“It
is well known that inanimate objects retain psychic associations.”
—from
The Cairn on the Headland (1933), by
Robert E. Howard
Racial
memories of past lives occur frequently in the horror and fantasy fiction of
Robert E. Howard. These visions are typically
evoked by a blow to the head, though not always. In The
Little People (1970), Joan’s big brother reverts to a prehistoric Celtic
tribesman at the sight of his sister being harassed by the “spawn of Hell” near
a Druid ruin. However, the essential
pattern is concussion followed by
bloody scenes of gore and mayhem as racial memories of ancient epic battles are
re-experienced.
In The Children of the Night (1931), John O’Donnel
is accidentally struck on the head with an ancient flint mallet at a gathering
of antiquarian friends. He becomes the
murderous Aryara, a blond haired, blue eyed Aryan tribesman forever at war with
a subterranean race of reptilian humanoids.
(He is not invited back.)
In People of the Dark (1932), John O’Brien
knocks himself out by falling down some stairs in a cave. When he wakes up he is Conan the Reaver. The author and reader assume that a traumatic
event or mild concussion is enough to ignite prehistoric racial animosities and
even ancestral personalities in an otherwise educated, sane individual.
James O’Brien, probably a close
relative of John, is spared a head injury in The Cairn on the Headland (1933).
He falls asleep cradling a stone he has taken from the site of an
ancient ‘cairn’. During the night he has
vivid, lifelike visions of being an ancient Celtic warrior—he is Red Cumal, “and
my ax was dripping with the blood of my foes.”
He is fighting at the side of Brian Boru, the famous 10th
century Irish king. They are busy ridding their country of the hateful Vikings
who have enslaved them.
The
Vikings have brought with them an avatar of Odin, their fearful deity, who is
fighting among them. The Irish are
victorious after a gruesome battle, and it is left to Red Cumal to dispose of the
wounded remains of “the Gray Man, the One-Eyed, the god of the North”. Though an immortal god, Odin is rendered
vulnerable by the wounded flesh he had taken form in—and realizes too late that
the one he has called on for help is his sworn enemy. O’Brien’s vision of the ancient battle is the
groundwork—literally—to the rest of the story, which cleverly links the ancient
past, racial animosities, a helpful ghost, and the modern day pilfering of an
ancient burial site.
Not a
lot makes sense in The Cairn on the
Headland, but then it doesn’t have to in order to be entertaining. O’Brien’s talismanic rock was taken from a
cairn, a ceremonial heaping of stones that his partner Ortali was excavating in
hopes of finding gold, silver and jewels.
Fans of Howard’s horror and fantasy stories will recall that this is
essentially the same opening scene as in The
Horror from the Mound (1932). (In
that story, an ancient Indian Mound out west is desecrated by treasure hunters,
with consequences that no one was expecting).
O’Brien
had surreptitiously picked up the stone in order to bash in Ortali’s skull. He decides against doing this and slips the
stone in his pocket instead. Ortali had
been blackmailing him, threatening to tell the authorities some information
that would implicate O’Brien in the suspicious death of his professor years
before. O’Brien had clashed with this
professor, and while challenging him in his academic office, the professor had
lunged at him with a dagger—well, it’s a long story. (I must have gone to the wrong college…)
At
one point, Ortali picks a sprig of holly and puts it in his lapel, an act that
becomes significant later on in the story.
Besides having visions of being Red Cumal a thousand years ago, O’Brien
is helped by a Celtic spirit named Meve MacDonnal, who provides a spiritual
weapon that comes in handy near the end.
Unlike other Howard stories, O’Brien the narrator is fairly passive in
this story—he triumphs chiefly through dreams, fate and the interactions of
various supernatural forces.
The Cairn on the Headland is filled with Howard’s
characteristically imaginative retelling and reworking of history and
mythology. It is interesting to read the
aforementioned stories and see the development of the author’s ideas about “psychic
associations” with objects and places. There
is also some interesting theology: who knew
that all you needed to revive an ancient, menacing Norse god was a sprig of
holly?
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