The Ceasg and the Baobhan Sith

Do Mermaids Have Fangs?

By Dawn Marie Hamilton

Did you see the movie Pirates of the Caribbean, On Stranger Tides? Ever since I did, I’ve wondered whether there existed a basis for mermaids with fangs. Do any of the mermaid legends mention fangs? What about Scottish folklore? Could a mermaid with fangs be drawn from the merging of two mythical Scottish fae creatures?

Perhaps the first is the ceasg or maighdean na tuinne (maiden of the wave), a Scottish mermaid of the Highlands. Appearing as a half-human woman and half-grilse (salmon), the ceasg were said to lure young men into the sea's depths. Other accounts describe love affairs between the mermaids and human males with the offspring of these relationships becoming great sailors and sea captains. Some tales attribute the mermaids with the ability to grant three wishes if captured. Of course, to force such action, the mermaid's soul must be destroyed.

The second, the baobhan sith, is a vampiric faerie known to be dangerous and evil. Although sometimes taking the form of a crow or raven, the baohan sith more often appears as a beautiful young woman, wearing a long green gown to hide her hoofed-feet. On a single evening each year, she rises from her grave to seduce a young man into dancing with her until he is tired and weak from the drinking of his blood.

At first, I believed the combining of these two creatures would produce a mermaid with fangs. Then I read an account stating the baobhan sith use long fingernails to draw the blood of their victims.

So what do you think? Do mermaids have fangs?

 

Urisk—Scottish Solitary Faerie

By Dawn Marie Hamilton

Many a man or woman has sought release from their woes by visiting wild places within the woodland. Seeking ease, they're attracted to secluded pools. Places supportive of contemplation. Since we are of the Celtic bent here at Celtic Hearts, we know that in the dark forests of Scotland, more likely than not, they chance meeting a creature so peculiar they'll scurry back to civilization, their heart in their throat.

'Tis sad. The urisk, a humble creature by nature, is lonely and wants to make friends. Most humans shun the poor fellow because of his uncomely appearance, found by many to be horrifying and frightening.

Still, he holds hope someday someone will come along and befriend him.

"What does he look like?" you ask.

The gangling urisk appears an aging bald creature with pointed ears. His face is long and drawn. He peers at you through soulful rounded eyes. He sports a wiry goatee on his chin. His emaciated, hairless torso is somewhat human-like—his lower half goat-like with shaggy fur. His limbs are long and thin and he walks on cloven feet.

Many confuse the urisk (ùruisg) with the brownie (brùnaidh), though I believe they are each a distinct variety of Scottish solitary faerie. And look nothing alike.

A wonderfully dark depiction of the urisk can be found in the illustrated book, Faeries, by Brian Froud and Alan Lee.

Would you be frightened if you met an urisk in the woods? Or would you make friends with him?

The Fachan from the West Highlands of Scotland

By Dawn Marie Hamilton

One of my favorite coffee table books is Faeries, illustrated by Brian Froud and Alan Lee. I love to browse through the pages and enjoy the wonderful art.

I flip to a new page, and a fachan stares at me through his single eyeball positioned in the center of his forehead like that of the Cyclops, the primordial race of giants from Greek mythology. Startled, I jump away, but keep an eye on the image glaring at me. The reddish-purple iris surrounded by blood-shot white seems to watch me as I pace about the room. My spine tingles with shivers.

Good thing I have a strong heart since reports claim his grotesque appearance can cause a heart attack.

He stands erect on his only muscular leg at about three feet of height. He covers his egg-shaped body with a loose shirt made from blue-green feathers. Although I can't smell him, others allege his stench is worse than that of an ordinary ogre.

I imagine rotten eggs or a science project gone wrong. My nose twitches at the thought.

A single short arm with a big hand protrudes from under his chin. I certainly don't want to get close to his claw-like fingernails or the sharp teeth visible when he opens his wide mouth.

Most of his skin is a dirty tan—except for the mottled green of his lips, his bulbous nose and the tips of his large pointed ears. A few strands of wiry black hair top his head, matching the hair at the tips of his ears.

Rumors abound that the unusual creature is extremely agile with its flat-footed hop.

I cautiously approach the table and snap the book closed. My neighbors probably hear my sigh of relief.

Many believe fachans live in the depths of caves in the West Highlands of Scotland. Since known to dislike humans, wise men and women are prudent to stay away.

Are there other Scottish creatures of legend you try to avoid? Tell us about them.

The Legend of the Vanishing Wedding Feast

By Dawn Marie Hamilton



Photo by Jason Hemmings

Old Castle Lachlan might look like a ruin today, but if you step with me through a mist of fantasy you will see a bustling castle where...once upon a time, resided an angry brùnaidh.

"Ouch." Had someone pinched her?

The somber friar raised his gaze from his prayer book. "Is anything wrong, my lady?"

Heat flashed across Mairi's chest and neck. She glanced at the man standing at her side, the one she met a mere few hours ago.

Iain glared at the shingle at her feet. He probably believed the stones poked through her thin bridal slippers and caused the outburst. Though the shingle made the proceedings uncomfortable, that wasn't what made her screech. Something sharp jabbed her hip, but no one stood near enough to inflict such abuse.

