Although she'd already informed Jaxon of Magee's credentials, she went over them again for effect. "Cian is the world's foremost authority on Celtic languages, or at the very least, the foremost authority in the United States. He's also someone I would trust with my life."
Magee blushed so hard that for a moment Jaxon thought he might be choking. "The dear girl is exaggerating my bona fides," the fat man said. "However, she's quite right about my willingness to lay down my life for her. She is a true marvel when it comes to languages. I'm a nobody in the linguistics world, but I know many others who consider her the most gifted hyper-polyglot ever."
"Well, her high opinion of you, your abilities, and your character are why I'm here," Jaxon said. "I'd like to ask you to listen to a recording and if you can, translate it for me. But first I have to tell you that this is a very sensitive matter-top secret-so I also have to insist that you keep this confidential. And to that I add my apology for asking you to step into a world that even on the periphery can be very dangerous. I have no right to ask you to do this, and if you want me to leave, I will with no hard feelings and no shame. But I can say that it's possible that this recording will affect the lives of many people."
"Oh my, yes, absolutely secret," Magee replied, nodding emphatically, his tiny eyes bright with excitement. "Not that I really have anyone to confide in, other than a few friends like Lucy. I could use a bit of danger and intrigue in my life. I mean, look at me, a fat, slovenly old man with more phobias than I could shake a stick at, except I'm afraid of sticks, too. No, no, Lucy, I know you're about to protest that, a ghra mo chroi, but it's true. We Irish, even Irish-Americans, are great bullshitters, but we know when it's time to tell the truth. I'm okay with it." Then Magee slapped his thigh again and shouted, "Out with it, man! Let's have at this puzzle!"
Jaxon smiled and brought out the MP3 player and disc. Fifteen minutes and a dozen replays later, Cian Magee sat back in his easy chair with a thoughtful look on his face. "First, the language is called Manx, the native tongue of the Isle of Man," he said at last. "However, the men speaking here are not native speakers."
"What do you mean?" Jaxon asked.
"Well, to explain that, I'm going to have to give you a quick history lesson," Magee said. "The Isle of Man sits in the middle of the Irish Sea between Ireland and England. It has been at various times under English, Irish, Scottish, and even Viking rule. Right now it's a British Crown dependency, which means it's a possession of the British Crown but not part of the United Kingdom. It has its own form of government-called Tynwald, which is a holdover from the Viking days. Its inhabitants also have, though only just, their own language called Manx."
"Only just?" Lucy asked.
"Yes, Manx was quite nearly a dead language. It's in the Celtic family and most closely related to Middle Irish, from which it diverged sometime around AD 900. Like with many other peoples whose lands are taken over by invaders, efforts were made to suppress the native culture and language. On the Isle of Man, the English overlords discouraged the use of Manx, and forbade teaching it in schools or using it in public. However, some of the decline can also be laid at the feet of the natives. It's a common theme for the subordinate culture to try to assimilate into the dominant culture in order to prosper; therefore, they look upon those who cling to the native culture-and language-as backward, country bumpkins, uneducated. So it was on Man, where especially by the nineteenth century, speaking and teaching the language took such a sharp decline that by 1974, the last native speaker of Manx was dead."
"But what did you mean that the men on the recording are not native speakers?" Jaxon asked. "If the last died thirty-odd years ago, they couldn't be."
"Well, in some schools of linguistic thought, only small children who have been brought up speaking the language can be considered native speakers," Magee said. "However, that's not what I meant. The Manx being spoken on that recording is a bastardized form of the language. Although the men are fluent, their pronunciations are definitely not the same as what was spoken on Man. Sort of like how the English that an Australian speaks is markedly different from a native of London; they have different words that are either entirely homegrown-like 'bloke' to mean 'man'-or derivations of words from a local culture-like billabong, an Aboriginal word for 'watering hole.'"
"Meaning?" Jaxon asked.
"Meaning that if I had to guess, I'd say that these two people did not learn their Manx from anyone on the Isle of Man."
"Are there other places where it's spoken?" Lucy asked.
Magee shook his massive head and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. "Outside of a few scholars, or expatriates, nowhere except the Isle of Man that I'm aware of."
"I thought you said the last of the native speakers died in 1974," Jaxon said. "But some people do speak the language on Man?"
"Oh, yes…the history lesson," Magee continued. "Other than a few recordings, the death of that last native speaker might have been the end for the language-which is different enough from its cousins Irish and Scottish that neither can understand it. Making matters worse, there had never been a written form of Manx. However, about the same time that man died, there was a resurgence of native pride on the Isle of Man, tied to nationalist goals that some hoped would lead to complete independence from the British Crown. With the help of linguists and hundreds of hours of recordings made prior to the 1970s, they began teaching children to speak Manx in a few schools, though those with any fluency probably still only number in the hundreds."
"So do I need to go to the Isle of Man to translate this?" Jaxon asked.
"Oh, no, not at all," Magee said. "About twenty-five years ago, I was approached by the education society from the Isle of Man and asked to help revive the language. To be honest, it was the best thing I've ever done." He stopped and shook his head sadly. "I only wish that I wasn't afraid of flying and of the ocean so that I could have gone to Man personally. Instead, they brought me the old recordings, as well as taped interviews with people who remember bits and pieces from hearing their grandparents."
Jaxon took out a notepad. "Okay, then, I'm ready whenever you are," he said with a smile.
Magee grinned back. "Okay, I get the hint. Now, there's a couple of words and aspects about the structure that aren't completely clear to me, and perhaps my skills are a bit rusty. It has been years since I heard Manx. However, the two men on your recording seem to be talking in some sort of prose, or a poem."
"A poem?" Lucy asked.
"Well, yes, and given the business of our friend here, I'm wondering if it is some sort of code," Magee replied. "Anyway, in the beginning there's a greeting that doesn't seem to mean much to either of them. But the crux of the message comes from the older man who says: 'A son of Man will march among the sons of Ireland and silence the critic for the good of us all.'"
"It does sound like a code," Lucy said.
"Yes, an instruction of some kind, perhaps," Jaxon agreed. "I wonder if they're talking about patriots from the Isle of Man. You mentioned that there was a nationalist movement on the island. Have you ever heard of any Isle of Man connections to terrorists, say, the Irish Republican Army?"
Magee frowned. "Not that I'm aware of. The nationalist movement was pretty benign when I was involved in the language project. It was more of a cultural pride thing and something that seemed would have a nonviolent political solution. I mean, it's not like the Isle of Man is occupied by British troops or under the thumb of Parliament. Independence would be more symbolic. But who knows? Maybe the nationalists have grown more violent in the years since."