by Mary Lindsey
“My ancestors used to float burning reeds upon the water, but Francine makes these floating candles, which simplifies things,” her Liam explained to the human female from the steps to the water. “Bealtaine is a time when the Otherworlders are close, so we make wishes and ask for their help or blessing.”
Muireann gasped as he produced fire from a small object in his hand. The human female tipped her candle and held the wick to the tiny flame.
Several Bean Sidhes drifted around them, but the humans did not notice. Like the Na Fir Ghorm closing in around the pier, they cloaked themselves with a glamour that made them invisible to humans. The Selkies had no glamour abilities. They had to hide in plain sight by adopting the form of a creature of the human world. Muireann had never been certain whether the seal was her natural form or the creature within the pelt. She just knew that the form within was fragile and in her seal form, she could live four or five centuries, which was why so few of her kind dared to shed their pelts.
“The selfish creatures will wish for wealth,” a Na Fir Ghorm said, yellow eyes like those of a squid trained on the couple.
“Or children. These islanders always asks for children,” another said. “Always thinking of themselves.”
“Selfish and worthless,” the first one replied. “And completely inferior to us.”
A Bean Sidhe swirled above their heads. She spoke in the ancient tongue. “No! You are wrong. Humans have an infinite capacity for unconditional love. That is what makes them unique and precious.”
The human female placed her candle on the water and closed her eyes. “Done,” she said.
Liam kissed her cheek. “You have to make a wish.”
“I did.”
“Out loud, so that they can hear you.”
“Oh.” She stared out over the water at her invisible audience. “You go first.”
He created flame from the object in his hand and held it to a candle on the step next to him. He placed the candle on the water and it bobbed for a moment before settling. “We’ll make our wishes together.”
Muireann held her breath. What would her Liam wish for?
“Here it comes. Money or children. I’ll bet for this one, it will be money,” the first Na Fir Ghorm said.
“His wish will be selfless,” a Bean Sidhe answered.
“What will you bet?” the Na Fir Ghorm replied.
hat ize placedThe one who loses will grant his wish.”
“Done. I hope you have some gold. Humans are the most selfish creatures in any realm.”
Muireann’s heart pounded. She hated that her Liam was the object of a bet.
“Ready?” Liam said to his human female. She nodded.
“I wish for . . .” he started.
“Your happiness,” they said in unison.
The Bean Sidhes let out an earsplitting celebratory shriek only the Otherworlders could hear.
Muireann ducked underwater to mute the volume. When she surfaced, the couple was kissing . . . again.
“Now you must make good on your debt and grant his wish,” the Bean Sidhe said.
A Na Fir Ghorm laughed, then responded, “We cannot grant happiness. That’s preposterous. There is no such thing. Just as there is no such thing as love.”
The Bean Sidhes swirled in a golden vortex over the group of Na Fir Ghorm. “You are wrong. Love is real.”
“That’s not love. It’s lust,” said a Na Fir Ghorm to Muireann’s right, his gray beard swirling on the surface of the water. To her knowledge, all Na Fir Ghorm were male. She’d never seen a female.
“Love is the only thing that lasts forever,” the Bean Sidhe replied.
“Love is fleeting and fickle. Humans only love when it is easy. If an obstacle were thrown in their way, they would cast this love aside like fish bones after the flesh is gone.”
“Obstacles make love grow stronger,” was the reply of the Bean Sidhe.
Muireann exchanged glances with Keela. She’d never heard the Bean Sidhes converse with the Na Fir Ghorm, much less debate with them. A queasy churning filled her stomach.
“We are never wrong. Everyone knows we are the smartest creatures in the Otherworld. Intellect rules the heart every time. Feelings and emotions are worthless,” came the answer from a Na Fir Ghorm a little farther out. They all looked alike to Muireann, so she could only identify them by location.
“Love is the most powerful and valuable asset of any living creature, of this world or any other,” said a Bean Sidhe.
The humans on the steps at the water held each other, talking quietly, oblivious to the battle of words waging around them.
“Prove it,” said a Na Fir Ghorm close to the steps. Muireann recognized this one because of his distinctive voice and the long scar on his face. This was the ruler of the clan in her waters—the one who just days ago tortured his own son. A wide grin split his face, exposing sharp teeth like a shark. “Or rather, let them prove it.” He gestured to the humans with a bony arm, pointing with webbed fingers. “The only reason these humans are feeling what you call love is because it is easy. I’ll wager that this ‘love’ will falter at the first bit of difficulty.”
The golden cloud closest to the Na Fir Ghorm leader defined itself into shape of a woman. “Love is strongest in adversity.”
His eyes widened, exposing his horizontal pupils. “A wager, then?”
“The cost?” she replied.
“The losing species must leave this territory forever!” His announcement was greeted with gasps and grumbles from both fas f she repctions.
Muireann was torn. She was certain that the humans would pass the test, but at what cost? Ridding her waters of the Na Fir Ghorm would be a gift as long as it didn’t hurt her Liam.
A Na Fir Ghorm from farther out shouted over the grumbling. “You cannot speak for all of us. You can only represent your own clan. Those of us who live in the deeper waters remove ourselves from this wager.” With that, dozens of the horrible creatures swam out of the harbor.
