[femmeInterrupted]

Center to the necropolis was the well of stairs, a masterpiece of engineering, constructed with a cylindrical base diameter of nearly 17 meters, with only the first 300 or so wide wedge steps visible as they form a helix that corkscrews downward past sight. The site itself was a dense manifestation of megalithic barrows, with nearly a thousand tumulus situated in clusters. The mounds of earth and stone are meters high, with varying diameters of 6 to 30 meters. The Cairns and mounds had kept the dead here for thousands of years, but Quinlan felt no reserve in lingering here. In fact, because of the uncompromising privacy the mounds and barrows gave her, the gravesite was one of her favourite places. Only her Móraí spent time here, Quinlan thought she enjoyed the quiet solitudes also.

In the closing dim of evenings, Quinlan would light small strips of cloth on fire, and send them cascading downward into the well, flickering tongues of fire that would illuminate the dark wet walls of the stairwell and create shadows that crept alongside the flame. Once, she had stolen an enormous length of twine from the keep, and tying a small wooden bucket to the end, and had lowered an apple down the confines. Feeding the rope down slowly, pulling each length through her trembling fingers, she fed it endlessly down until Quinlan had reached the end of the rope and could offer no more. The damp air swallowed her scream when after a pause; she felt a long and deliberate tug on the rope. Terrified, Quinlan resisted the urge to run and forced herself to calmly retract the bucket, reclaiming it empty of the apple, with a small obsidian stone in its place. Smooth and polished, the egg like shape felt cool in the palm of her hand, and Quinlan quickly closed her fist protectively over the offering, feeling strangely proud of her first trade and commerce.

Although over time, she had tied addition lengths of pilfered rope, forming a chain of knots, the bucket never reached bottom and the rope never sagged. Quinlan continued to send offerings down, always receiving something in trade. An ancient cowry shell with a hole carved through it, for a warm piece of bread wrapped in cloth. A small-petrified bird skull attached to a fine length of leather cord in exchange for a shiny bronze plate she’d pilfered from the cookhouse. A large thick oval Abalone shell, studded with 7 holes, it’s inside iridescent with silver, blue and green nacre for a small flagon of pilfered wine.

One year in celebration for her 8th birthday, her grandmother had presented her with a cake, made sweet from the rinds and fruit that grew in far away places, spiced with cinnamon and poppy seeds, a delicious honeyed confection. Carefully wrapping the treat in a thin cloth, Quinlan lowered the bucket slowly to it’s consistently heart lurching conclusion. The trade, her best yet, stared back at her with large unblinking dark eyes, tiny dark feathers framing a small flat head with ears that feathered upward, giving the creature a constantly quizzical look. The owl, calmly shuffled from foot to foot inside the womb of the bucket, tranquilly turning its head to follow her, despite her excited shrieking.

The owl, standing nearly two feet in height, she named Asio. Its large eyes, big head and short neck gave the creature a tubby appearance, and when it flew, its broad wings flapping with irregular wing beats, she gave the appearance of a bat or moth in flight. Asio’s bill was short, strong and hooked, her plumage a mottled tawny brown with a barred tail and wings. Her upper breast significantly streaked, and her strange yellow orange eyes were exaggerated by black rings encircling each eye, giving her the appearance of wearing kohl, and then finally a somewhat lavish display of large, whitish disks of plumage surrounding the eyes like a mask. Quinlan stared in wonder at the creature that had travelled up from the deep recesses of the well of stairs.
When she had returned with a tiny owl cupped in her hands and cradled against her chest, Móraí had simply said. Mostly, Móraí said nothing about her ongoing trade ventures, but would carefully and silently examine the treasures and trinkets that her granddaughter returned with.

“Well, you must have made some Imp happy to be given that creature!” Móraí finally spoke, after breaking from her work to carefully consider the remarkable trade.
She watched as her Móraí continued to use a mortar and pestle, as always making a salve or concoction for someone at the keep. She settled down on the soft fragrant rushes that lined their floor by the hearth.
“You must be careful and kind Quinlan” Said her grandmother, eyes on her directly as her old wrinkled hands worked from memory. “Birds such as these are from the Otherworld, granddaughter…they are creatures of flight, they are a bridge between worlds, between the earth, sky and the Underworld below…”

Just then the ruckus of cawing and flapping alerted them both that the Raven had come to the window, walking stoutly along the ledge, pecking at the corn and barley left for him, his sharp quick eyes taking in the feathered bundle on Quinlan’s lap. Móraí watched her granddaughter intently for a moment “You seem to be acquiring a collection of them, Quinlan…messengers bringing word from one world to the other…many see their mere presences as an omen, though whether fair or foul depends on the bird itself”
“I haven’t heard any messages Móraí” She answered truthfully.
Móraí nodded and continued to finish working on her remedy.

Móraí had a large sturdy stand created by some craftsmen, with a large rounded cage made of metal, with a permanent opening and no door or latch to close it in. Móraí explained that creatures such as these should not be controlled or kept confined, and needed to respond at will to their instincts. Móraí had the stand and cage situated by the large window in the tower she shared with her granddaughter.

During the day, Asio slept in the dim quiet confines of the tower room, her cage covered by a large soft pelt, that kept her comfortably in the dim, and by night, coming and going as she saw fit, hunting and often times bringing back a snatched hare, captured in the strong relentless grip of her talons, in offering.
So passed the time of Quinlan’s girlhood, with her two feathered companions on a tiny island at the end of the world. Her grandmother had sent for a tutor from far lands across the sea, who taught Quinlan to read and write in the languages that were required, Latin, Greek and Gaelic. The Phoenician, a small dark skinned man named Bathazar, possessed a quick wit and love of language, and stayed as a guest of her grandmother until Quinlan reached the occasion of her 12th birthday.

Her Móraí insisted she spend the mornings in pursuit of knowledge and study, which Quinlan, being of an inquisitive and bright nature enjoyed. But moreover, she enjoyed the afternoons, which Móraí also insisted she spend at the leisure of her whim, suggesting that all creatures needed freedom to engage in their own true behaviours and instincts. To mark the occasion of twelve successful years upon the earth, Bathazar gifted her with a dye and a cloak of Tyrian purple. He explained that the dye, a natural purple-red secretion that was produced by a species of predatory sea snails had been used since ancient times and was greatly prized because the colour did not easily fade, but rather, became brighter with the weathering and sunlight. Bathazar explained that the purple dye fetched its weight in silver, and was a status symbol used by the Imperial courts, and became a signifier of the nobility.

“But I’m just a girl!” Quinlan exclaimed, holding the vial of costly dye carefully in her hands. Bathazar exchanged a quick glance with her Móraí and nodded sagely in agreement.
“That you are, but a special girl none the less, and I think most befitting robes of purple and blue.”

So it came to be, that in the winter of her twelfth year, dressed in a gown and tunic of royal purple that shone with almost iridescent brightness in the sun, an extraordinary girl named Quinlan stood at the precipice of the well of stairs, and began her descent.