424: Irish legends: Out of Time

Quick disclaimer, there's a little bit of sad dog stuff this week. It's a little bit hyper-violent, and I learned a long time ago that people have a real issue with dog stuff. So if you'd like more info on that, please see the post on MythPodcast.com, linked in the show notes, for more info. This week on Myths and Legends, it's the story of O'Sheen from Irish folklore. And we'll see that evil wizards are evil, and that there are no wingmen like your dog cousins, who will literally hunt down the love of your life. The creature this time is that little naked man who will eat your brain. This is Myths and Legends, episode 424, Out of Time. This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore. Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins. and others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen. Today, we're back in Irish folklore, and we're telling the story of Oshin. It's part of the legends of Fionn Macul. We told the origin story of Fionn a long time ago, in episodes 95a and b, but Fionn Macul is a legendary Irish warrior whose stories take place in the 3rd century. Fionn, now an adult, leads the Fionna, a band of heroes, as they travel the land fighting and feasting and repelling invaders. We'll jump in, not in the time of heroes and monsters though, but 300 years later, with two old men sitting in a monastery. Thrilling entry point I know. Two old men sat by the fire in the monastery, in what was otherwise a cold and drafty room. One was the leader of the monastery and several others, a man of some fame, the future saint named Patrick. The other had a story to tell. He said he knew of the old days and the old ways. Some of the people said troubling things about this old man that sat across from Patrick. He needed to see if there were any truth to his words. I knew Fionn McCool, the old man said. feeding the fire in the damp stone room. Patrick felt the growing blaze warm his skin. Patrick said that there weren't too many people that knew the legends of Fionn McCool. But also, that's impossible. Fionn McCool, if he lived at all, died nearly 300 years ago. If he lived at all, now who's speaking lies? The old man laughed. No, he shouldn't call the man a liar. He was only speaking to what he thought he knew. It was merely ignorance. Patrick pursed his lips and rose, but before dusting himself off, the old man waved, sorry, sorry, he should hear what the old man had to say, his tale. That's all we leave behind, isn't it? Our stories told by the people who knew us? Soon I'll be gone, too, along with my time. You're the future, he said to the man with no small amount of distaste. There was something about this old man, a pull. Something Patrick could feel still existed in the world, but had faded. Patrick sat down, and the old man began the story of Fionn McCool and his son. Fionn McCool looked at the hunting dogs, licking the doe, a deer, a female deer. Um, Fionn said, and then cleared his throat. a hay. His two dogs looked to him. Well, it's a bit misleading to call Bron and Sheoling his dogs. They were dogs that hung out with him and liked to hunt with him, but not hunt for him, because they were actually his cousins. Their mother, Fionn's aunt, long ago had been traveling and a queen annoyed by the young woman's beauty turned her into a dog. The issue? She was pregnant with twins, so as she retained her intellect, so did her puppies and sons, Bron and Shuling. The mother was adopted by Fionn's family before she gave birth, and while the curse on the boys couldn't be lifted, they didn't seem to mind. For any other dogs to lay down on the soft grass with the quarry, the deer, and lick her neck and face would be weird. With these two, it was saying something about this deer. It was also a little weird, though. All right, I don't know what's going on here, and I really don't want to, Fionn said, but it was gross. The deer was really sticky with dog spit, and deer have lice to let just go. Hi, strange deer, we're not gonna hunt you. You can go home now, whatever that looks like for a deer. But as the dogs listened to their cousin and joined him for the walk back to their fort, the deer stood there and then trotted after them. Is she still following us? Fionn asked. Bronn looked back. Don't look right after I ask you something. She'll know we were talking about her. Fionn barked. The dog snorted and scurried up ahead. They were almost to their fort and Fionn said it. Hi, deer. Yes, it really wasn't safe. Sorry, he had been out hunting with his group of famous warriors and either they were inside the fort or very close and they would not stop until she was dead. But the deer kept following. Annoyed that he had to knock a warning arrow, Fionn spun around to see her. Not the deer, well, absolutely the deer, but in her true form, the one she had been born with before she was cursed. Hi, Fionn said. Hi, the woman smiled. and she and Fionn started making out. So it turns out she didn't want to marry a wizard and so she was turned into a deer, Fionn said to his dog cousin three months later. Also, sorry I've been occupied for the last few months. I actually really can't hang out long. I just came out to hydrate. Hey, have you seen the guy who has been bringing us our meals? The dog exhaled hard and tossed his head back over his shoulder to one of his warriors, a member of the Fiona. I kept your servants, the man declared. You've been too long. You've been going to neither the fight nor the chase, and you're lost to all your former amusements. So deep in love are you with this princess. Sav, her name is Sav, and I forgot real quickly. What's my name? Fiona asked. The warrior said Fionn McCool. And this elite fighting force, what's it called? The Fionn? All the answer I needed, the man admitted. All the answer I needed, Fionn said, before