Kismet

By Ronnie Sarkin

Sarkin’s unique 3-in-1 debut novel offers readers the experience to read about two lovers in a refreshing way. The stories not only alternate chapter-to-chapter from Fey and Adam in the 1200s and Kevan and Áine in the 1700s, they are also juxtaposed split narratives.

It’s 1238 in Carran County Clare Ireland and April is burnt at the stake for being a pagan priestess. Her little daughter Fey watches from the crowd, now an orphan. Fate would have it that Fey is adopted by the Reddan family whose son Adam falls deeply in love with her. Adam’s desire to protect and cherish Fey is threatened by the arrival in Carran of her estranged cousin Sylvan. Adam is extremely concerned. Will Sylvan lead Fey down the same dangerous path that ended her mother’s life. Is this her Kismet, her destiny?

Five centuries later Fey and Adam incarnate together as Kevan and Áine again in Ireland, which is now occupied by the English. Kevan becomes embroiled in the rebellion and is all consumed with their fight to evict their oppressors.  He ignores the danger he is in, leaving Áine worried about what their destiny will hold.

A story where misunderstandings are repeated, violence perpetuated and undying love threads it’s way across centuries. Lessons to be learned questioning our all too often superficial perception of life with insights into living during those historical times.

For deeper meanings including insights into karma and reincarnation hidden in the story, see the Author’s web site www.feyslamentation.com.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490745268

Ronnie Sarkin

Ronnie Sarkin is a man of many extraordinary talents, interests and passions. While he is an engineer and businessman, he is also a master diver, qualified game ranger, an author, a photographer and a spiritual seeker. But as a dedicated husband, father and grandfather, family comes first. Everything else follows. The same dedication flows into everyone and everything for which he has passion, including his writing. The Maya Trilogy is part of Sarkin’s passion for writing. He writes “Tales Along the Bumpy Trails,” a riveting collection of stories from his ongoing adventures in the African bush spanning many decades. Sarkin currently lives in the Cape coastal resort of Plettenberg Bay in South Africa and loves taking long walks along the lagoon at sunset.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

LIVE BAIT

O many a year, upon Shannon’s side,

They sang upon moor and they sang upon heath,

Of the twain that breasted that raging tide,

And the ten that shook bloody hands with Death!

The Siege of Athlone by Irish poet Aubrey de Vere (1814-1902)

Friday 19th July 1754, Athlone, County Westmeath, Ireland

The reality of the stake out was not as exciting as the expected prospects of quickly blowing up the tavern with English officers inside the building. Now into the third day, the pair was tired and frustrated, wondering whether they would even be successful. How much longer must we wait, complained Kevan. When do the English drink ale? Officers have more freedom than rank and file soldiers and are known for slipping out for a pint or two quite often. Where are they? When am I going to light this fuse and teach those bloody English a serious lesson? Three hundred years we Irish have suffered under their occupation. What is in it for them that they need to continue oppressing us?

Kevan and Seán were lying in the bushes near the tavern, out of sight, but able see the front door. Cold and uncomfortable with no respite from their long stake-out, their enthusiasm was waning.

Look some officers are coming, exclaimed an excited Seán. And quite high ranking ones at that. Two must be colonels looking at their brass and a major and a captain. Even just one of them would justify our mission but so many at once…. Shite, why are they hesitating? The one seems to be objecting. Surely he is not feeling guilty about slipping out for a drink? Oh no sweet Jesus, look! It’s your bloody girlfriend trotting up to tempt them into the pub no doubt. Seán was babbling on nervously. Gawd I wish I had a belle like your Áine. She is flirting with them and they will definitely succumb to such beautiful bait. She sure has a cheek, in fact two sexy ones, no four, continued Seán turning around to see Kevan’s reaction to his suggestive statement about Áine. What’s wrong Kevan? blurted out Seán seeing his friend and collaborator’s horrified face. Then realising the risk Áine was taking by volunteering to bait the officers into the tavern he asked Dammit Kevan, what are you going to do?

