The Mighty Quinns: Brian

Brendan sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed Liam’s foot beneath the quilt, tickling it playfully. “Of course he’ll be all right. Da can steer through any old storm.” He glanced back and forth between Brian and Sean, a silent warning not to contradict him.

“Yeah,” Brian agreed. “When I went out with Da last summer, he told me about a storm that had fifty-foot waves and wind so strong it could blow a man right off the deck. This isn’t near as bad, Li.”

Liam’s expression shifted, now more worried. “How high are the waves?”

“They’re just wee little waves,” Brendan said. “Why don’t you shove over and I’ll tell you a story.” He crawled in between Liam and Brian, leaning back against the headboard. “What story do you want to hear?”

The stories were a Quinn family tradition and when Seamus was home, he told a different tale nearly every night. They were wonderful stories of their legendary ancestors, the Mighty Quinns, those brave and clever men who vanquished evil. But when Seamus told the stories, the fables also featured scheming women. At first, Brian hadn’t understood why the Quinns distrusted women so. But then he’d come to realize that the tales were laced with Seamus’s own opinions about women—opinions based on their mother’s desertion.

Her name was never spoken in the presence of their father but Conor talked about her every now and then. She had been beautiful, with long dark hair and pretty green eyes. And though Brian had been only three when she left, he remembered one thing—the red flowered apron that she wore every morning. He could still feel the starched fabric between his fingers.

“Odran and the giant,” Sean said.

“Murchadh Quinn, the mighty seaman,” Liam suggested.

“Eamon and the enchantress,” Brian insisted. Though Brendan was only eleven, he told the tales the best. He wove stories full of excitement and vivid images, better than any action movie or comic book.

“I just remembered a story that Da told a long time ago when Con and Dylan and I were younger,” Brendan said. “I don’t think you’ve ever heard this one. It’s about Riddoc Quinn who was the smartest of all our Quinn ancestors. In fact, Riddoc Quinn knew everything.”

“No one can know everything,” Brian said.

“Ah, but Riddoc did. For he was a very watchful lad. He didn’t talk much, but saw a lot.” Brendan pointed to his temple. “And he was also a great thinker. Like me. And a little like Liam, too.”

“Get on with the story, gobdaw,” Sean said.

Brendan cleared his throat. “Riddoc Quinn lived in a tiny village on the Irish seacoast in a small stone cottage perched on a craggy cliff. His parents were plain and simple folk who couldn’t read or write, but Riddoc taught himself to do both. He read every book in the village and when there were none left, he visited nearby towns to borrow more. But that wasn’t enough. Riddoc spoke with every person who passed through the village, asking of their travels, wanting to know about the rest of the world.”

“Is this going to be one of those stories that we’re supposed to learn something from?” Sean muttered. “Like study hard and stay in school?”

Brendan reached over Liam’s head and gave Sean a cuff. “Shut up or I’ll make you tell the story. And you’re just about the worst storyteller in all of Southie.”

“Keep going!” Liam cried.

“Riddoc and his family lived near a powerful sorcerer named Aodhfin and Aodhfin had two daughters named Maighdlin and Macha. Aodhfin spoiled his daughters, giving them anything they wished for, conjuring up pretty dresses and expensive gifts. The beautiful Maighdlin became very selfish and greedy. Her sister Macha was a plain and guileless girl and so it was as they grew older. Maighdlin demanded more and more of her father, putting on the airs of a princess while Macha concentrated on her studies, learning Latin and Greek and reading great books.

“As time passed, Aodhfin knew that he’d have to choose an heir to his magical powers. Though Maighdlin was grasping and unfeeling, Aodhfin knew she could become a powerful sorceress, maybe the most powerful in the land. But Macha was compassionate and generous, the type of person who would use her power for good.

“The old sorcerer was torn between his two daughters and spent many sleepless nights pondering his decision. He asked his friends to help him, but they were unable to make a choice for they were afraid that if they chose wrong, they might suffer later. As he was walking in the forest one day, Aodhfin came upon a peasant and decided to ask his advice. The peasant grinned and told him, ‘You should ask Riddoc Quinn for he will know the answer. He knows everything.”’

“He would know,” Liam said. “Riddoc Quinn was the smartest boy in Ireland.”

“That he was. But he wasn’t just book-smart. Riddoc understood others, their flaws and their strengths, for he had met many people in his quest for knowledge and understanding and had learned from each of them.

“And so Aodhfin sent for Riddoc Quinn and brought him to his home, a dark castle deep in the forest. The old sorcerer couldn’t believe that this boy dressed in rags was the person he sought. ‘I have heard you possess great knowledge,’ the sorcerer said. Riddoc nodded. ‘Then I will leave the decision to you,’ said the sorcerer. ‘You will choose between my two daughters and tell me which one will become a great sorceress. But first, you must tell me how you plan to decide.’ Riddoc thought about this for a long moment. ‘I will give them a test,’ he said. ‘I will ask them three questions which they must answer honestly.”’

Sean groaned. “Oh, no. Like a spelling test? This is a dumb story. I want the Odran story.”

“It’s the right way to decide,” Brian countered. “It’s the most fair.”

“The day of the test approached,” Brendan continued, “and the sorcerer grew worried that Riddoc was not the right person for the job. After all, he possessed no mystical powers—he was just an ordinary boy. Perhaps it would be better to use magic, a potion or a spell to make the decision clear. For the first test, Riddoc placed three items on a table in front of each of the daughters—a ruby, pearl and a simple stone polished smooth by the sea. He asked Maighdlin to choose the most beautiful stone. Of course Maighdlin chose the ruby for it was the most valuable. But when he asked Macha, she chose the stone from the sea.”