turning back to the room where his wife slumbered. The Scandinavians, the Northmen, they've landed at Howth, which is a village on a peninsula east of Dublin, I know, Fionn groaned. Could they just like, I don't know, maybe let the Northmen have this one? What could be the danger of just, like, letting him settle a little bit here and there? You want to go ask the British how that movie ends? Be my guest. The warrior pointed over his shoulder. Fionn groaned. All right, he would go repel invaders from the north from Dublin, but he wasn't gonna like it. Honestly, as far as campaigns go, not that bad. Fionn said. Things went well against the Scandinavians in that it went very badly for the Scandinavians, but now, now it was husbanding time. Fionn looked to the field. There had to be a better way to say that while still remaining family friendly, but his musings were broken by the wailing. Oh, hey, whoa, what's up? Fionn said to the farmer couple that broke into tears upon his approach. It's okay. We won. Those guys won't trouble us for, I don't know, three weeks? It's the Viking age, and they always seem to be popping up somewhere, those sneaky, yelly, muscly guys. Fionn wasn't one for consoling, obviously, but that might have just been because the Vikings weren't the problem. We tried. We tried everything we could. We all joined in a force, but he looked just like you, the farmer said, and they were gone in an instant. The smile dropped from Fionn's face, and he galloped for his fort. There, he learned what he feared most. He, Fionn, had returned, weeks ago, singing a song that he was famous for, flanked by two dogs that looked like his cousins. He fooled everyone, even Sav, who came out, her face light with joy, until she got close. She had been running for his arms, but she stopped mere feet away. It wasn't Fionn. It was him, the wizard, the one who had demanded more of her than she wanted to give, and, when she had refused, turned her into a doe. The wizard was close enough to tap her with his hazel wand, and, where she stood, a doe took her place. The deer tried to return to the fortress, but a large, otherworldly hand appeared behind her, wrenching her by the neck and throwing her away. As the guards armed themselves and got to their horses, and the people picked up whatever cudgel they could use as a weapon, the wizard dragged the doe. Well, seven wizards dragged seven does, the guards splitting up to chase each one, each one turning to smoke miles away, the real ones having slipped away in a different form entirely. She's gone, Fionn, his friend explained. Fionn buried his face in his hands. 14 years. If the warriors thought him taking a few months for a honeymoon was bad, he took 14 years to mourn her. 14 years without a word. He would still ride out before them in battle. But upon his victorious return, he would either go back to his quarters or strike out on another hunt with the hounds that could be trusted not to harm her. At the end of the 14-year period, Fionn could see the truth. She wasn't coming back. Despairing for her and hoping she wasn't in the thrall of an evil wizard, Fionn allowed some normalcy to return to his life. He began taking a meal here or there down with the men and let a few of his more trusted warriors join him on his hunts, which he did with a more appropriate frequency than every waking moment. It was on one of those hunts that he heard a familiar whine, his dog cousins. Galloping off and outpacing both men and the dogs, he arrived at a clearing and saw them licking not a deer, it was a young man. A naked young man whose wild hair covered him from head to foot. More dogs arrived and surrounded the young man, but he didn't flinch. He met eyes with Fionn, and Fionn saw her, or some version of her. With a whistle, he silenced the dogs, and, getting down from his horse, addressed the young man, How old are you? The kid didn't know, but he didn't look like he could be much older than 14. Fionn took him back to camp and clothed them, and after devouring lunch, the kid told the man life as he knew it. Up until a few weeks ago, he had lived in, well, like a basin, a flat area, a grove, surrounded completely by cliffs, so he couldn't escape. His earliest memory was of that place. He didn't know who left him there, but he was grateful for the deer. He had Fionn's attention, and the man listened with an intensity he reserved only for life and death conflicts as the kid continued. A doe raised him and provided for him from his earliest years. She gathered food and they appeared to be the only two beings in the basin. Well, most of the time. Sometimes a man came. He had a sinister face and the deer hid from him and he would spend a day hunting her. The boy too ran and he never heard what was said. But the man always went away in great anger. That is, until a few days ago. That time he arrived with purpose. One moment they were alone, the next he was there. She couldn't run. He touched her with his wand, and she obeyed, but not without fighting. The boy screamed after the deer that had taken care of him his whole life and picked up one of the stools he had made to attack the man, raising it above his head and bringing it down on the stranger. The wizard merely held his wand aloft and met the wooden stool in midair. It and the boy, frozen an instant and stopped cold. The boy dropped to the ground and, out of the corner of his eye, because his eye was all that could move, he saw the deer being dragged away. When the man and the deer were far enough beyond his sight and his hearing of the deer shrieks the basin the place he had spent his whole life simply disappeared He was lying out in an open field. He remained that way until the dogs woke him this morning, and miraculously, he found that he could move again. Fiume McCool rested his hand on the boy's shoulder, saying