Kevan had a dazed, distant look in his eyes which unnerved Seán. In a hardened voice he replied, We will do what we came to do. We pledged to attack our enemy knowing the risks and have irrevocably committed ourselves to along this path. We cannot abort our dedication to the cause now."

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No protested Seán. She is not even my girlfriend and I cannot condone this.

Kevan looked straight at Seán. We have planned this for months, no years and never had such an excellent opportunity. How can we return to our group and face them if we are not prepared to endure sacrifices in the name of our sworn cause to expel our English oppressors?

This is Áine. Everyone loves her and would be horrified if we blew her up. It would be a murder, not a war casualty where enemy is killed. That is acceptable. This is not.

Kevan looked down, firm in his resolve. He could wait to see if Áine sneaked out, but the thought of taking out four senior British military officers was too compelling. A serene composure swept over him as he focused completely on his objective. He distracted his thoughts away from her and what her death would mean to him. This is the courage he had often wondered if he had. To be able continue in the face of extreme odds and not capitulate. To persevere when there seemed neither hope nor cause to press on. To single-mindedly pursue his objective like a famous leader. Alexander the Great successfully faced 200 elephants in The Battle of Jhelum against the Indian King Porus in Punjab, King Leonidas at Thermopylae kept hundreds of thousands of Persians at bay with only a few hundred Spartans, people who pressed on when losses were too painful to contemplate.

Seán was vacillating between running to the tavern and delicately extricating Áine without alerting the English or trying to ensure Kevan did not do something rash. As the seconds ticked by Seán felt Kevan had come to his senses and set off at a brisk pace to cover the 50 yards from their hiding place to the tavern. His hair stood up on his neck with fear sending a shiver down his spine. Was Kevan dedicated enough to take both him and Áine out? He hoped and then started praying that Kevan would be deterred further when he saw his best friend heading towards the incredible woman he loved with such passion and devotion. His response had shocked Seán. Kevan was behaving most irrationally when he was generally the most level headed of all of them. As a result he had become the leader of their clandestine cell’s objectives, the Defender’s dream of freeing the Irish from their English rulers. Where had this strange behaviour sprung from? So unlike Kevan, even if the prize was potentially the best they would ever have. He was almost at the steps of the tavern. Was that the smell of the burning gunpowder fuse wafting his way?

CHAPTER 2

THE PYRE

The position of the Christian peoples in our days has

remained just as cruel as it was in the times of

paganism. In many respects, especially in the

oppression of the masses, it has become even more

cruel than it was in the days of paganism.

The Kingdom of God Is Within You,

Chapter IX, Leo Tolstoy

Wednesday 28th March 1238, Carran, County Claire

Adam Reddan was struggling in his dream to remain airborne. He was floating along about 10 feet above the road in a bleak landscape at night. While it was a good feeling to be flying, it was taking so much effort. In the distance was a range of dark, jagged mountains but closer there was a stark tree and he was directly heading towards it. How much more exertion would it take to rise higher and clear the tree?

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But his concentration was being distracted by a knocking sound. It grew louder, was persistent and demanded his attention. The dream was fading although some memory of it would be retained. The insistent noise was replaced with a harsh, demanding voice.

The Bishop of Galway has commanded the villagers to all assemble in the square before dawn. Are you awake? Although early spring, the temperature in their wooden hut was still ice cold, especially shortly before dawn. Did you hear me? Answer! Adam wondered what had happened for the village to be summoned like this. Now, in the night and cold. Immediately. Must be something extremely serious. And would the Bishop himself here?

His father Hugh replied with a croaky voice, Yes, then cleared his throat repeating himself louder Yes, we heard you. He then fumbled for the flint to light some tinder and then to light a candle. A few scratchy strikes, some sparks, a small flame then a larger one as the candle started to burn. Adam lay there wondering about this strange summonsing for an enforced gathering of the whole village. Reluctant to rise in the cold, he lay there hoping it was just for the adults but Hugh instructed him in no uncertain way to rise with them. Come on Adam, you heard the man. We all have to go. Get up and put on all your clothes since it will be icy cold outside.

