“There isn’t much to see,” Katie said, removing her helmet. “Just a grassy circle and a few stones. It would have been where a Celtic tribe feasted together.”
“Or some other ‘tribe,’” Gwen murmured.
“Are you sure your cousin will come? What if this isn’t the right place? I’ll wait with you.”
“No!” said Gwen, with more force than she intended. She rushed out her words to fend off Katie’s dismay. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your offer, but this is something I have to do alone.”
The older girl was not convinced. She pointed to the dark clouds that were gathering over the mountains.
“There’ll be a storm tonight. They’re pure wild in the summertime. I’m not going to leave you here—”
“You don’t know what’s going on!” Gwen said in a panic, sensing that Katie might dig in her heels. “I hardly know myself. It could be dangerous. I can’t drag you into it.”
Gwen saw immediately that she had taken the wrong tack. Katie’s eyes flashed. She was the impulsive kind, ready for action. Very like Findabhair in fact. That made up Gwen’s mind. She didn’t need another one lost in Faerie.
“No,” said Gwen again, in a quiet and final tone. “The farm needs you. Your family needs you. I won’t argue any more, but you’ve got to understand. This is my battle. Please let me handle it myself.”
She had gotten it right this time. Katie gave in, albeit reluctantly.
“Fair enough. We all have our patch to plow. I won’t interfere with yours. Good luck to you, then, with whatever it is you’re facing. I gather you haven’t told me everything, but that’s your business. Remember now, if you need me, you know where I am.”
As the motorbike disappeared down the road, Gwen felt a pang of regret. She would have liked to have had Katie with her. Still, she felt it was the right decision.
A wooden stile brought her into the field. She followed a trail through the damp grass. It led her to a green hollow circled by white stones half-buried in the earth. Removing her knapsack, she sat down to wait.
Darkness settled over the Burren. Above was scattered a handful of stars. A cool wind blew from the shadow of the mountains. In the deep quiet and stillness, Gwen acknowledged the truth. She had strayed far from the path. She was out beyond the walls in the uncharted night. Could she brave it? Despite her fear, she didn’t move. She was determined to face whatever might come.
When it happened, it happened immediately, as if the other world had shaken itself awake with a roar.
Their arrival was like a blast of wind, a great soft blow. They poured into the hollow like molten silver. Almost indescribable in human terms. Almost invisible to mortal eyes. Their silhouettes hinted of slender graceful shapes, but they were so amorphous as to appear also like streams or columns of falling light. They were translucent, and transparent too, for Gwen could see through them to the contours of the landscape. Did they have wings? Or was that moonlight trailing behind them? They moved with such breathtaking swiftness that wings, pale limbs, and tresses all blended together.
Paralyzed, Gwen sat wide-eyed and watching. She was seized by a wonder that was also terror. These were not human, not of the world she knew. Their very existence was shattering. Unable to stop herself, she uttered a cry.
Their madcap movements ceased abruptly. Trembling like moonbeams, the glorious creatures stood still.
“There is a mortal amongst us!”
The cry wailed on the wind.
“What brought this human here?”
The hiss was like water dousing flame.
Gwen wanted to answer, to explain and apologize, but she felt so heavy beside their lightness, like a dull lump of stone or a sod of earth. Sphinxlike she sat, solemn and dumbstruck, staring into eyes that stared back like stars.
They gathered around her, peering into her face. She felt crowded by moonlight and will-o’-the-wisps. Some patted her curiously with gentle strokes. One blew into her mouth and ears. She quivered at their touch, but couldn’t move or speak.
“She has not seen us before. She is fairy-struck.”
Their whisperings rustled like leaves in a tree. They were calmer now as they saw she was helpless.
“A golden-haired girl,” someone said softly, “with a face as pale as the moon.”
“She is a pretty mortal.”
“Shall we take her with us?”
“Here is our captain!”
“He will know.”
