An Argument of Fairies

by Cory Huff

  She took a few steps back. The wolf watched her, but didn’t move. She turned, and ran, deeper into the woods, hoping to lose the wolf in the trees. She heard another call and responding chorus of howls. She looked over her shoulder and the wolf was trotting after her, patiently keeping its distance, but also keeping her in sight. Nia wondered what to do.

  As she ran through the old trees, she searched desperately for a hiding spot. Should she climb a tree? That seemed like a bad idea with no one around to help her. Why did Aidan have to go back home? If there really was a Creator, she needed his help now.

  At that moment she remembered that her mother would sometimes call upon spirits to protect her when something would go wrong. Her mother had believed that the earth, the air, the ponds and ocean, and even the hearth fires were all inhabited by spirits that watched and interacted with humanity. She had tried to teach Nia how to honor and call upon those spirits, but Nia had only paid scant attention. The wolf echoes were getting louder. What options did she have? She was almost out of breath, and that first wolf was still close by. She gasped out, “If you’re out there, spirits help me.”

  Up ahead, Nia saw a dense group of bushes. She knew these woods well and didn’t remember those. This was somewhat unusual in this old growth forest, but she didn’t think about it too much. Maybe she could climb under and hide? She dove in, rolling and wriggling her way under cover, clothes tearing and catching on branches and thorns. The stick she was carrying was getting in the way, so she left it behind. She pulled herself deeper, and suddenly popped out the other side. There was a clearing behind a thin semi-circle of greenery, and there was water, a pond, just at the edge of the clearing. The pond reflected the faint glimmer of moonlight. She wriggled the rest of the way through and stood up. She realized there was a stack of rough-hewn flat rocks in the middle of the clearing. It was formed into a square. Someone had built this. But why behind a half-circle of shrubbery, hidden away at the edge of a pond?

  The wolves howled again, and she dove to her belly, reaching back through the foliage to grab her stick. If they swam around or crawled through, she needed a weapon. She fished around until she found it, then tried to tug it through. It wasn’t cooperating, so she crawled back a bit, to see if she could dislodge it. Suddenly, there was the wolf, snapping at her, white teeth flashing in the moonlight. Her arm was wrapped around a root, trying to pull her stick around. The wolf snapped its jaws shut around her arm. The pain was a shock. The strength of its grip was a shock. She was suddenly sure that if she didn’t do something, the wolf was going to rip her arm right off.

  Ignoring the scratches of the thorns, Nia acted on instinct, yelling out and punching the wolf right in its nose, as hard as she could. The wolf flinched, but didn’t let go, sending waves of pain up her arm as its jaws clamped down tighter. She could see blood, dark in the moonlight, the faintest glimmer of red in the darkness.

  Nia had lived on her own in the woods for years. She had taken care of herself, even when she had been staying with Goodwife Smith. She was not going to cry now. She was not going to cry when there was still a chance. She punched the wolf’s nose again, and again, and again, flailing with the might she had. The snarling got louder, and the wolf tried shaking her arm, but there wasn’t enough room for that bone-snapping maneuver. It hesitated and Nia punched further, catching it in one blind eye. The wolf let go and flinched away, still snarling. Nia immediately crawled backwards, her arm in agony.

  She stood up and choked back a sob as she looked at her arm. She could see white bone underneath the ragged flesh in her arm. She felt a strange calm overcome her. The pain receded to background noise. The wolves howled again, close by, and she could even hear their barking. They would be here in moments, digging like the blind wolf was. Together, they would dig a hole, and get in here. She felt faint. She staggered over to the pile of rocks, leaning against it. The top rock held an inscription. She tried to read it.

  It wasn’t legible. It wasn’t words. It was a series of scratches. Were they tally marks? In her haze of pain, trying to comprehend what this was, she trailed her hands across the marks.

  As she traced the inscription, the blood from her horrific wound pumped onto the stone, filling the marks with oozing red liquid. Her strength was fading and she leaned more heavily on the stones. They were surprisingly stable for a stack of rocks.