that the boy didn't need to worry. He may have lost a home today, and a friend, but he had gained one as well. For as long as the boy cared to remain, he could join the Fionna. You shall be called Oshin, Fionn declared. It meant young dear. He didn't say it, but Fionn knew. Knew that he had just met his own son. No, I'm not going to ask him that. Finn whispered surreptitiously to the dog at his side, while Oshin rose to grab a drink. The dog barked. I don't know why he was born to a deer and came out human and you were born to a dog and came out a dog and I guarantee you he doesn't know either. I thought you liked being a dog, Fionn whispered. The dog barked and whined. Well, that sounds like something you need to work out, Fionn shook his head. Sorry, were you saying something? Oshin said upon his return. Nope, definitely not talking to your great cousin who's a dog, Fionn grinned. What? Oshian asked. What indeed, let's go get you a sword or something. Fionn rose and took his son to go get a sword. Or something. We'll see how the dear boy gets along in his new home, but that will be right after this. starting a business means wearing many hats designer marketer manager while chasing your vision shopify powers millions of businesses with tools to build beautiful stores create content and market with ease from inventory to shipping everything runs smoothly if you're ready to sell you're ready for shopify sign up for your one euro trial today at shopify.nl that's shopify.nl Vezurde kuiten, brandende longen, verkleumde vingers. That is how you at least start your electric Ford Explorer again. To get it all up again. Ready with a drive-in to 602 kilometers. And virtually from 212 euros per month. Book now your proofreads on Ford.nl. Ready, set, Ford. powers millions of businesses with tools to build beautiful stores, create content and market with ease. From inventory to shipping, everything runs smoothly. If you're ready to sell, you're ready for Shopify. Sign up for your 1 euro trial today at shopify.nl. That's shopify.nl. Verzuurde kuiten, brandende longen, verkleumde vingers. That is how you at least get into your electric Ford Explorer again. To get on again. Ready with a drive-in to 602 kilometers. And virtually up to 212 euros per month. Book now your proofreads on Ford.nl. Ready. Set. Ford. required, availability, speed, and coverage varies. See mintmobile.com. Fionn did tell him the truth about his mother, in bits and pieces. To do it all right then, on the day that it happened, that would have been too much. And O'Shion was a quick study, wanting to ride and track, and he left with his dad and great cousins on long hunts for his mom. But no matter how hard they looked, they never saw Saav again. Oshin became the best of the Fianna, his father's warrior band, and while there was never any real danger of his legend eclipsing his father's, his tale and words of his deeds grew nearly as tall in stature, even as Oshin grew taller than the man. Fian was proud. When they had a moment, they hunted. They knew, nearly 20 years after Fionn had seen her, and 6 years after O'Shian had, there was no real hope. On some level, it turned into an opportunity for father and son to spend time together, apart from the duties that pulled Fionn in countless directions. The more O'Shian thought about it, the more he hunted deer and heard their cries toward the end, the more he believed his mother had died that day, the day he had been freed. It was a testament to how tragic the situation was, that this was the best hope either of the men had. One day, on an unsuccessful hunt for both Sov and anything else, father and son sat on a hill overlooking Lock Line. Then they saw something, someone, emerge on the water over by the sea. A woman with curled hair, wearing a white gown, stepped down from the horse she had ridden. Machine looked to his father in anticipation, but after squinting at the stranger by the lake, Fionn shook his head sadly. Fionn McCool? Stay here, Fionn said. She was clearly not from around here. Oshin's mother had been from the other world, so had her kidnapper, a servant of the fairy queen. They were a strange and dangerous people. Oshin watched his father descend the hill, surreptitiously tucking a dagger in his belt at his back. Oshin watched for about 20 seconds, and followed. I'm not here for you, he heard the woman say. What do you mean everyone's here for me, Fionn laughed. You are a little old for me, the woman smiled politely. She crouched behind a bush as he heard his father explain that, well, based on the social customs of the time and his standing in society, this type of match was more than... I'm not in love with you, the strange woman cut him off. He thought about it. That's okay. He wasn't expecting that, but maybe in time she could come. Let me be clear, she said. I'm in love with your son. Which son? Fionn asked. He did have more than one son, but I bet you can guess who the strange woman was in love with. And so did Oshin, who emerged from the bushes the moment she said his name. And in that moment, he loved her too. She was radiant and glorious, and he was instantly entranced the way her face lit up with a smile when she laid eyes on him. She said she was from Tirnanog, the land of youth. Her father wanted her to marry, and the only man she wanted was him. How? Fiona asked, and she explained, though not as an answer to him. Word of Oceania's deeds had traveled all the way to her land, and she pressed every traveler for every bit of news on him. He was brave, he was kind, he was handsome. She told her father she would marry no other man on earth. Oshien, Fionn called out as Oshien stepped forward toward the stranger. For all they knew, each word was a spell cast on him. The woman turned back to Fionn. She said she knew about Fyrdor, the wizard who took Sav. She