The story behind the story:

This short folk-style tale was inspired by one of the standing stones I saw on my recent trip to Northern Ireland. Many legends and tales surround such stones, and I’ve borrowed a little to experiment with my own story-telling technique, while exaggerating here and there, and letting imagination do the rest. The Stone of Dotetto is my first attempt at ‘folky-fantasy’ and may not be quite what you expected. It may not work at all, but hopefully it gives a sense of what it was like to see such an ancient relic in such a mystical and beauty-filled country.

Back when the world was old and giant men trundled wares back and forth between the hills of time, when the sunset could be heard from miles away, and the sun rose so close that you could reach out and touch it without getting burnt, a giant of a man lived in a valley in the mountains. The valley was wide and shallow. Beyond, stood a dark pine wood and beyond that, the mountains, the slopes of which were snowy in winter and heather-purple in autumn. These mountains were said to hold secrets – all the secrets of the universe. When the first mists of winter toppled over them, flocks of birds could be seen flying towards them as if drawn by some force or instinct. And when the sun set over the valley, it brought pink-tinted clouds to rise over them, along with the promise of night. It was in this valley, with the watching mountains, that the giant built a cottage beside a stream. He raised animals and trekked across the mountains every year to sell his meat and trade goods with other farmers from the south. The sunset sung in those days – a different song depending on where you were – and whenever the giant looked upon the clouds over the mountains at sunset, he heard a haunting tune and faint words. He never bothered to understand the words, and if he had listened carefully, he mightn’t have been so quick to dig around the standing stone that sat a little way behind his cottage and which he decided was in his way.

After a few days of digging, water began to rise from the stream. A week later, the stream had turned to a small river and was flooding the giant’s pigpen. And then he remembered something his great-grandmother had said. Something she’d taught him. Something important about the standing stones that were scattered all over the country. But by the time he’d remembered this, the water had flooded his cottage and made his land too damp and swampy for much use. Most of his animals died and the ones that survived were weak and coughing from cold. At first, the giant was foolish and proud and wouldn’t let a mere rock stop him from making a living; but after much flooding and moistness in his house, he became exhausted and half-mad. Eventually, he gave up and decided to stop the digging and right the stone (it was leaning to one side in the damp soil), and as soon as he did so, the water stopped coming. But the giant came to detest the valley too much to stay, so he moved on and went to live in the south where the wind was gentler and the sun not so shy.      

For the stone marked the grave of Dotetto son of Maglani who lived long before the giant and whom no one could remember. Dotetto was once owner of the wide and shallow valley. It was given to him by his father, who was the only one who knew the secrets held in the mountains across the valley – the secrets of the universe – secrets that Dotetto was to know one day. But then came the Great Dispute. The sons of Maglani’s cousin believed the land was theirs and came ready for battle, demanding to know the secrets of the mountains – the secrets of the universe – and threatening to maim the two men if they kept silent. There was a fierce battle, and Dotetto and Maglani were outnumbered. Exhausted and losing ground, having slain many men between them, Maglani and Dotetto turned and ran towards the mountains with a last desperate attempt, hoping to lose their enemies in the pine forests and folded ridges of the slopes. But when Maglani fell beside Dotetto with an arrow in his back, Dotetto knew it was the end of everything. When the pursuers saw Maglani fall they let out an almighty roar. And in the moment of silence that followed, a faint shouting rang clear across the valley – it was Dotetto’s voice. He was crying out towards the mountains: “Dotetto son of Maglani! Dotetto son of Maglani! Dotetto son of Maglani!”  He cried out his name and that of his father’s to the mountains so their story would never be forgotten. These were the last words ever uttered by Dotetto; and the mountain secrets – the secretes of the universe – died with Maglani.

And to this day, whenever the sun sets over the wide and shallow valley, casting its light onto the clouds above the mountains, the mountains sing the names of Dotetto and Maglani until darkness falls, stifling the song with its cold-laden silence.