Though Gwen could barely discern one shape from another—they all flashed and flickered like fireworks—she was able to see the tall youth who approached her. His red-gold hair fell to his shoulders. His eyes were as blue as a summery sea. His ears were pierced with silver rings. As if in a dream, she wondered why he seemed familiar and she was all the more confused when he spoke her name.
“Fair Gwenhyvar, wilst thou come to our banquet?”
The word “banquet” was like a charm that set her free. With a gasp, she surfaced from her stupor and jumped to her feet.
“Where is my cousin?” she demanded.
The shining youth shook his head.
“She is not here, fair one. My name is Midir. I tried to guide you to our palace, but you did not follow me to the door in the mountain. Thus have I come with my troop to aid you.”
Gwen was about to thank him, when she changed her mind. Hadn’t she promised herself to stop being naïve?
“Why are you helping me?” she asked instead.
He seemed bemused by her question.
“You denied the King when he came for you.” Wonder echoed through his words. “No mortal woman has ever resisted him.”
Gwen shuffled uneasily. His gaze was so intense she could feel herself blushing.
“Well,” she said, “there’s a first time for everything.”
His laughter was a spell in itself. Charmed, she had to laugh too.
“There is nothing more exciting than a challenge,” he said. “Don’t you agree?”
Without waiting for her answer, the fairy captain shot into the sky. His voice rang out to command the night.
“Get me a horse!”
Now the rest of his troop took up the cry.
“Come fairy steeds from the Cave of the Wild Horses!”
Their shouts resounded over the Burren to the cave in which the fairy steeds dwelt. Out came the wild horses from their craggy stable, like a rush of wind rolling down the mountains.
Gwen saw them in the clouds, racing past the moon. Arched necks and broad chests and huge eyes like opals. Some were black as the night, others white as the moonlight. One had golden-brown hair, the same color as her own. Stars glittered in their manes, which swept behind them like wings. Hooves thundered across the sky. They galloped towards the fairy folk, tossing their heads and snorting defiantly. Did anyone dare ride them?
The fairies were quick to respond. They raced to the horses. Some succeeded in mounting with one fleet jump. Others were flung away to somersault in the air like fiery pinwheels. Still others, unable to take their seats, ran alongside, arms entangled in horse hair, screeching with laughter and mock pleas for mercy.
Gwen quaked inside. This wild abandon, this utter madness, was beyond anything she could imagine. It was a nightmare she had no hope of handling. Exquisite chaos. Again she was overwhelmed by the terrifying truth. All these beings, both riders and steeds, were supernatural. They shouldn’t exist.
And yet, something inside her, some vague, restless, and exiled part of her, recognized them. Remembered them. In the deep ocean of her unconscious, the dreamer stirred. She wavered between the fear of what might happen if she joined them, and the equal fear of being left behind.
No kind hand was proffered to help her mount. She knew in her heart she had to do this alone.
Courage is not a lack of fear. It is acting despite the fear.
The words whispered inside her. Her soul fluttered like a bird in its cage, yearning to be free.
&
nbsp; Now she made a dash for the high-stepping mare with the golden-brown mane.
“You are for me!” she cried.
The horse reared up, but as soon as the hooves touched the earth again Gwen saw her chance. Leaping forward to grasp the mane, she flung a leg over the shining bare back. The mare bucked ferociously to toss her away. Half-up, half-down, Gwen flapped in midair like a paper bag in the wind. She gripped so tightly her knuckles went white. But she couldn’t keep her hold. The horse’s hair began to slip through her fingers. Straining, clutching, she strove to hang on.
To no avail. With a cry of anguish, she lost her grip and fell to the ground. She rolled out of control. By the time she came to a stop, flat on her back, she was bruised and battered.
Gwen choked back her tears as she stared up at the sky. She was utterly humiliated. There they were, far above her, the fairy troop on horseback, glittering in the night like a spray of stars. She would never forget the look in their eyes as they gazed down on her. So cool and distant. Such breathtaking indifference!
At the head of the troop rode Midir on a red-gold steed. His own fiery mane was a comet’s tail behind him. Did she imagine the regret she saw in his glance? But he didn’t look back when he sped away, any more than the rest of them. All simply abandoned her there in the dark.