also knew about Sav, and she could only imagine how happy they had been together, even if only for a short time. Assuring the great warrior that she loved his son nearly as much, would he deny them that same happiness? Fionn relaxed. He had no reason to believe this woman, this fairy, this thing, meant well. But he did see the look on his son's face. His son who was now a man and what was being a parent, if not preparing our children for a world without us. And each word was a spell, but it was one that was both entirely mundane and the most magical thing Oshion had ever felt. It was love. She stepped away and mounted her horse again and turned, extending a hand to Oshin. Oshin stepped forward, but then he looked back. Before him was this beautiful fairy woman offering to take them to the land of youth. Behind him was his father and his people. Before hope, behind pain. Still, he lingered. What are you standing there for? Fionn smiled at his son as his cousins waddled forward for some last-minute goodbye pets. I met a woman like her and, even with everything that happened, even with all the pain and tragedy, I never regretted it for a moment. Go. Oshian flew to his father and hugged the man who tousled his hair and gave him a shove. Let me know when the wedding is, okay? Fiong yelled out through a grin, looking off to hide his tears. Oshian mounted the horse behind this beautiful fairy woman, Neve of the Golden Hair, one of the daughters of Mananam Maglir, and, after a brief glance to his father, sitting next to his dog cousins, tears snaking down the man's face, he looked forward to her and the life that awaited them both. They rode west on the waves until, out of sight of Ireland and everything else, the sea parted before them and pillars rose to their sides. As they rode down to the strange land somewhere between ours and the other world, Oceans saw grand palaces and cities and castles. Sunlight, somehow, shined above them, and there, under the water, yet in another world entirely, the rolling hills stretched on for miles. And to kind of undercut our grand journey, not quite to Tirnanog, but not not there, there was a bit of an awkwardness, because humans, even in abundance, can still find ways to be terrible to each other. A local king was pestering a queen, laying siege to her lands, until she consented to marry him. The king should probably look up the word consented. He didn't get the chance though because Oshin, maybe wanting to impress his new betrothed, maybe wanting to see how tough the guys in the land of youth were, cut the guys head off in a duel. To the king's credit, the battle was three days long and Oshin nearly died, no small feat in the land of youth. At the end of it, he was lauded as an even greater hero than he was celebrated to be. When he healed, they traveled deeper, all the way down into what was truly the land of youth, where every tree was in bloom or laden with fruit, and on either side, beautiful knights and maidens waved and called out his name in celebration. Oshian gripped the waist of Nave as the horse galloped, taking him to his new home, Tirnanog, the land of youth. We know the story, or they do. Patrick, back in the monastery, gestured down, referring to the monks. The old man in the room took a drink from his water skin and smiled. Did they now? Yes, for as the old stories go, Oshin went off and traveled beyond the sea, or into the sea, he still lives down there. And what do you believe? The old man asked. I, honestly, it... Patrick sighed. It's nonsense. It's all a fairy story. What if I told you there was more to this story? The old man asked. But before the future saint could reply, he continued his tale. Oshian had a hundred swords, though no reason to use them now. he was in the land of youth, where honey and milk was abundant as the fruit that fell from the trees, and he was welcomed like a king. The king of the sea greeted him with a firm clasp of his arm and an embrace, and he was shown his dowry. A hundred cows, a hundred sheep with golden fleece, a hundred steeds, cloaks, hounds, and coats of mail, and a hundred, quote, maidens, young and fair, to wait on him for the rest of his days. The greatest gift of all, though, was time, life, The land of youth wasn't just a metaphor or a name. While you were there, time stopped, and youth returned even to the oldest of bones. Oshin wasn't old, but in this land, he didn't grow weary. He wasn't even hungry, though he could still enjoy food and drink. And he did. His wedding ceremony to Nave lasted ten days, and the whole land celebrated with the couple. So how does this work, Oshina? three years later. He noticed that his children, both of them, while they were both growing older, yeah, it's the land of youth, not the land of babies, Niamh said, as the nurse holding their girl named, quote, Flower of Women, walked with her son, Oscar, gripping her finger. Somehow, it had been three years in this glorious land, which felt impossibly long to have been away from home, his old home, Ireland, and yet no time at all. Oscar had been born nearly a year after arrived, and Flower of Women, apparently pronounced pleurnumant, arrived soon after. Day and night seemed different here There was no want no exhaustion or fear It was perfect Yet you thinking about him again Niamh noticed that faraway look on her husband face He had long since given up denying it. In the past few weeks, he had been thinking of his father, how the man would love, after everything they had been through, to hold his grandchildren. Absolutely not, Niamh had said. And he agreed. The crossing was too dangerous for the children. But at least he could know of them, hope to see them again. Niamh said that Fionn did put himself in needless danger to gain renown. O'Sheen laughed that, well, it was the Middle Ages, babe. Needless danger was