The Celtic Riddle

"The worst," he sadly agreed. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. The sun came out, and with it, not one, but two rainbows arched across the sky. It was breathtakingly beautiful, almost painfully so, the world's colors back again, huge drops of rain on the large leaves of a plant nearby. I thought of Amairgen's ray of sun and the beauty of a plant. I looked out across the little cemetery, the headstones worn until the names on them could barely be deciphered, the carved figures fading with time, now just a little clearer because of the rain. At one corner of the graveyard, just a few feet away, stood a single stone, a miniature and rough obelisk, about three or four feet high. Carved on one face at the top of it, I could see a Celtic cross. Below that a series of cuts, some straight, some angled, had been slashed into the stone along one edge. I turned away, but then looked back again. I knew my prayer had been answered. I saw that help had come. Alex followed my glance across the graveyard. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed.

"Ogham," Alex said, "an ancient Celtic script and the first known written language in Ireland. Named for Og-mios, sometimes called Oghma, the Celtic god of poetry, eloquence, and speech, and the supposed inventor of the script. It's thought to have originated in this part of Ireland and is apparently based on the names of trees. As I understand it, it's a linear script composed of groups of lines, up to five of them, either horizontal or angled from upper left to lower right, across a vertical spine or stemline. In the case of the standing stone we saw in the cemetery, the sharp edge on one of the front corners of the slab was the vertical stemline. The slashes, if you'll remember, went to either side of that edge of the stone.

"Now, each group of lines can be made to correspond to a letter in the Roman alphabet. Some groups of lines cross the vertical stem, others are restricted to either the right or left of it. The position of the lines relative to the vertical is important. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I do, and it's brilliant," Jennifer said.

"I think I do too," I said. "But just to clarify, are you saying that it makes a difference whether the lines are to the left or right of the stemline?"

"I am. For example, five horizontal lines to the right of the vertical make an 'n'; five horizontal lines to the left is a 'q.' A group of five horizontal cuts right across the stemline is an 'i.' Five diagonal lines across the stemline make an 'r.' It's not very sophisticated, I suppose, as written languages go, rather cumbersome in fact, and I think it was mainly used for commemorative purposes, inscriptions and the like, rather than as a daily, working language, but I should think it will work well enough for our purposes.

"Now, here are the letters," he said, pointing to a chart. "I got them from the local library. Let's get out the clues and see what we can see."

My hands were almost trembling with excitement as I got out Malachy and Kevin's slip of paper with Byrne's initials and home address at the top and carefully smoothed it for Alex's study.

"I think this is the most exciting thing I've ever done in my whole life," Jennifer sighed. "What does it say, Uncle Alex?"

"We'll have to see, won't we?" Alex replied. "Here we go. Four lines to the right of the vertical is… "- he paused and looked at his chart.-"an 's.' Then there's four lines that go straight across the spine which is," he paused again, "an 'e.' Then five to the right, an 'n.' Are you getting this all down, Lara?" "I am," I replied, showing him the piece of paper on which I'd written SEN.

"All right then, let's go on. Two horizontal lines running across the stemline: an 'o.' Then three horizontals, to the left of the line which is a 't.' Another V is next, I believe, then another 'e,' then an 's.' No wait, it's a 'u,' another 'e,' then one to the left: an 'h.' "

And so it went until Alex had deciphered them all. There were lines to the left, lines to the right, horizontals, verticals, and diagonals. In the end, I looked at my piece of paper. SENOTSESEHTNOEB ESRUCA was what I had written. My heart sank.

"Do you think it's Gaelic?" I asked no one in particular.

"I'm not sure, but it's not Latin," Alex said. "That I do know. An anagram perhaps?"

Jennifer peered at it. "Senat seset nob es ruca," she exclaimed, or something like that. We looked at ner.

"A curse be on these stones!"

Chapter Eight. A BOAR ENRAGED