That’s when something snapped in Gwen.
“No!” she cried after them. “Don’t go without me! Not again!”
She scrambled to her feet, looking around wildly. The golden-brown mare had not gone far and appeared to be grazing innocently. But Gwen could see the tension in her limbs.
“You are for me!” Gwen called again, gritting her teeth. “If it takes all night!”
Now she ran for the horse even as the mare prepared to bolt. Gwen was quicker, spurred by a furious need to rejoin the troop. Once more she leaped at the horse’s back to grasp the long mane. Once more she dangled helplessly in midair. Once more she clung on with all her might. The moment seemed to stretch into forever, an unrelenting eternity of cold wind, torn fingers, and battered body. But this time she refused to let go. This time she drew on the last ounce of her strength, the last breath in her lungs. She would not let go, even if it meant being trampled to death.
Sensing the iron will of her hapless rider, the fairy steed grew calm.
In that moment of sweet stillness Gwen righted herself. She patted the mare’s neck with relief and respect.
“Thank you, lady,” she whispered into an elegant ear.
The mare whinnied in response and flew into the sky.
It wasn’t long before Gwen caught up with the fairy troop as they raced across the heavens. Her heart skipped a beat at Midir’s smile of approval. Then the others let out a jubilant shout.
“Ride fast! Ride fast! The spell is cast!”
h, the exhilaration of that night ride over the Burren! Silver-shod hooves rode the currents of air like the smooth sward of a plain. Wild and bitter is the wind tonight. Triumphantly one of the glorious host, Gwen felt like a goddess. We come from the Land of the Ever-Living where there is neither pain nor sorrow. Her eyes shone with fairy sight as she gazed on the landscape below. Transient is the splendor of your world, eternal is ours.
Over Cahercommaun they flew. An ancient stone fort on the edge of a cliff, it no longer stood as a ruin in modern time. Smoke curled from within the high ramparts. A proud people dwelled in the great hall of stone. Cloaks of bright linen fell from their shoulders, clasped with gold brooches. Torcs brighter than the sun glimmered at their throats. Both men and women were of a noble bearing, fierce and unbowed.
“All hail!” cried the fairies as they passed by. “All hail to the Celtic tribes of Erin!”
Perishable are the hosts of short-lived mortals. Your life is as brief and swift as a whisper.
On they sped to Leamanagh Castle where lights sparkled in the mullioned windows. At a banquet table laden with meats and wine, Máire Ruadh dined her Saxon guest. Unbowed by defeat, she wooed the conqueror with a toss of her long red hair. In the passage of time her plans would succeed. Her sons would be chieftains like their murdered father.
“Our blessings upon you, lionhearted Mary!”
Onward again dashed the cavalcade, beneath the sky of stars. Over cairn and cashel, over bog and rushy pasture, over runneled rock meadow and holy well. We do not wish to settle, we do not care to sleep. From their marvelous height they could see everything, even the secrets that lay under the earth. Subterranean rivers streamed through labyrinthine caves. Stalactites pierced the dark underworld air. The black waters of turloughs seeped up through the limestone to glimmer in the moonlight.
When they reached the majestic Poulnabrone Dolmen, standing alone in a stony field, the fairies swooped down. Inside the sheltering walls of the cromlech, two young lovers lay asleep. Their beauty was marred by hunger and hardship, but they dreamed of a lasting future together. Neither regretted the love that had made them fugitives from the warriors of the Fianna and Finn MacCumhail.
A hush fell over the fairy folk as they approached the dolmen. All were solemn-eyed like worshippers at a wayside shrine. They laid gifts of food at the lovers’ feet and covered their cold limbs with sheepskin rugs.
Sweet Diarmuid and Gráinne. We who were ancient in ancient days grant thee a night’s peace from the din of men and the hunters’ hounds.
The young couple stirred in each other’s arms and smiled in their sleep.