kind of the default. But he understood her worry. She lived here in this beautiful land where everyone lived by elf rules from the Lord of the Rings. They couldn't die by old age. He had survived and thrived in medieval Ireland. He fought so many Vikings. He would be fine. Besides, he could take the horse they rode on the trip here. It was fast and strong. She, Niamh, looked to the ground. She had a hard time communicating this. But Ireland, it might not be as he remembered it. He said it was fine. He could handle anything. He took her into his arms. This was the side of him that she loved, right? The confident, powerful side. the one that drew her from the land of youth to find him in Ireland. She smiled. Okay, he could go. Then she paused, like there was something she was going to say, but held off. Instead, she said, Okay, I mean this, and I'm serious. You are from there, but you've been here for a while now. You need to be careful when you go back. When have I ever not been careful? O'Shine smiled. You literally just talked about how you had fights to the death with Vikings. Niamh pointed out. Well, okay, yeah, those were pretty dangerous, Oshin admitted, and went to go get the horse ready. We'll see what Oshin finds back in Ireland, but that will, once again, be right after this. Starting a business means wearing many hats. Designer, marketer, manager, while chasing your vision. Shopify powers millions of businesses with tools to build beautiful stores, create content, and market with ease. From inventory to shipping, everything runs smoothly. If you're ready to sell, you're ready for Shopify. Sign up for your 1-euro trial today at shopify.nl. That's shopify.nl. how you at least get into your electric Ford Explorer again. To get it all up again. Ready with a drive-in to 602 kilometers. And virtually up to 212 euros per month. Book now your test on Ford.nl. Ready. Set. Ford. Starting a business means wearing many hats. Designer, marketer, manager. While chasing your vision. Shopify powers millions of businesses with tools to build beautiful stores. create content and market with ease. From inventory to shipping, everything runs smoothly. If you're ready to sell, you're ready for Shopify. Sign up for your one euro trial today at shopify.nl. That's shopify.nl. the trip took like i don't know 20 minutes before unless you count me stopping off for like a week and a half to fight a giant and almost dying which he will not do neve smiled to the kids and then turned to Ooshien with a look that said, Right? Which I probably won't do, yes. Alright. Bring it in for hugs. Ooshien held his arms out and the three came in for an embrace. Niamh said the sea would part for the horse, so this was very important. He must not lose the horse. Don't even step down from it. Okay? Got it. Don't get off the horse. I won't. I know where my dad's house is. It's all good. 20 minutes there, 20 minutes back and with a stop to see dad for let's say under an hour, give me an hour and a half total. O'Shian mounted the horse and, looking back once to see his children smiling and waving, he noticed Niamh besought with anguish, anxiety. He almost turned the horse around to ask what she wasn't telling him, but no, he was already on his way and she was just worried that he would love Ireland and stay or something, but she was wrong. He could never love anyone or anything more than Niamh and the children. She didn't know this, but this was the last trip home that he would make. Not knowing anything when he left his father, he wanted to say goodbye to him and Fianna, let Fianna know that he had a family of his own and that he, Hoshin, was gonna be okay. He sped off east toward Ireland. It didn't take much time at all, the horse's hooves kicking up a sea spray until they sunk in the rocky beach by the cliffs. He was about an hour's ride north of where he left his father, but luckily close to a road. The road was better? Great, actually? They had improved it in the three years since he had left. Galloping along, he was surprised by how much he didn't recognize. Hills and lakes all made sense, but the forests were sparse and decimated, and the homes were either gone completely or built near the ones he remembered, but not on the spots he remembered. There was enough of a forest to obscure the path up to his father's fort, that of the famous Fionn McCool and the Fionna, and as he rounded the corner and emerged into the gray, overcast morning light, O'Shean saw a hill. He spun his horse and looked, remembering the hills he had looked on as a boy. when he sat there with Fionn, when he learned the truth about himself, about his mother. It didn't register at first. He didn't feel anything until, seeing the sheep grazing on the far hillock, he saw a mother with her kid. It wasn't a deer, but it was close enough that he felt the weight of what he had lost. Not just a friend, not just a caretaker, but his mother. But he also felt the gratefulness for what he was getting, a father. Now, looking at that hill, the sheep and the shelter were gone. Shouts went up, and he rode to the other side of the hill to investigate. A group of, what are you, elves? O'Sheen squinted at the people. I'll have you know I'm the tallest man in this district, one of the bigger elves, furrowed his brow as he let down the rope. The other men groaned that if they didn't all help, they would never move this rock. Okay, that's hilarious, O'Shian said, looking at the dozen men with ropes wrapped around a big rock that had fallen from above and blocked the road. Hey, you little creatures, are you the... I don't know, my wife was telling me about these priest things? Are you those? O'Shian addressed the full-grown men. Tell me, where can I find Fionn McCool and his Fianna? I'm surprised they moved, must have been attacked by a druid or something for their castle