My mythica short story, “Queen Méabh,” has just been published in Electric Spec. Ireland beware.
After hiking up Knocknarea with a stone in my pocket every day for the past twenty-seven months, today I got a lift in the VIP helicopter, along with the Chinese ambassador and a bovine-faced English duchess. I tried not to retch as the pilot circled the rock cairn that commanded the windswept mesa overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. According to Irish mythology, Méabh – often anglicized as Maeve by those too lazy to learn Gaelic – the faerie queen of the Connacht, was buried here, in a tomb that until this day had remained unexcavated.
Until precisely this day.
The television crews, the politicians, the foreign dignitaries, all were here to witness the opening of Meascán Méabha, Méabh’s Tomb. Deep inside the fifty-five meter diameter cairn, down a winding passage that we had been excavating with penknives and toothbrushes, we would today be removing the stone slab that covered the entryway to the central chamber. I remembered the old myths well from my da’s knee, but I had reread them last night anyway. The faeries were always wicked and cunning, their queen, Méabh, the most ruthless of all.
“Oh Annie,” Patricia Flannery called out. Her weekly news magazine was the top-rated show in Ireland, due in equal parts to sensationalist reporting, millions of followers on social media and a couple of well-placed kilograms of silicone.