Liam and his female cuddled on the steps, speaking in whispers. Ignorance is bliss, Muireann thought, quoting her father.
The leader of the Na Fir Ghorm stood on the lowest step in front of the couple. “So, is it a wager?”
The swirling gold clouds of mist congealed to form six iridescent women hovering over the harbor. “We exist to serve. Leaving will be contrary to our purpose,” one said.
“We cannot lose,” one of them said to her sister Bean Sidhes. “Their love is to the very soul. If we win, we could rid the island of these creatures that prey on humans at a rate greater than they reproduce. We should accept the wager.”
The leader of the Na Fir Ghorm crossed his arms across his scaled blue chest as if daring his clan to object or speak up. As Muireann expected, the dozen or so remaining Na Fir Ghorm remained silent.
“We accept on the following conditions: First, the contest can last no longer than thirty days. Second, before any test is issued, both sides must approve it. Third, we must follow the rules of the Otherworld with regard to taking human life,” the Bean Sidhe said, her brightness intensifying.
The grin on the Na Fir Ghorm leader’s face made Muireann shudder. She knew what his motivation was. He had no
interest in ridding Dòchas of the Bean Sidhes. He wanted to torture the broken one, her Liam.
“Let it begin, then,” the horrible blue leader announced.
“Wait,” Muireann said. “Maybe we—”
“Maybe we?” the leader shouted. “We? You are not part of this. You are simply a creature stuck between worlds with no say in anything. One more word from you and you will be tiny pieces of bait.”
Keela sank below the surface, but Muireann remained, trembling, furious. On the steps behind the Na Fir Ghorm leader, her Liam laughed at something his female said, and her heart ached. He was about to be an unwitting pawn in a game of ancient malice and evil, and she could do nothing to stop it.
20
Near neighbors a
re seldom friends.
—Edgar Allan Poe,
from “Metzengerstein,” 1832
Muireann’s sister turned her back, something she had never done before. “Please, Keela. Try to understand,” Muireann begged.
“I understand all too well.” Keela moved farther up the rocks, closer to their sleeping family. “You put our entire pod in danger because of your attraction to this human.”
“That wasn’t what I was trying to do.”
Keela stopped halfway up a rock. “What exactly were you trying to do, then?”
o.font size="-1">“Save him.”
Keela grunted as she pulled her bulky seal body up onto the ledge below the sleeping pod. She glared over the edge at Muireann. “It was stupid and reckless. The Na Fir Ghorm hate us and would love to find a reason to kill us off.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
Muireann lurched and flopped her upper body and flippers on the edge of the rock shelf to join her family.
“There’s no room for you up here,” her sister growled. “Find another place to sleep. Maybe you can cuddle up with your human since he means more to you than we do.”
Tears blurred Muireann’s vision. No one had ever been unkind to her before. How did her Liam stand it? He was treated this way all the time.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she slunk back to the water.
The Bealtaine celebration was still in full swing when she returned to the harbor. The villagers danced around the fire and candles littered the surface of the water. Her human was no longer on the steps, but a small group of Na Fir Ghorm congregated just at the end of the pier. Slipping behind one boat and then another, she snuck close enough to hear them.
“We have this wager netted,” the leader said. “There is no way this couple can stay together. We could win without even adding to their troubles. I’ve learned a great deal about them tonight. The female’s wealthy parents will find the broken one unsuitable and will not allow the relationship to continue. Even without the parents’ intervention, my source believes it will end any day now. As soon as the newness wears off, the female will leave him for a more appropriate mate who can tolerate her lifestyle.”
Muireann moved closer, hiding behind the pen of lobsters her Liam had filled earlier in the day. She took a deep breath and went back under to listen again.
“Just to be on the safe side, I think we need to help things along. To make the split happen faster, we will force him back into his foster father’s home. Not only will the broken one be miserable, his foster father will keep them apart and the female will get bored.”
A smaller Na Fir Ghorm spoke up. “How are we going to force him back to the foster father’s home?”
The leader grinned and Muireann shuddered at the evil in his voice. “Let’s just say, he’s about to undergo a trial by fire.”
* * *
I had never been happier in my life. I was madly and passionately in love with Annabel Leighton and she with me. Had the Cailleach’s marker been called at this moment, I would have died willingly, having experienced joy few mortals had ever known.
The bonfire flames still raged and the villagers sang and danced madly in a whisky-induced frenzy. Amid this surreal scene of fiery jubilance and revelry, though, was one dark miserable being. Deirdre Byrne’s tear-stained face drew my attention like a magnet to metal.
She sat in agonizing solitude as those around her rejoiced in spite of her misery—some perhaps because of her misery.
The part of the ceremony in which her betrothal would be announced would happen anytime now.
If my suspicion as to whom Deirdre would be bound was correct, Anna would not receive the news well. “Let’s go,” I whispered in Anna’s earn At s.
She smiled. “It’s about time.”
“You’re not enjoying my dear neighbors’ celebration?”
Her smile broadened. “We could do better on our own.”
“Wait here,” I said.