to have been just ripped from the earth completely. Who? Another one of the men eased up on his straining against the rope to ask. That is even more hilarious. For real though, where is Fionn McCool? A sigh went up from an old man sitting on a nearby stump. O'Shian hadn't noticed him, but it was clear he had something to say. He's dead, the old man replied, or never existed. You'd be surprised how easy it is to move from one to the other. You think a man like Fionn would have been remembered by the whole world for all he did. Now, though, he's just half-recalled stories mumbled by firelight. He's my father. Oshin reached for his sword to answer the insult, but he remembered he didn't have it. At this, the old man laughed, but he could see that Oshin was serious, and the old man rose and studied the traveler. You're a big one, he said, not looking for a response. All... The man stopped and seemed to be taking each word, rolling it along his fingers and feeling the weight before he continued. They died, all of them. Fian McCool, Fianna, everyone, he said. How? O'Shin could see the man apparently knew something. He recognized that same reticence from his wife's face. He couldn't imagine anyone strong enough to conquer Fion, let alone the Fionna. At the road, the men got back to pulling on the boulder. They were conquered by the same enemy that's coming for us all, the old man said. Time. They died over 300 years ago. Oceania rule? No, that was impossible. But was it? Time, by its very nature, had moved differently for him over the past three years. He hadn't aged. How much of time passing was our perception of it? What was time when it became meaningless? When you didn't bottle and ration it, but let it flow past you like a river? Three years for him had been 300 years for Ireland. That's why the houses weren't in the same spots. the forests were more sparse. Not even the foundations of his father's fort remained. Men cried out, screaming and grunting from the road. Oh my gosh, it is one boulder weighing a metric ton. How many guys does it take to move it? Three? Oshim yelled out in frustration. He was trying to process the fact that his father and everyone he ever cared about had been dead for centuries, and these squat little creatures were angry about a boulder? You come from a different age, the old man said. The age of heroes, you can't blame them for the time they were born into. Oshin sighed. Okay, yes, he was right, of course. Mindful of his pledge to his wife to not leave his horse, and they were going to have a long discussion about the phrase, burying the lead, when he returned home, Oshin's horse trotted over to the work site. Okay, this is nothing, he said, and gave the boulder a kick, and it budged, but only barely. Earning the respect of the workers, who couldn't get the thing to move that much with all their power combined, O'Shean knew that he could do better. A funny story once, my dad had me drag these up a hill, or tried to. Anyway, I threw one into the sea. From here, this is nothing. He gave it another kick, this time sharper, and it rolled up about a half meter or so, and then rolled back, right into the divot it had made when it landed there a week ago. Alright, O'Shean had to think about this. Okay, okay, okay, okay. Got it. He looped a leg around and put one foot in a stirrup. Holding onto the horse's neck, embracing himself, he gave the rock a sharp, strong kick, and while he probably should have yelled first because it went tumbling down the hill, the men stood in awe of Oshin and his power. Then Oshin felt the snap. It would have been better described by what it wasn't. It wasn't anything. It wasn't support. It wasn't the foothold for his left leg so his right could kick. In a moment, Oshin was in the air. The next, he hit the ground. The culprit landed next to him. The saddle strap had snapped. The road was hard, but he had been hit harder. And he jumped up to catch the horse's reins, but found that he was sore. Far more sore than any fight or any training session with his dad. Two things hit Oshin at that time. The hand that stretched out for the horse was not his hand. It was wrinkled and bony. The arm sagged. He would have held two of his palms up to look at them, but something far more alarming was happening. The horse was getting away. It snorted and reared, leaping from Oshin and the workers that began to close in around it. It trotted back nervously before bolting. No! Oshin screamed, but the voice that came out was no more his own than the hands that held his weeping face. Back by the fire, the old man was serious now. The moment he hit the ground, all the years of Sheen had been away caught up to him. The old man took a stick. and moved a half-burned log onto the flame. The men were scared, and they scooped him up from the ground. I didn't even know where I was until I woke up here in a... Sorry, what do you call it again? Monastery. Patrick smiled. Right, and now you're telling me not only is my father dead, but he's in something called hell with the rest of the Fianna? The most generous, honorable men the world knew, and what's your generosity? O'Sheen said to Patrick, who laid one hand atop the other in the chair. O'Sheen had plenty to eat in the monastery. You gave me a side of beef last week I seen a quarter of a blackbird bigger than your side of beef and a berry bigger than your butter churn and an ivy leaf as big as your griddle Patrick said that he was willing to humor the man in his delusions but all that was patently ridiculous. Those were lies, and it was wrong to lie. O'Sheen sneered, and taking his cane, he hobbled from his quarters in the monastery, and straight to the stables. Eighteen months later, he walked in the door for lunch. A crimson splat hit the table and blood speckled the room. The feathers drifted down into the bowls