The Werewolf Maidens

M.K O 'Brian

Now, the werewolves did not usually harm people, not unless they tried to enter their cave, but they were forever eating the sheep and goats of the local villagers. The people despaired at the loss of their livestock and feared they would end up going hungry, so they held a council to decide what could be done about the werewolves.

This all happened in the mystical Land of Erin. The cave of the god Crom was an entrance to the Realm of Shadows, where mortals can only go once their days on earth have ended. The cave was lived in, and guarded by, the Daughters of Airitech, three maidens who could take the shape of wolves at will.

The sons of Fergal were the bravest of the young men and promised they would go to the cave and kill the werewolves, carrying back their heads as proof. Cailte was the eldest and wisest of the villagers and the sanachie, which means storyteller. He warned the young warriors that the sisters could not be harmed whilst they were in the shape of wolves, as they were protected by magical powers. Only in maiden form could the werewolves be killed.

And so the brothers sharpened their swords and set off for the nearby hills, taking with them a spring lamb that had been stillborn. During the journey through the emerald forest, they went over the plan to lure out the werewolves by cooking the lamb. If they could persuade the monsters to take human form, they would cut off their heads.

It was twilight time when the brothers reached the open glade before the cave of Crom, a crescent moon hanging amidst the clouds. They made camp next to a solitary strawberry tree, building a fire on which to cook the sacrificial lamb.

Before the young warriors could remove the lamb from the sack, the werewolves ran from the cave and leapt through the air, pinning each of the brothers to the ground. The werewolves snarled savagely, drawing back their lips to expose huge teeth, jaws snapping open and shut just inches away from the warriors’ noses. The brothers stared death in the face and began saying prayers to Danu, the mother goddess, in the hope that their shades might find peace in The Land of Happiness. But as the werewolves stared into the eyes of their victims, they were moved by the courage of the brothers. As suddenly as they had appeared, the werewolves were gone, returning to the darkness of the cave.

The brothers skinned the lamb and cooked the meat in the flames. The smell of roasting meat drifted on the evening breeze and entered the cave.

Then the werewolves reappeared from the shadows, sniffing the air and drooling. The brothers held out the sticks on which the meat was skewered, clucking encouragement to the werewolves, as though they were their own wolfhounds. Slowly and cautiously, the werewolves crept closer, all the while eyeing the warriors with suspicion.

Before long, each brother had a werewolf eating gently from the palm of his hand. Then the elder brother spoke in a soothing voice, “Why do you not take maiden form, so that you can enjoy the meat better?”

In an instant, the werewolves had transformed into beautiful young maidens dressed in wolf skins, with waist-length, silvery-hair and pale-grey eyes that reflected the fire and moonlight, their ears slightly pointed like elfin folk.

The brothers sang hypnotic poetry to the maidens as they fed them. Their hunger soon satisfied; the maidens curled up with their heads in the warriors' laps and slept. Exchanging nods of agreement, the brothers carefully got up, laying the girls heads gently on the ground. Broadswords were drawn and raised to strike, but the young men were so taken with the maidens’ beauty, they could not find the heart to kill them.

And so the sons of Fergal stayed for three days and nights in the company of the Daughters of Airitech. They paired off into couples and spent the time walking through the woods, hand in hand, the brothers teaching the maidens how to speak the language of people, that they might understand the poetry they longed to impress them with. It seemed the brothers had forgotten about their lives in the village.

By the fourth morning, the brothers remembered that the other villagers would be worried about them and began to feel guilty. With great sadness, they bid the maidens farewell, promising to return soon.

Back at the village, the folk rejoiced at seeing the brothers unharmed, but then started asking where the heads of the werewolves were. The villagers were shocked to hear the young men speak honestly about how they had fallen in love with the wolf-girls.

“I knew it,” said old Cailte. “I knew such love hungry youngsters would fall for the werewolves' girlish charms.”

The brothers argued their intention to work and hunt to pay for the sheep and goats taken by the werewolves, but the folk grew angry and forbade them from ever seeing the maidens again. Then the villagers despaired, asking Cailte what they would do now

“There’s only one thing for it,” the sanachie declared. “We must send a messenger to find Cas Corach, the wandering warrior poet who is blessed by the gods; he’ll know what to do”

In the nights that followed, the werewolves haunted the edges of the village, howling mournfully at the moon. The sons of Fergal had to be locked in a cabin to prevent them running off and joining the werewolves. Each morning the villagers woke up to find they were missing a sheep or goat. Nine days after setting out, the messenger returned with the famous warrior poet and a council was held once more. Cailte explained the situation to Cas Corach, advising that the werewolves could be enticed into taking human form by cooked meat or hypnotic music.

As the warrior poet prepared to venture into the hills, the sons of Fergal begged him not to kill the maidens they had fallen in love with, tears of sorrow streaming from their eyes.

And so Cas Corach found himself camping in the glade before the cave of Crom. As the werewolves were about to run at him from the cave, they were suddenly halted in their tracks by a beautiful, haunting melody. The warrior poet caressed the strings of his ancient lute and sang softly, calling on The Dagda to help him enchant the werewolves.

Slowly, but surely, the werewolves kept creeping closer, until they lay in the grass around Cas Corach, spellbound by his song. “Daughters of Airitech,” he sang, “surely you would enjoy this beautiful music better in human form”

In the blink of an eye, the werewolves turned back into maidens, in which shape they seemed to find the music and song even more enchanting. Their eyelids began to flutter, and one by one, they closed their eyes, completely bewitched by the faery song.

Confident that he now had them at his mercy, Cas Corach put down the lute and grasped his spear, ready to pierce the maidens’ hearts. But then, the warrior paused, the poet in him tugging at his heart strings. After thinking long and hard, he threw aside the spear and knelt beside one of the girls. Placing the palms of his tattooed hands on her forehead, he cast a spell:

“Shape of wolf to take no more,

Maidens only shall you be,

No more tooth and bloodied claw,

Thus Cas Corach binds thee.”

The binding spell was repeated three times, and then in turn on the other two maidens.

The villagers were amazed to see their champion return, not with the werewolves’ heads in a sack, but with the maidens themselves walking beside him.

“Ho, Cas Corach,” cried Cailte. “Do not say that you have been bewitched by them also”

“It is not I under their spell,” replied the warrior poet, “but them under mine. Fear not, these maidens are no longer werewolves, your sheep and goats are safe. You have my oath on it.”

The villagers complained about the wolf-girls coming to their homes, but Cailte silenced them with upraised arms. “If Cas Corach says they are no longer werewolves, then I believe him.” The sanachie turned back to the warrior poet. “And what do you require as payment for your services.”

Cas Corach raised his voice so that everyone could hear him. “My only wish is that you allow the sons of Fergal to marry and make honest women of these maidens.”

The three brothers knelt on one knee around Cas Corach and kissed his hands, promising him life-long friendship. Then the sons of Fergal and the Daughters of Airitech embraced each other, weeping tears of joy.

In no time at all, the wedding ceremony was under way. As the last couple jumped over the broomstick to be declared man and wife, Cailte sat shaking his head and grinning.

“What’s wrong, old friend?” Cas Corach asked him. “Are you disappointed with the way I handled things?”

“Why should I be disappointed?” Cailte replied. “After all, you have given me a fine romantic tale to tell.”

Finish

This is an embellishment on the Gaelic folk tale - the original version of which can be found in Penguin's 'A Celtic Miscellany' translated by K.H. Jackson - although, a lot of artistic license (if you can call it that) has been taken here. It must be remebered that these tales were recorded by Christian monks - for which we should be grateful - but, inevitably, some of the original pagan charm was lost in translation and censorship.