Unwillingly Adam rose and put on every item of clothing he had, which was not much. His straw mattress on the ground gave him marginal insulation so he was already cold. And an even colder feeling of foreboding seeped into his icy bones. Thin and gangly he had no padding to help insulate him from the frosty air. With his parents, they walked out into the bitter cold where other villagers were also emerging sleepily from their homes. As they walked towards the village square, Adam’s dream seeped back into his conscious. What did it mean? While the general consensus was that dreams were meaningless nonsense, Adam gave them more credence. Although young, he realised that they were somehow linked to his waking life. But as it was an intangible world, the same rules and laws were not applicable. He was beginning to formulate some understanding of its symbology, but it was still quite primitive. Surely, flying means rising up. That must be good. But it was dark and I was struggling to stay in the air. What could that mean? Life is difficult but with hard work, I can rise up, climb above the suffering most people seem to have? I hope so. His parents were simple people and he could not discuss these thoughts and theories with them. And at his young age, others would probably think him possessed with mad thoughts. Superstition was rife as people struggled to survive.

They were now at the outskirts of the square and Adam was distracted by the events, seeing people he knew arriving who were looking equally perplexed. Quite a few had already reached the square, grouped at the north end outside the Abbot’s house. Since the chosen hour was so inauspicious, one could feel how anxious everyone was in the anticipation of some terrible news. None of the usual crowd hubbub, just a sombre whispering as the small family approached the gathering with others about them also heading towards the Abbot’s house. He was the Abbot of nearby Kilfenora although he was born in their village of Carran, County Clare. Anticipating retirement in his home village, the Abbot had prepared for that day by building a house and establishing a small seminary. He wanted to be able to enjoy like-minded company of some learned priests rather than shallow interactions with local country bumpkins, which is how he thought of them.

Being young and short, as Adam approached the crowd he could barely see over everyone’s heads. The limited light was from two burning brands mounted on the Abbot’s house wall. Between the gaps he spotted a pile of logs with someone tied on top to a stake. Straining to see more, he was horrified at the prospect of what he realised they had been called to witness. Recently at the seminary they had covered heresy and the burning of witches. This had been merely another intellectual lesson of facts which he did not particularly relate to at the time. But now this was an actual event.

Who is that? asked Adam tugging on his father’s sleeve.

I don’t know. We will have to get closer.

Another gap appeared as people jostled each other and to his horror he saw the victim was April, his mother’s best friend and their neighbour. Stark dread flowed through his veins as he tried not to think of April being burnt to death. She was looking wild and dishevelled with her arms firmly tied behind her. Adam felt a physical force heave in his chest as he quailed at the impending vision that he would be forced to watch. His legs went weak and he grabbed onto his father’s arm for support. His father’s step had also faltered as the shock of recognition hit him with a force that felt more physical than emotional. Adam was too afraid to steal a look at his mother as she must have been staring at her closest friend’s face up on the mound of oil-drenched wood. The whispering subsided and an eerie, icy silence now permeated the air freezing everyone through to their visceral core.

Adam thought about April and how she could be accused of witchcraft. She attended the sick, helped with animal husbandry, counselled people with problems, shared her meagre food with hungry wretches and collected for the poor. This was a saint not a sinner. Everyone loved April. There must be a mistake. Hugh shuffled them towards the back of crowd. He was concerned that their close association with April may somehow taint or incriminate them with whatever they would shortly hear from the Abbot relating to the charges against April and her sentence. On the right, the sky started to pale as the sun crept slowly towards the horizon. A faint whisper from the villagers began again while they waited needing to express themselves cathartically in anticipation of the heinous event they had been summoned to forcibly witness.