of the brothers at their midday meal, who shouted despite their usual silence. Then they sat in awe of what O'Sheen, the young man who fell from his horse and became the old man they all knew, with all the great stories, sat enjoying a berry, a berry the size of a butter churn. He waved for a cook and asked if the man could put this bird on a spit. It shouldn't take long, it was just a blackbird. One of the monks ran to get Patrick. So, don't do this, it's horrific. When Oceania left the room, he went to find a serving boy and gave him a gruesome task. Find a fresh bullskin and nail it to the wall, then throw puppies at it. When one puppy wasn't willing to fall but hung onto it with his teeth, that was the one. Raise him in the dark and never let him taste blood or see daylight. If that sounds harsh, well, at least he wasn't drowned like all the other puppies. While the dog was being raised in the dark, and when he wasn't at work on his other tasks, Oshin went to work studying the maps, and on the day of the hunt, he went to a lonely lake in a valley where, counting paces from this stump or that tree, Oshin found the rock. Amazing the serving boy, when he lifted it with a hand, Oisin sighed, seeing the sharp sword, the rusted iron ball, and the horn. The horn of the Fianna. My thousand farewells to the day you were put here. Oisin choked back to tears and pulled the items from the hole. The serving boy next to him, Oisin smiled. This had been the horn of the Fianna, and despite what the monks and the so-called kings say, there were still wondrous things in this world. You just had to know how to call them. O'Shean blew the horn and, in an instant, the clouds grew dark. But not with rain, with shadows. Hold on to the dog. Those are the small ones, O'Shean commanded. As birds the size of dragons flew over them, it was in answer to the third blast that they let Little Bron, what O'Shean had named the dog, go. And he chased the shadows until they settled down in a valley, with O'Sheen and the serving boy following after Bron. When they found him, the other two birds had departed, and Bron stood next to the mauled corpse of the giant bird. Iron ball, now! O'Sheen waved his hand as the dog, still frenzied from the hunt, noticed them and charged, but the boy could barely lift it. O'Sheen swore and took the ball himself, throwing it at the dog. The animal skidded to a stop mere feet from them, and O'Sheen Oshin stepped over what remained, drew his sword, and went to work cutting the bird into quarters, finding in its stomach the berries and leaves he knew would be there. Oshin strapped the bird meat to his back and returned to the monastery. And you know, Patrick of the Bells, Oshin said, that I told no lie, and it is what kept us all through our lifetime, he said, truth that was in our hearts, and strength in our arms and fulfillment in our tongues. You told no lie indeed, said Patrick with a nod. I used to sleep out on the gray mountain with my father and his men. The machine sat facing the open window. His eyesight faded and he now only saw broad colors and light and darkness, living seemingly completely in his memory. Over the last few years, while his time away caught up with him, he told the stories. First to the monks, then to the town. Stories of an age of heroes. One that would have been lost, if not for Oshun. They're gone now. To me, it feels like it was three years ago that I was hearing the beautiful songs of the Fianna, O'Sheen muttered in his chair. Patrick, sitting behind him, said they had songs now, better songs, that praised God. O'Sheen sighed. Those were the songs of clerks, for a world of clerks, nothing compared to the songs of heroes. So real quickly, the dialogue between St. Patrick and O'Sheen is not historical, it's literary, originating in the 13th century. It explores the tension between a Christianized Ireland and its violent, heroic, mythical past. When it comes down to it, it's two old men bickering about the world. With each paragraph, Hoshin has a mean nickname for Patrick, and while he recounts the past, he does tend to over-idealize. For example, saying that his son Oscar could fight the Christian god and win, and then he would have respect for Patrick's faith. His main point, though, is that while the values were different, they didn't sit and contemplate the flowers of the trees and the god that made them, but instead overthrowing fighting men and defending countries and bringing Fionn's name into every part. They enjoyed courting, playing, hunting, bearing his banner at the first of a fight, and playing at chess and swimming and looking around in the drinking hall. Honor, love, generosity, they took different forms, but it was there. Patrick, for his part, very much wants to convert Oshin and save him from the fires of hell, but does so by talking about how bad his dad was in rejecting a faith he didn't know about at all and how his dad and everyone he had ever loved were currently burning. O'Shean saw any acceptance of Patrick and his faith as forsaking the Fianna and a strong but weakening old man sat before the window, recounting a time when he defied his father. It was when he was younger, just after finding out about his mother. His father wanted to build a tower and commanded him to drag the stones. That, though, was servant work. He was a newly minted son of a king. He wouldn't drag stones. His father, though, didn't rage. He said, simply, that O'Shean would drag stones before his death. He turned to face Patrick. At that time, O'Shean thought it was a metaphor or a lesson, that one had to put in the hard work of the lowest servant and understand it to be a good leader. But now he thought it was something more, like a prophecy. Did Patrick know what he did to earn his meager portion here at the monastery? He couldn't see Patrick's glance down at