“Macha is too dumb to be a sorceress,” Sean said.

“The sorcerer thought so, too,” Brendan continued. “How could Macha be a sorceress if she couldn’t even recognize the value of a jewel? But Riddoc saw that Macha recognized the beauty in simple things. The next question was more difficult. Riddoc brought three men before the girls—a handsome knight, a wealthy shopkeeper and a monk. He gave Maighdlin a pouch of gold coins and asked her to give it to the man who needed it most. But Maighdlin was not about to be fooled. She gave a third to the knight for his protection, a third to the shopkeeper for a bolt of silk, and a third to the monk for his blessing. When Macha came into the room and was faced with the same choice, she held on to the bag of gold. ‘I cannot give this bounty to any of these men for none of them need it. The knight is cared for by his liege and the shopkeeper makes his living from the goods he sells. And the monk has taken a vow of poverty. Where is the poor farmer whose crop has failed or the mother who has too many children to feed?”’

Brian nestled down in the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. The wind still rattled the windows and water still dripped into a plastic bucket beside the bed. But as he listened to Brendan’s story, he felt the real world fade away. He saw the sorcerer’s castle in his mind, the deep forest. He saw Riddoc’s tiny cottage near the sea. Though he’d been born in Ireland, he remembered nothing of that country. But he could feel it pulsing through his body now.

“The old sorcerer sighed. Macha was too tender-hearted to ever wield great power. But Riddoc knew that Macha was kind and generous and sympathetic to those less fortunate. There was one final question that Riddoc decided to give to the daughters. ‘You may ask me one question,’ he said. ‘A question that you want answered more than any other.’ They pondered their choices for a long time. ‘Will I be the most powerful sorceress in Ireland?’ Maighdlin asked. ‘Will I ever find true love?’ Macha asked. This proved what Riddoc already knew—Macha had a pure heart. He turned to the sorcerer. ‘You must give Macha your power,’ he said.”

“This is so mushy,” Sean said. “I s’pose now Riddoc is going to kiss her and they’ll fall in love and get married.”

“Not yet,” Brendan said. “Because before the sorcerer died, Maighdlin took Macha deep into the forest and left her there, certain that she’d be devoured by wolves or starve to death.”

“Did she die?” Sean asked.

“No. For Riddoc knew that Maighdlin would try something evil. He watched over Macha and followed the girls wherever they went. And he rescued Macha from the forest. He took her back to the castle and told the sorcerer of Maighdlin’s evil deed. It was only then that the sorcerer knew the answer to his question. Now he could die peacefully. And so Macha became a sorceress. And Riddoc her most trusted advisor.”

“And Maighdlin?” Brian asked.

“She became a toad. A slimy warty toad with a purple nose.”

Brian laughed and Liam giggled. Sean just blinked in confusion. “She didn’t try to turn Riddoc into a toad?”

Brendan shook his head. “No. He was too smart to let that happen.” He cleared his throat and continued. “After a time, Macha and Riddoc married. And they had sons, who had sons, who had sons. But none of them needed magical powers for they inherited something more valuable from their father—a clever mind and a thirst for knowledge.”

“Are you sure Riddoc didn’t throw Macha over the cliff?” Sean asked. “Or maybe he took her back into the forest and chopped off her head? Da tells his stories different.”

“This isn’t Da’s story, it’s mine,” Brendan said.

Brendan always told the Mighty Quinn tales differently, Brian mused. In his versions, the women weren’t always the villains. “I liked this story just the way you told it.”

Brendan nodded. “I did, too. And now you know that we’re descended from kings and queens, knights and ladies, plain farmers and a powerful sorceress. It’s time for you to get to sleep. It’s late.” He crawled off the bed and pulled the blankets up around the three brothers. As he walked to the door, Brendan flipped off the light.

The room went dark and Sean rolled over, tugging on the blankets. Liam flipped over and nestled up against Brian for warmth and security. Brian threw his arm over his head and stared up at the ceiling. Images of the story still swirled in his head. The tale of Riddoc Quinn appealed to him—the clever boy and the beautiful sorceress living in their forest castle.

“Do you think Da is all right?” Liam asked, his voice timid.

“Da is a Quinn. He’s like Riddoc, he’s clever,” Brian murmured.

“I’m scared. What if he doesn’t come back? They’ll come and get us and take us away. We’ll never see each other again.” Liam’s voice trembled and Brian could tell he was on the verge of tears.

“Conor would never let that happen,” Brian said. He reached out and smoothed his hand over his little brother’s hair. “We’ll be together forever. Don’t worry, Li.”

The little boy sobbed softly and burrowed under the covers. Brian curled beneath the threadbare blankets and closed his eyes. But sleep refused to come. When the house grew silent, he slipped out of bed and grabbed his winter jacket from the floor, pulling it on to ward off the chill in the air. As he passed the other bedroom, he peeked inside to find his older brothers sprawled out on their beds.

The stairs creaked as he tiptoed down. When he reached the front parlor, he sat down in front of the portable television that Dylan had rescued from a junk pile in the alley. Brian flipped it on and the snowy picture illuminated the dark room. The antenna, draped with tinfoil, did little to bring the picture into focus. Brian could barely make out the weather forecaster standing in front of the map.

“This is Storm Central on WBTN-TV. Forecasters say the storm is worsening in the North Atlantic. The waves are battering the New England coast and causing many residents to head for higher ground. The barometer continues to fall, which means that we’re still not over the worst of the storm. Marinas from Long Island to Maine have reported hundreds of boats ripped from moorings and destroyed. Many commercial fishing boats have also been damaged, a blow to those fishermen who have already had a bad summer season.”