Inside his house the Abbot waited impatiently for the sun to top the roofs to ensure that people could see the burning clearly. He had gone over the event, which he had witnessed a few nights before many times in his head. It was on the night of the Spring Equinox when returning home after supping on a nearby farm with some friends. There was April performing a pagan dance under the full moon. She was blessing the ploughed fields and orchards in the name of the Mother Earth Goddess for a rich harvest. A pagan here in his own parish right under his nose! How could there still be such heathen practices in the 1200s? It bothered him that such clandestine activities could still be practiced after Christianity had been around all this time. There must be some underground band of misguided people subverting honest Catholics. Decisive action must be taken with a clear message, not only for the people of Carran but words that would spread far and wide warning those similar pagan adherents who undoubtedly were glibly pursuing their idolatrous worship feeling immune from any retribution. The Bishop of Galway declined to be there although his presence would have sent out an even stronger message. After spotting April, the following morning the Abbot had made a quick trip to Galway and quickly secured the support and death warrant he needed; he returned the following day with troops to enforce April’s only punishment. Death! Death by fire. Death with the Bishop’s blessing.

The troops had quietly arrived during the night remaining just outside Carran so as not to alert the villagers. With just two troopers accompanying the Abbot they went to April’s home where she was arrested and taken to the Abbot’s house. While she protested her innocence, her primary concern was for her four year old daughter Fey left in the house, alone and in the dark with no one to care for her. So incensed was the Abbot at this woman undermining his flock with her idolatrous beliefs and ideals that he cared nothing for April’s offspring, who was a potential pagan herself, living in this distorted environment of strange gods. Remembering the series of events yet again, amplified by the dangerous import her actions represented to innocent Carran, his resolve to kill April tied to a burning stake before her villager friends remained validated with a feeling of complete justification.

At last the first rays of the rising sun reluctantly made their way across the roof tops wetting them with soft yellow streaks with its promise of a beautiful day, soon to be tarnished by another of man’s atrocious deeds in the name of the Lord. Adam suddenly felt a small cold hand slip into his larger one. He looked down stunned to see little Fey staring up at him with those dark, alert eyes, shivering in the morning air. He pulled off his coat and wrapped her with his thoughts reeling. She must not see this but the troops had encircled the square so they could not leave.

Where is my Mummy? whispered the sleepy little four year old Fey.

Thoughts now in turmoil, Adam was speechless. Where was his mother who would know exactly what to say, how to cope with what was coming and somehow prepare Fey? Having become separated from his parents in the jostling crowd, all he could see were the backs of the villagers facing the Abbot’s balcony, waiting for him to emerge. Realising it had become his responsibility he looked with new eyes at this little girl who had endeared herself to him with her warmth and fun-loving ways, often spending time with him as a result of the close friendship of their mothers. Adam finally made a decision. He lifted Fey and told her to look towards the burning brands of the Abbot’s balcony pointing out the mound of logs.

Can you see your Mummy there standing high up so she can go and visit God? explained Adam hoping this mite would make sense of what he was saying.

Why? was her simple reply.

Because God loves her and wants her to come home to Him. Fey started waving as her mother’s eyes desperately searching the crowd suddenly spotted Fey. Adam looked up and April gave him a hint of a thank you smile, being the only way she could communicate under the circumstances. Adam understood all the innuendos in the message encompassing April’s relief that Fey was with someone safe, that she would pass on knowing her best friend’s family would look after her young daughter. She took her final look at her gorgeous daughter with a little more courage to meet the Mother Goddess who had decided in her wisdom that it was time for April to return to her. April then straightened herself proudly against the ropes holding her head up high with tear-streaked cheeks, stoic in her belief and marginally relieved at seeing her daughter with Adam in her maternal love for little Fey.

Adam lowered Fey as the Abbot emerged. This familiar voice from the seminary droned across the square berating work of the devil manifested through God’s misguided children that must be purged before it surreptitiously and insidiously seeps through the land.