Airborne once more, Gwen was ready to ride forever. Come away, O human child! She had discarded all memory of her former life. She had forgotten her own name. There was only the night wind and the flight of the wild horses and the company of a shining angelic folk. Come away to the bright-edged strand of the world.
They soared over a farmhouse on the side of a mountain. With a start, Gwen recognized the thatched roof of the Quirke homestead. Bran was asleep on the doorstep, but he suddenly lifted his head to bay. Inside, the family turned in their beds as they, too, sensed the Hosting of the Sídhe pass by.
For Gwen, it was a nudge from her past. A discomfiting reminder.
“I’m human,” she whispered, both sad and surprised.
A warning sounded faintly in the back of her mind. A man’s voice echoing from far away.
You must take care, my dear. Otherwise both of you could be lost forever.
Now the fairy troop began to descend toward a steep cliffside. As they plummeted downward, Gwen recognized the ridge to which the fox had led her. They were dropping so fast she was certain they would crash. Then she saw the crack in the side of the mountain.
With a rush of wings and wind, they sailed inside.
There was a moment, before the troop dismounted, when Gwen suffered the sensation that all was not as it seemed. The crevice they had entered appeared suddenly minute, an opening for creatures as small as insects. Her sight wavered. The fairy steeds looked like dragonflies!
“Is this a dream?” she wondered.
Midir came to lift her down from her horse. The firm grip of his hands around her waist steadied her.
“What’s real and what isn’t?” she asked him.
The summer-blue eyes were bright with laughter.
“The order of things is ours to play with. We can create a sun and a moon. The heavens we can sprinkle with radiant stars of the night. Wine we can make from the cold waters of the Boyne, sheep from stones, and swine from fern. On the mortal plane, life is a web of illusion. We weave what we wish.”
They were standing in a souterrain lit by torches. At the end of the long passageway was a flight of steps that led downward. The other fairies had run ahead, laughing and chattering among themselves. No longer shadowy beings of light, they appeared, like their captain, to be solid and human. Like him also, they were strikingly beautiful.
Midir offered Gwen his arm.
She hung back, uncertain. For all his charm, she didn’t trust him. Was she a pawn in some fairy game? He might abduct her as the King had done he
r cousin.
But when he spoke, he sounded sincere.
“Do not fear and no harm will befall you. Only take no food or wine that may be offered to you, if you wish to return to your world again.”
In the end, she went with him. What other choice did she have?
He led her down the steps, deep into the mountain. The rock walls were ribbed and muscled like a torso. The musky scent of clay caught at her throat. The tintinnabulation of trickling water chimed through the dimness. Deeper and deeper they went, till the lights disappeared and they were walking into darkness. Over wave and over fountain. Under hill and under mountain. Her grip on Midir’s arm tightened. She was beginning to fear she would never see daylight again.
Then they came to an archway with a great bronze door that opened into the hollow heart of the mountain.
And the fairy tale began anew.
The cavern was of breathtaking grandeur and beauty. Its vast floors gleamed a royal purple, smooth porphyry inlaid with crystals of amethyst. Marble pillars rose to the high ceiling to be lost in the recesses. A thousand white candles illumined the gallery. Elaborate tapestries draped the walls, their needlework depicting a land of enchantment.
Fruitful is every fair field in blossom. The salmon leap in stony streams. Across the full waters glide winged swans. Ever green are the tangled groves of holly. Honey-gold are the woods. At eventide, the sun sends down its red shafts from out of the west. And strange birds nest in the apple trees.
Gwen found herself thinking of the Garden of Eden. Did the fairies still have what her own race had lost? But there was little time to muse. Her senses were being bombarded by every kind of marvel.
The bright assembly of the Court was as splendid as the hall. Of every exquisite shape, size, and color, the fairies were resplendent in lavish fashion. There were flounces of silk and the sheen of satin, brocaded cloths stitched with gold-wrapped thread, rich dark velvets trimmed with pearls, and tasseled trains of lustrous damask. Every throat, arm, and wrist was ablaze with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Every head was adorned with tiaras or jeweled caps and combs.
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