Arthur Elwood and the Charmwood Banshee

As the final note tolled, before the doors of the chapel appeared the most frightening creature Arthur had ever seen. Its head was like that of horse’s skull, devoid of flesh or muscle. It’s eyes were like fire, and steam or smoke, Arthur could not be sure which, issued forth from its mouth. Its body was largely shapeless, or so it appeared, for it was wrapped in what looked like a cloak, a white cloak. Other than its head, its body seemed man shaped. Its mouth opened and it spoke. It’s voice was cold:

“At last you’ve come, holy wanderer.

Should you long to reach your end,

You must transform to holy ponderer,

And must answer my riddle, friend.

In verse must be your answer given,

Else from you your life will be riven.

One warning more, and then onto the fight,

Your answer must be given fore the bell strikes midnight.

Answer then, if you can, this riddle mine:

The first is darkness with a voice,

Eyes of the Allfather’s choice.

The second lives in barrows deep

Its voice can make grown men weep.

The third is mine to claim,

Nothing more nor less than my name.”

The creature went silent. Its burning eyes stared at Arthur and mist steamed forth from its mouth. Arthur finally felt free to move, and began to pace. If he didn’t answer correctly he would be killed and who knew what fate would befall the woman of his dreams. But to answer in verse, it seemed to much. Still, he must try. But before that he had to work out the answers. He thought long and hard. He thought back to his days as a child reading fairy-tales, for it seemed he had walked right into one, if a dark one. The first one was easy. He knew who the Allfather was what creatures he used as his aids. Thinking of them led him to the second answer. This alone, however, took him a quarter of an hour, a fact he knew as the bells tolled in the chapel. Even with two answers solved, and slowly worked into verse, how was he to guess the creatures name? After another half an hour and more, the three-quarter hour having tolled, he remembered stories from his Welsh grandmother and prayed this would be the right answer. And so, rather clumsily, and as the bells began to ring for midnight Arthur Elwood began his answer:

“My savior is the first, no craven,

But that lovely bird, the speaking raven.

Second is one from the folk called wee,

The wailing woman, the crying ban sidhe.

The last a name worthy of ancient druid,

Grey Mare, Holy Mary, Mari Lwyd.”

The creature bowed in assent and disappeared just as the final stroke of midnight sounded. It was Christmas Day. Arthur opened the doors of the chapel. There before the altar was knelt a woman. She turned to Arthur, tears streaming down her face, but no tears could mar her beauty. She embraced Arthur and kissed him. “For a thousand years that beast has held me captive,” she told Arthur. “I was able to call to those attuned to Elfland, seers and others such as yourself, men pure of heart, but only through dreams. Some were driven mad, others refused to listen to my call. So many were killed by the will-o-the-wisp, and the few that came to Mari Lwyd were unable to answer its riddle. You were the first, and for that I love you.” Arthur kissed her again.

“Was it you,” he asked, “who sent the ravens?”

“No and yes,” she replied. “The saints to whom you prayed heard your prayers and mine and through our joint supplication were the ravens moved to save you.”

“What is your name, dear ban sidhe?” Arthur asked her.

“I am ban sidhe no longer,” she replied. “Now through my own prayers, your aid, and the grace of Christ Almighty I will wail no longer but be happy and will make you my rescuer happy.” She thought for a moment. “Call me Siofra. And I pray you will also call me wife.”