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After his rationalisations and pontifications which fell on deaf ears, too sympathetic towards the much loved April, the Abbot passed down a burning brand to one of his troopers wearing a black hood revealing only a pair of dull, detached eyes; eyes that had been witness to the impending death of so many of his victims. Most in abject fear, some whimpering, others screaming. There were protestors, others begging for mercy, those protesting innocence, cursing all and sundry or completely detached in prayer hoping for salvation after their impending death. He casually looked up at April who was unusually quiet. There he saw a proud face unafraid of death with deep eyes boring into his own. Feeling uncomfortable at what she appeared to be seeing inside him, the executioner quickly rammed the flaming torch into the base of April’s funeral pyre. Soon the crackling flames spread across the dry wood drenched in olive oil and fat dripping he had smeared on the logs to ensure a quick, roaring inferno. As the spluttering flame took vicious hold on the wood it could be heard across the silent village square. Not a murmur from the crowd. Fey was tugging Adam’s sleeve for attention to know what was happening. Morbid fascination attracted many eyes towards the growing flames. The Abbot had retreated into his house closing the door to stop the billowing smoke and smell from entering inside.

April had closed her eyes and seemed to be hyperventilating. Through the billowing smoke, this surreal scene was too remote from anyone’s experience to have a sense of reality. April inhaled and exhaled with her head tilted forward into the cloud of thick rising smoke. She breathed in as much as she could, inhaling the toxic fumes with spasms of coughing in an attempt to pass out from anoxia before the flames started cooking her flesh. From past experience and directives, the executioner would throw water onto a witch to prolong their pain and agony but the Abbot had retreated so he did not acquiesce to this standing order. Too many nightmares and sleepless nights had haunted his executions and he did not need to exacerbate this one. Adam could not watch and kneeled down next to the puzzled Fey. Although the troops had also been primed to ensure all the villagers watched the spectacle, they were equally revolted by the atrocity of burning a young, beautiful woman. Without the Abbot monitoring them, they would not enforce anything. Adam stole a glance and saw an unconscious April slumped forwarded against her restraints. Flames were leaping up and he jerked his head down again determined not to see the next part of the burning. However he could not shut out his other senses. A crackling sound started, obviously as April’s flesh started burning. The gentle morning breeze carried this sickly sweet smell of burning meat towards him. Nausea arose in his throat as he tried to shut out thoughts of dear April being charred. How else could he think of this but as a person being cooked alive? Adam then gave his attention to Fey who was staring around, fortunately unable to see the burning pyre over the backs of the crowd and oblivious of what her mother was experiencing in the fire.

You are up very early in the morning Fey. Aren’t you tired? asked Adam.

Yes, and I couldn’t find Mummy. acknowledged the drowsy girl. Adam noticed that people were now peeling off from the crowd with no one forcing them to remain. He quickly took Fey’s little hand and determinedly walked her home in silence, his head reeling from what he had just experienced. They went inside and he laid Fey down on his straw mattress on the floor and covered her with a blanket. Her eyes immediately closed as she mumbled ‘Mummy’ then reached out and pulled him down next to her saying she was cold. Totally bereft, Adam snuggled up next to her and quietly sobbed. Thoughts of poor, wonderful little Fey and the Abbot blindly pursuing this fatal admonishment of the town’s healer, comforter and pagan priestess who blessed their fields and flocks made no sense to him. She did nothing bad and he did not see it as being in conflict with whatever the Church did in parallel to April’s work in bringing God’s blessings to their farming community’s crops and flocks.

What of the now orphaned Fey with no mother, and her father who had died before she even knew him? His Fey! With that thought Adam realised that he had made a decision to help care for her and with a start, wondered if his parents would accept the responsibility of adopting her. Of course they would. They must! Thought dismissed. New thoughts. What would he have to do to care for her? Teach her. Teach her what? How to look after herself? No his mother would do that. Teach her about the world, the land, the crops and animals, to read, yes to read. Would the seminary allow it? Maybe she would be accepted there. No, she is the heretic April’s daughter and there were no girls in the seminary. Perhaps in a convent but they only had this one little school just for boys in the tiny village of Carran. His thoughts meandered back to the fire. Did April manage to pass out before the pain of the hot gases searing her body started? Breathing in the hot smoke would have been painful enough with it triggering a coughing reflex and her throat being seared by the hot gas. Stop those thoughts. April is gone and wherever she is now, she is fine. Perhaps she is with her Goddess or with God. Is not God all these things and more? He could see that this horrendous experience would have him questioning everything. Jesus is a God of love. What happened here was not an act that Jesus would surely condone?

