leinster that is the plain of Liffey. But my companion is not. He is from—” She paused. What did the early Irish call the land to the west?—“An tOileán Ur,” she finished. The New Island.

The saint was satisfied with her response. “The giant declared you pilgrims, and the Second Sight tells me this is true. Are you practicing ban martre?”

It was Dana’s turn to be dismayed. She could translate the words literally but had no idea what they meant. White martyrdom? They obviously referred to something medieval that she knew nothing about.

Brendan saw her confusion and explained, “There are three kinds of martyrdom that pilgrims practice. In glas martre, green martyrdom, you become a hermit or ascetic. You give up the comforts and delights of life such as family, friends, food, drink. In derc martre, red martyrdom, you shed your blood in God’s name. A noble death. Ban martre, white martyrdom, is exile. You leave your home, perhaps forever, and journey for a divine cause.”

“You could say I’m in exile,” Dana said, thinking about both Ireland and Faerie, “and what I’m looking for, the Book of Dreams, is something special.”

“You are looking for a book?” Brendan’s voice was both astonished and eager.

With great excitement, he produced a jeweled box from his desk. Inside was a manuscript of fine parchment. The vellum sheaves were inscribed with gold orpiment and illustrated with ornate borders and drawings in colored inks.

“The manuscript is composed of quinions,” Brendan said proudly, “quires of five sheets laid on top of each other and folded. Hence a gathering of ten leaves makes twenty pages.”

Dana’s heart beat wildly. “Is it the Book of Dreams?”

She could hardly believe it. Her quest fulfilled! Just like that! But her joy was quickly dampened.

“No, my child,” he said gently. “It is The Book of Wonders. The very reason why I am on this imram, this voyage upon the sea which is also a pilgrimage. I will tell you my tale.”

As Brendan spoke, they followed his words through the manuscript, where pictures depicted what he described.

There he was, a younger man, the renowned abbot and founder of many monasteries. An accomplished sailor, he had already traveled to Wales, Scotland, and the Orkney Islands. One day he was doing his rounds in the great monastery at Clonfert, where three thousand monks lived under his rule. Psalms rose from the nave of the church. Pots and dishes clattered in the kitchens. Men delved with hoe and spade in the vegetable gardens.

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