"All is well." She smiled at Father Ambrose. "Please, continue."

Mairi's gaze drifted over the faces of those who'd gathered to witness the uniting of two clans in peace. Bah. Her marriage to the Chief of Clan MacLachlan would change nothing. Her grandfather's quest for more land proved insatiable.

Where was Caitrina? Mairi couldn't find her amidst the crowd. Had the fairy forsaken her? Never. Caitrina must have hidden within a glamour of invisibility.

The friar's voice droned on. Mairi fixed her stare on the water, the ceremony taking place on the shore of Loch Fyne. The MacLachlan chapel within the castle tower was unable to accommodate the throngs of Campbells who'd come to witness the spectacle of her ruin.

She risked a sideways glance at Iain. His features remained inscrutable.

He'd dressed for the occasion in a crisp saffron leine and colorful plaide of red and blue. Two warrior braids hung to one side of his strong jaw and his chestnut hair glistened in the sunlight. When he leveled his stare on her, his sapphire eyes sparkled.

A shiver shimmied along her spine, and she couldn't suppress the prick of fear tangled with excitement for the bedding to come. How would she survive? A large man, he'd rip her asunder.

She moistened her lips. His eyes flared before he looked away.

"Join hands." Father Ambrose grasped her right hand and presented it to Iain who clasped her fingers with his left.

She gasped. A tingle spread gooseflesh up her arm. Iain's lips quirked into the first smile she'd seen from him since she'd arrived at Castle Lachlan.

The friar cleared his throat. "Is there any among the gathered with reason this couple should not wed?"

Mairi flinched when something pricked her arse. She looked over her shoulder, but no one was there. She raised her gaze to Iain.

His eyes sobered with concern and he fingered the ornamental dagger handle protruding from a sheath at his waist with his free hand.

"I pronounce thee man and wife."

Grumbling rose from the crowd, and Iain's expression turned fierce. No one dared step forward to denounce the union on fear of retribution.

 

With his palm cradling her back, Iain guided his new wife through the gathering of clansmen loitering within his council chamber toward the dais and head table. Silky strands of strawberry blond hair caressed his fingers. Lavender teased his senses. She seemed a wee, fragile lass, but after gazing into her silver eyes, he sensed her backbone. She'd need it to endure the challenging times ahead.

"He is a fool to wed a Campbell." The whisper came from amidst the crowd.

He felt Mairi flinch through the fabric of her silver gown, and he clamped his jaw tight. They could say what they wanted. He'd set his course. Marriage was the only way to ensure peace and prosperity.

Iain seated his wife to his right. He supposed he should say something to soothe her, but he wasn't adept with sweet words.

"Ignore the barbs. I am pleased with you, wife."

"And I with you, husband." Her eyes spoke volumes to the contrary, though her notion of duty would change when he convinced her to…

He couldn't hope for love, but would settle for trust.

"Quiet," he bellowed at the noisy crowd and inclined his head to the friar.

As Father Ambrose rose to say grace, the feast vanished from the tables in a fine, gray mist. Surprised and angry voices echoed through the chamber.

Iain slammed a fist on the table. Munn. The damn brùnaidh caused this havoc.

"Ach, my apologies. I shall ensure the situation remedied," Iain stammered as he clasped Mairi's hand and stood. "Please, come with me, my dear. We will see to the feast for our guests."

Wide eyes searched his face, but she rose without question and followed him to the vaults along with several servants. All was quiet. They found no trace of Munn or the stolen victuals.

Dropping Mairi's hand, Iain raised his arm in the air. "Where are you wee man? Where is my wedding feast? Show yourself or I will banish you to the darkest, coldest, cruelest corner of the Highlands."

Silence. Then a faint jingle of silver spoons tingled in the damp air.

Iain sighed. His ranting got them nowhere.

"Munn, return the feast. Dinnae disgrace the MacLachlan name or your own by forcing me to serve our Campbell guests naught but scraps."

"Ach, aye. The Campbells will enjoy the fine catch from our braw rivers and the bounty of our woods. 'Twill naught be long until the Campbells steal our fair lands as well," Munn muttered though he remained invisible.

"Please." Mairi stepped forward and sweetly implored.

Part of the feast was thrust into the hands of servants, the rest landed upon tables that appeared along with the food.

With a nod from Iain, the servants rushed to serve the dishes to the guests.

When he caught Mari's gaze, he expected to glimpse horror. Instead, she laughed. "I see we both have wielders of magic. And I think your Munn may have pinched me during the ceremony."

"What?"

"I have forgiven him. And I will explain about Caitrina after the feast."

Iain didn't care who Caitrina was. He wanted to kiss his persuasive wife. And that was what he did. When she melted into him, his heart leapt with joy.

 Copyright 2011-2012 Dawn Marie Hamilton

Although this legend ends happily for Mairi and Iain, Munn held hatred for the Campbells deep within his soul for generations.

To learn more about the brùnaidh—the Scottish brownie visit my post from last month.