the ground. Drag stones. Drag stones, not for my father or his towers, but for a monastery, for a faith I don't believe in, one that condemns my father. I'm old. I'm an old and broken man who can't swim with the heroes or feast or hunt. I drag stones for you, and I remember, but my memory brings sorrow. I am the last of them, the last remnant of an age that, save for my words, has vanished entirely. I'm an exile in my own land. Everything that gave me purpose and joy is gone. It's as withered and crumbled as my father's house, and yet I remain. Both men sat in silence for a long time after that. Yoshin took a deep breath, rose, and, walking past Patrick without another word, left. He had to go to work, moving stones. Real quickly, I've read that Oshian does end up converting. I did not intend on spending so much time with the Oshian-Patrick dialogue, so I didn't see anything like that. The versions I found just cut off with him having a really sad time. Anyway, there's a lot to unpack there. I put off doing this story because it's so similar to Yurashima Taro, one that we did very early on, and to some extent ripped Van Winkle, But aside from the central premise, if you take into account the legendary beginnings and the sorrowful meditative ends, there was a lot more here than I had any idea. And a lot of cultures in the Middle Ages tried to reconcile their past with their Christian present. In Norse myth, they pay lip service to their faith and said, oh yeah, these are stories of human kings, not gods. And then proceed to describe the Norse pantheon as literal gods in every work. For Britain, they sort of retcon Arthur as a Christian king by sprinkling in some mass here and there and then just kind of tell the stories like they wanted to, tacking on a search for the Holy Grail at the end. Dante Alighieri puts Virgil and the other, quote, virtuous pagans he idolizes in Limbo, where they can hang out and talk philosophy and literature and stuff, an area that's technically hell, but also just kind of, like, normal. Ireland is interesting because a lot of the folklore we have today is thanks to the Christian monks. And while you do have to look at it with some skepticism, they also seem somewhat agenda-free in how they copied it and preserved it. Maybe that's why there's such a stark dividing line between O'Sheen and Patrick. The Irish tales were not assimilated or sanitized, but remained their own strong reminder of the past that, apparently, still needed to be reconciled. I'll post the original. It's fairly sad. And I really do love how the story doesn't attempt to just hand-wave things away, or paper over anything. It says, yeah, there's a real divide here, and we don't know how to bridge it. The end. If you'd like to support the show, there's still a membership thing on the site and on Apple Podcasts. For less than the price of a pillow that sequins, but when you rub your hand on it, it becomes Nicolas Cage's face photoshopped onto a cat, which, yes, exists for some reason, you can get ad-free and bonus episodes that do the same thing as Nicolas Cage's face on a cat's body. Taking something old, maybe overdone, Nicolas Cage's face on stuff, and putting a new, weird, altogether unasked-for spin on it. Check out mythpodcast.com slash membership, or find us on Apple Podcasts for more info on the membership. The creature this time is the chanake, from Mexico. Little naked men who mess with people are, sadly, all too common in world folklore. And the Chanakai is no exception. They enjoy throwing rocks, breaking things, shaking hammocks, pulling dogs' tails, scaring farm animals, and stealing. Well, those who come in contact with humanity do. There are apparently two versions. A good-ish and a bad-ish one. The bad live among us. The good out in nature behind waterfalls. Even the good, though, still don't like coming into contact with people. And as a person who has contact with people, I get it. They'll maybe get people lost, but if a person means them harm, well, all bets are off. Do you like having a soul or a brain? Because in addition to buckets of water thrown in the air, more on that in a bit, the Chanake eats souls. If you try to hurt them, they'll kidnap you and steal your soul and or brain, keeping it in a jar in their house for later consumption. These creatures dominate wild animals and fish, not quite sure what that means, but how hard is it to dominate a fish, really? The ones who live in town have a different diet. One source says that people throw buckets of water into the air, and this was considered to be the Chanake's, quote, magic food. And you want to keep them happy, because while they might not eat your brain, they can still make you sick, or, with a wave of their cane, break up the clouds. While we're on the topic of Christianization, these creatures were, allegedly, co-opted by friars, who said yes, they were both real, and they were what happened to unbaptized children who died. So, convert today. Yikes. Beyond throwing a bucket of water in the air and not messing with them, if you happen upon a Chanakai in the wild, just ask for, quote, a virtue, like the power to heal the sick, and they will, apparently, grant it. That, or they will eat your brain. So, good luck. That's it for this time. Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser. Our theme song is by Broke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Combs. There are links to even more of the music we used in the show notes. Thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you next time. your vision. Shopify powers millions of businesses with tools to build beautiful stores, create content, and market with ease. From inventory to shipping, everything runs smoothly. If you're ready to sell, you're ready for Shopify. Sign up for your one-euro trial today at shopify.nl. That's shopify.nl.