  “Spirits, help me. Please. I don’t want to die,” Nia whispered.

  The wolves scratched at the bushes. She turned and saw a nose pushing through.

  What had her mother called her favorite spirit, the spirit of the air?

  “Gaoth. I don’t know you,” her voice wavered, “My mother knew you, and she swore you would protect me.” She would not cry. “If you are there, please help me!” Her voice grew louder and she shouted the last bit defiantly, desperately.

  Sometimes, on a clear Summer night, the heat generates enough energy that there is a humming in the air. The world feels alive and tense, like a thing about to spring into action. Static shocks leap between clouds, and sometimes to the ground, striking a tall tree without warning. Animals can sense this danger, and flee the area before it happens.

  When Nia uttered the air spirit’s name, Gaoth, the air started humming. By the time she finished those two sentences, she could sense the electricity in the air. Nia’s hair stood on end. The wolves’ hair stood on end. Static shocks leaped between them. The blind wolf paused, cocked its ears, and backed away, tail between its legs. It, along with the rest of the pack, fled into the night. They would find easier prey.

  But Nia didn’t notice. She had lost so much blood. Her arm was a ruin. She had slumped to the ground, leaning against the stack of rocks. In the moonlight, she looked too pale. Her blood covering the rocks, and much of her clothes, made the contrast even more stark.

  The crowd stomped their feet in rhythm. They clapped and sang along with gusto. Sophronia was in rare form tonight. In the tiny space at the back of the pub, she sang at the top of her lungs, accompanied by her wooden mandolin, and by the two young men behind her, Luke on drum and Michael on tin whistle. Her song was high and full of energy.

  Ye Gentle Spirits of the Air, appear;

  Prepare, and join your tender Voices here.

  Cath, and repeat the Trembling Sounds anew,

  Soft as her Sighs and sweet as pearly dew,

  Run new Division, and such Measures keep,

  As when you lull the God of Love asleep.

  Now the Maids and the Men are making of Hay,

  We h've left the dull Fools, and are stolen away.

  Then Mopsa no more

  Be Coy as before,

  But let us merrily Play,

  And kiss the sweet time away.

  They shouted, whooped, hollered as she flourished, smiled, and flirted with every man in the audience. They were all smitten. They didn’t care that she spread her attention among them all. They were just glad she looked at them.

  Sophronia was tall, with long, curly, red hair, full lips, freckles, bright green eyes full of intelligence, and a smile that lit up a room. But the most enchanting part of her was her music. Sophronia had started singing sweet songs at the Pig and Whistle when she was just a girl of six. She had been precocious. Her mother had brought her in with their father to see another musician. Sophronia had asked if she could sing with her and had stolen the show.

  For the last 15 years, Sophronia had charmed audiences at the Pig and Whistle. As she matured, she had charmed the men, flirting with them, and always staying just one step ahead of them. She never committed to any of them. She had fun with everyone, even the women.

  Holding her arm up, fingers waggling in what her audience knew as her signature personal sign, with a small nod here, and eye contact there, the force of her personality washed over the audience, and they ate it up.

  She finished the song with a flourish, her last of the evening. The crowd cheered, stomped, and clapped as she and the boys took a bow. Coins
tossed into the music cases, she smiled and thanked them all. They shouted their love and devotion. She smiled and told them all that she loved them back. She was the picture of the consummate performer, basking in the adoration of her audience.

  A quiet woman watched intensely from the back of the crowd at the Pig and Whistle. She had a brown cloth tied around her head. Long, straight, brown hair flowed out the back of the cloth into a tight braid that stopped at the nape of her neck. Pale, tall and lithe, the woman was vigilant and did not smile or otherwise invite strangers to talk to her. Her drink sat untouched. She wore loose brown and grey clothing that worked well for someone who might need to move quickly. She wore a long knife at her belt held in a undecorated brown leather sheath.