The front door opened and his parents came in. His mother was still weeping and his father’s shoulders shook with intermittent sobs. They were not speaking. Through teary eyes his mother looking down to see him lying on his bed then started when she saw little Fey curled up next to him. Adam jumped up and pulled his mother outside.

Please Mother, we must look after Fey. She came to me at the burning and I didn’t’ know what to do. It was horrible trying to explain something to her that she could understand and accept. She doesn’t know or understand that her mother is now dead or what really happened. She is too small… The words continued to tumble out frenetically, partially as a pent up release for him to vent his feelings about the ordeal and in his desperation to persuade his mother to adopt little Fey.

Eventually she found her voice and hushed him.

Of course we will adopt Fey. She is my best friend’s child. Where else can she go? Fey came to you because she is comfortable with us. She is now part of our family. A combination of relief and release overwhelmed young Adam who fell into his mother’s arms crying and thanking her profusely as though she would not have taken in Fey other than for his pleading. Holding her son Màire wondered whether their future with an adopted daughter would change dramatically.

CHAPTER 3

THE ATROCITY

"Ireland is governed under a system of coercion

such as there has not been within living memory."

Westminster Gazette, 16 December, 1919.

Monday 22nd September 1740

The English Protestant troops sent to Ireland by Cromwell to subdue and rule us in the middle of the 1600s has led to ongoing, inhumane subjugation of our people. intoned the priest liturgically. Belonging to an underground Catholic cell he continued angrily, As you know we are banned from practising our religion freely under a banner of Christian love. Only the Protestant flavour of Christianity has unrestricted freedom. How terrible that English soldiers rape and kill fellow humans, Christians in the name of our mutual God! spitting out his final words in disgust.

Kevan’s mother Maeve was sobbing while his father Steafán Keogh held her shaking shoulders in an unsuccessful attempt at consoling her.

My best friend raped and stabbed with bayonets after being forced to watch her husband being hanged from a tree. How can I ever come to terms with such an atrocity? What of their little Áine Donelly? School comes out soon. We will have to go and fetch her? What can I tell her? wept a virtually inaudible Maeve, completely racked by misery and shock.

Mummy she will have to stay with us. implored Kevan who was four years older than five year old Áine. His father Steafán nodded affirmatively through his tear-filled eyes. Soon after the priest had completed his eulogy the bereft party trudged off, pulling their sad burden of the defiled and murdered couple laden on a cart to a nearby burial plot. Their depressed emotions reluctantly anticipated more heartache when they would have to tell young Áine the horrendous news.

Standing outside the small stone school adjacent to the church, children started filing out. Blinking back tears to search through the happy little faces, the three of them looked for Áine who soon came skipping out, chatting gleefully to a friend. She saw Kevan and his parents looking so sombre that she stopped. His mother beckoned her and she walked up with a quizzical expression on her face.

Where is my Mummy? she asked, worried at the despair clouding her neighbours’ faces.

Kevan’s mother Maeve kneeled in front of Áine took her hands and said.

Áine, I have very sad news for you.

What? said a forlorn face as her hands started to tremble.

Your Mummy and Daddy have gone to be with God. He loves them so much that He wanted them to come back to him.

But why didn’t He call me also? I want to be with them. I have been left all alone. I thought they loved me. Áine started sobbing, unable to speak any more.

Maeve embraced this dear child who she loved as her own and fought back her tears to try and console Áine. Well one day we will ask God to explain all the things He does. But in the meantime we want you to live with us as our daughter. I want to be your Mummy. Will you come and live with us? Áine nodded her head furiously with tears running down her cheeks unable to speak and Maeve picked her up squeezing her as though