I picked up one of the long, pale sticks that had been stripped of bark from the pile set aside for relighting home hearths. I stuck it into the embers of the north-most fire until the end ignited. Villagers watched, but none bade me good night or good luck as they would one another. It didn’t matter to me this year. I had Anna, which was more luck than I deserved.
The boards of the harbor sidewalk creaked underfoot. A light still shone from Francine’s apartment above the store. I briefly considered dropping in on her, but with her history of reclusive behavior at Bealtaine, I abandoned the idea.
“What’s with the burning stick?” Anna asked.
Our pace was slow because with no second hand to block the wind, I knew it was likely to extinguish. “It’s to relight the hearth fire as a symbol of renewal. All the villagers extinguish their fire in their home on the morning of the celebration and then relight it with the flame from the Bealtaine fire.”
“Well, it’s about to go out.” She pulled it from me with one hand and cupped her other hand in front of it. The tiny flame flared and strengthened. “We’d better pick up speed or it’ll burn down to nothing before we get to your place.”
As I took one last look back at the harbor, I noticed the unmistakable shape of a seal’s head poking from the water at the end of the pier and I wondered if it was the little seal from earlier in the day.
We took the cliff-side trail because it was a bit shorter. It worried me that Anna carried the flame while wearing her impractical slippers and lovely dress that could hang on bushes and branches. After just a few yards on the trail, the burden of maintaining the flame outweighed its benefits. I lifted it from her hands and extinguished it underfoot.
“What about the tradition?” she asked.
“It’s not my tradition.” I pitched the stick over the cliff into the water.
“Let’s start a new one of our own, then.” She struck back out up the trail, holding the front of her skirt. “What should we do in place of lighting the hearth with the Bealtaine fire?”
“How about I paint you by firelight?”
She stopped at the top of the trail and turned so that the sea wind blew the hair out of her face. The moonlight danced through the silver fibers in her dress, giving her the appearance of being lit from within. The gossamer fabric rippled, making the effect even more dreamlike.
Awed by her beauty, I could only stare, trying to commit her to memory: every curve, every plane, every shimmering ripple of her dress.
She smiled over her shoulder, fully aware of her effect on me, and kept walking.
“Or moonlight,” I said. “I could paint you by moonlight.”
I nearly tripped several times because I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I’d been completely entranced and captivated, body and soul.
Before we even made the turn to my shed, I knew something was wrong. The feeling wasn’t triggered by any tangible thing, like a scent or sight; it was just an overall sense of ral>
foreboding that radiated throughout my body. “Fire,” Anna gasped when my shed came into view. “Oh, God, Liam. It’s on fire.”
Flames lapped out from under the back of the building, which was elevated on blocks. The fire had just started, but there was no hope of stopping it. In the time it would take to retrieve and deliver water in buckets from the well or the sea, the entire structure would be engulfed.
“My books!” I ran down the trail and yanked on the door. It was locked. I fumbled for the key in my unfamiliar, tight jean pocket.
“No, Liam. It’s not worth it!” Anna shouted, grabbing my shirt.
Finally, my fingers skimmed the key in the deep front pocket.
The crackling and hissing of the cedar drowned out everything but one thought: I had to save the books.
“No!” she shouted again as I oriented the key in my trembling fingers. “Don’t go in there.”
Flames shot up the opposite side of the structure, stretching to the sky. The entire back half was a
n inferno. My time was running out. Searing chest pain resulted from each intake of smoke-filled air. I blinked hard, clearing my vision enough to insert the key in the lock. The tumblers clicked and I kicked it open, only to be driven back by a billowing cloud of black smoke. Coughing, I covered my nose and mouth with my shirt, squinted my eyes into slits, and bounded into the shed, Anna’s screams ringing in my ears.
I had to release the shirt in order to free my hand to grab books. Coughing and gasping, I threw one out the door and then another. I was on my sixth when the heat became too intense and a horrible crash behind me sent me running out the door, slamming right into Anna.
“Your shirt!” she shrieked.
I twisted around to discover the bottom of my shirt had ignited. Anna pushed me hard and I landed on my backside. “Roll!” she shouted, shoving my shoulders. I obeyed, extinguishing the flames in the dirt.
She forced me to my side, examining my back. “Are you burned?” she yelled over the roar of the fire.
I shook my head. “My books,” I said.
“Screw the books! Let’s get away from the fire.” She yanked on my arm hard. I marveled at her composure and physical strength. Once I was to my feet, she pulled me to a clearing a safe distance away from the flames, which now rivaled the Bealtaine fires in the harbor. Fortunately, the air was still as death, making it unlikely the fire would spread beyond my shed.
“Stay here,” she ordered.
Racked by coughs, I watched as she retrieved the books I’d rescued, stacking them next to me.
“I’m not an invalid,” I said between bouts of coughing.
She glared at me. “No. But you’re stupid! You could have died.”
I tried to answer but could only cough.
She dropped to her knees next to me. “What were you thinking?”
The flames reflected in her eyes, which brimmed with tears.
“Those books are all I have that are my own.”
She brushed my hair out of my face. “No. You have me.”