  Sophronia is impressive, the tall woman thought. Even without the tricks of the Ogham. How had she learned to do that? Binding charms were difficult enough one on one. Creating them with a crowd was a feat that no human had mastered since the Hartland War. Those winks, nods, and touches were subtle ways of masking her manipulation of the Ogham. The fingers laid across her arms were passed off as a quirk of her performance.

  Mindee, as she called herself, was tasked with keeping the gaeas intact. She was the first line of defense against humanity’s incursion into the Sidhe. For years she had been living among the people of Atania, watching and reporting back to the shadowy figures of the Cumnheantach, letting them know when they got too close to hidden secrets or the limitations of the gaeas. She had been watching Sophronia for weeks, having somehow missed her emergence as a threat. Now she had definitive proof that Sophronia was blasmaigh - violating the gaeas and marked for death.

  You die tonight, thought Mindee.

  Must she die? She’s so beautiful, responded Caile. Can’t we take her away with the others?

  Mindee started. Caile hadn’t spoken to her directly in some time.

  We can whisk her away with the Ogham. It will be so easy. Caile again.

  NO! Mindee silently shouted in her mind. She shook as memories flooded her consciousness. Caile had been walking among ancient trees, awaiting an answer to her petition to join the Cumhneantach. Caile had approached the Cumhneantach about helping to watch these people as a way of at least seeing what they were up to. It hadn’t gone the way she thought it would.

  Hours after her meeting, the dark, robed figures had surrounded her suddenly, invoking their own power to paralyze her so she couldn’t access the Ogham.

  Their power invaded her mind and all of her memories of her friends were brought to the surface. In moments, they saw everything. Her love for her friends. Her happy moments traveling in Atania. The sudden flood of memories, combined with her paralysis, caused her to seize and they held her down for several terrifying moments. She heard them tell her that these happy moments had to go away, that she had to forget them and focus on what was important: keeping the gaeas intact. When she calmed enough to talk, she had refused, and one of the figures told her that it was too late. She had approached the Cumhneantach, knew who they were, and could not say no.

  They used the Ogham to cause her excruciating pain, as though she were on fire. They told her that if she agreed to their terms and helped them, the pain would stop. Caile had a will of steel, honed through a childhood that had left her health broken, and hardened through years of focus and training in the Ogham. She had risen out of her upbringing to become an apprentice Amhranaith, one of the singing warriors of her people.

  In that moment of pain, an old friend, Mindee, had spoken to her. It's ok Caile. I’ll do it. You can go away, and I will do this so you don’t have to do it.

  “Hey, are you ok?” A man touched her arm, looking concerned.

  Mindee looked at him coldly, “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You looked like you were shaking.”

  Mindee looked around and several people were looking in her direction. She turned around and walked outside, stuffing down her feelings and memories. As long as Mindee did her job, the Courts of Winter and Summer would stay away from each others’ throats.

  And Caile would be safe.

  Sophronia pushed her way out of the crowd into the dark street. It was dark, a new moon. It had taken 20 minutes just to get out of the Pig and Whistle. The crowd loved her, and they wanted her to know it. Offers of drinks, back slapping, and other, less savory sorts of invitations from all quarters were forthcoming. Luke and Michael were still in there. All Sophronia wanted was to get away. She needed air.

  She had long since become bored with the power she held over the audiences here in Atania. Especially the Pig and Whistle. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the adoration. But it wasn’t a challenge any more. She needed something new. Even practicing her secret powers had become routine. She barely had to think about the music any more.

  She wanted to go home and sleep, so she could arise early and get back out to her secret library in the Southern part of the city. It was her secret, and she wanted to keep it that way. If she didn’t leave early in the morning, someone would see her and ask where she was going. There just weren’t enough people in Atania. Everyone knew everyone else’s business.

  Sophronia beat the streets back to her home.

  Mindee slipped into the house, silently. The door was unlocked, like all of the doors in Atania. The villagers didn’t believe anyone would want to harm them, so they didn’t lock their doors. Caile would have smiled, but Mindee didn’t have much of a sense of humor. Certainly, her job tonight wasn’t funny. It required focus. Determination. Those were Mindee’s strengths.

