Free Irish Fairy Tales by James Stephens Page B

beginning, for it is that perpetual beginning of the past that we call the future.
    Before he joined the Fianna he had been in love with a lady of the Shí, named Uct Dealv (Fair Breast), and they had been sweethearts for years. How often he had visited his sweetheart in Faery! With what eagerness and anticipation he had gone there; the lover’s whistle that he used to give was known to every person in that Shí, and he had been discussed by more than one of the delicate sweet ladies of Faery.
    â€œThat is your whistle, Fair Breast,” her sister of the Shí would say.
    And Uct Dealv would reply: “Yes, that is my mortal, my lover, my pulse, and my one treasure.”
    She laid her spinning aside, or her embroidery if she was at that, or if she were baking a cake of fine wheaten bread mixed with honey she would leave the cake to bake itself and fly to Iollan. Then they went hand in hand in the country that smells of apple-blossom and honey, looking on heavy-boughed trees and on dancing and beaming clouds. Or they stood dreaming together, locked in a clasping of arms and eyes, gazing up and down on each other, Iollan staring down into sweet grey wells that peeped and flickered under thin brows, and Uct Dealv looking up into great black ones that went dreamy and went hot in endless alternation.
    Then Iollan would go back to the world of men, and Uct Dealv would return to her occupations in the Land of the Ever Young.
    â€œWhat did he say?” her sister of the Shí would ask.
    â€œHe said I was the Berry of the Mountain, the Star of Knowledge, and the Blossom of the Raspberry.”
    â€œThey always say the same thing,” her sister pouted.
    â€œBut they look other things,” Uct Dealv insisted. “They feel other things,” she murmured; and an endless conversation recommenced.
    Then for some time Iollan did not come to Faery, and Uct Dealv marvelled at that, while her sister made an hundred surmises, each one worse than the last.
    â€œHe is not dead or he would be here,” she said. “He has forgotten you, my darling.”
    News was brought to Tlr na n-Og of the marriage of Iollan and Tuiren, and when Uct Dealv heard that news her heart ceased to beat for a moment, and she closed her eyes.

Then they went hand in hand in the country that smells
of apple-blossom and honey

“Now!” said her sister of the Shí. “That is how long the love of a mortal lasts,” she added, in the voice of sad triumph which is proper to sisters.
    But on Uct Dealv there came a rage of jealousy and despair such as no person in the Shí had ever heard of, and from that moment she became capable of every ill deed; for there are two things not easily controlled, and they are hunger and jealousy. She determined that the woman who had supplanted her in Iollan’s affections should rue the day she did it. She pondered and brooded revenge in her heart, sitting in thoughtful solitude and bitter collectedness until at last she had a plan.
    She understood the arts of magic and shape-changing, so she changed her shape into that of Fionn’s female runner, the best-known woman in Ireland; then she set out from Faery and appeared in the world. She travelled in the direction of Iollan’s stronghold.
    Iollan knew the appearance of Fionn’s messenger, but he was surprised to see her.
    She saluted him.
    â€œHealth and long life, my master.”
    â€œHealth and good days,” he replied. “What brings you here, dear heart?”
    â€œI come from Fionn.”
    â€œAnd your message?” said he.
    â€œThe royal captain intends to visit you.”
    â€œHe will be welcome,” said Iollan. “We shall give him an Ulster feast.”
    â€œThe world knows what that is,” said the messenger courteously. “And now,” she continued, “I have messages for your queen.”
    Tuiren then walked from the house with the messenger, but when they had gone a