  What Mindee was here to do was distasteful, but it had to be done. On her way here, Caile had emerged again.

  Couldn’t we give Sophronia a warning first?

  No, she is blasmaigh, responded Mindee. She is marked for death. If I were ask the Cumhneantach, they would hurt us.

  Caile whimpered and went away.

  It was early in the morning, before sunrise. Everyone in the neighborhood was asleep. Everyone should be sleeping off the night of carousing. It was the silent hour on a dark night of a new moon. The perfect time for an unseen assailant to get away with murder.

  Mindee crept through the house, certain that she would be able to find the unsuspecting woman.

  A light flared and Mindee threw up a hand as her night vision was ruined. She was in the middle of an unfamiliar room and there was Sophronia, standing with a match, a surprised look on her face.

  Mindee recovered quickly and moved toward Sophronia with a catlike grace, knocking the match from her hand with her own left hand, and grabbing the woman’s hair with her right. Her left hand produced a knife from her belt and she went for the kill, Sophronia’s neck exposed.

  To her surprise, Sophronia punched her in the stomach, hard. Mindee grunted and her grip on Sophronia’s hair loosened a bit. Sophronia’s forehead came forward and smashed into her face. Mindee saw stars. Mindee had been in fights before though, and she knew what to do. She got her hands up and backed off to regroup. But Sophronia charged ahead as well, grabbing for Mindee’s head, but only getting the brown cloth, which pulled loose. Mindee cursed as the cloth fell away from her head and she bumped into a chair, which crashed to the floor, making a loud racket.

  At that moment, the door opened behind her and two men stumbled into the room, laughing and shushing each other. They froze, holding their lamp high, when they saw the brown haired, pointy eared woman in front of them, holding a knife.

  Mindee was the trained killer. Her reflexes recovered first. She slashed across Michael’s face, blinding him. He screamed and grabbed his face, dropping the lantern to the ground. Before he had even drawn a breath, Mindee had kicked Luke in the side of the face, knocking him out. She whirled around to deal with Sophronia, who had produced a sword. Where the hell had she gotten a sword from?

  And why was she standing in a fighting stance, knees loose, balanced, ready for a fight?

  It didn’t matter. Sophronia had seen Mindee’s ears. Now s
he had to die for two reasons. Mindee pulled out another hidden knife for her right hand and charged. With her right hand, she thrust forward, keeping her left hand low and back.

  Sophronia parried the knife attack hard and that was the deception that Mindee needed. She brought her left in hard, to the side, going for Sophronia’s ribs. She would pierce the lung and end the fight now.

  But Sophronia surprised her yet again. She brought her sword back just enough to partially impede the progress of the knife. Instead of a stab between the ribs, the sword forced the knife down, cutting and dragging across her ribs, opening up a long scratch down her side. Sophronia hissed in pain and backpedaled swinging wildly, retreating across the room, behind a table. Clever girl. She had a sword, with longer reach. The table in the way favored her.

  Mindee could see clearly by the lamp light. Sophronia was lucky to have blocked that stab. But her advantage was minor. Mindee’s hand flicked out, right, then left, hurling her knives, and driving forward behind the throws, pulling another knife as she went.

  Sophronia dodged the first throw, but the second one dug deep into her left shoulder. She cried out in shock and her knees went out from under her.

  Something grabbed Mindee’s left foot as she strode in for the kill. She wasn’t expecting it and went down hard, grunting, eyes widening when she felt the blade sink into her upper thigh. Caught in the act of drawing her knife, she had gotten her arm stuck when she fell. She quickly rolled to her right, looking down to see the hilt of her third knife protruding from her left thigh. Her eyes widened as she realized that she was in serious trouble. Luke was holding her ankle, blood oozing down the side of his head from her kick. How was he conscious?

  Mindee had to get out. Screaming with the effort, she whipped around and kicked him in the other side of the head with her right leg. There was a sick crunch as her hardened boot connected with his skull.