Domnall and the Borrowed Child

by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley

  “You sure caught us out,” Domnall said with what he hoped was a cheerful chuckle. “But we could use your help.” He jerked his chin at Elspeth lying on the ground. “She stumbled into us, she’s entranced. We’re trying to get her to the Sithein.”

  Tam looked at the human body and then nudged it with his foot. “Why not just leave her? She’ll wake eventually, won’t she?”

  “She’d freeze to death,” replied Domnall as Micol spoke over him, “Not if the wolves get her first.” They glanced at each other but Tam didn’t appear to notice anything amiss.

  “I feel responsible for her,” admitted Domnall. “Humans can’t wake themselves from a trance, and it’s our fault. We were following her.”

  Tam shrugged and nudged at the body with his toe. “Well, I suppose Daoine will know what to do with her.” He lifted Elspeth’s arm like it was rotting fruit. “If the mud ruins this tunic, I’m holding you responsible.”

  Micol picked up the muddy feet.

  They made quick progress. It wasn’t until they reached the Sithein that Domnall started to think about what to say.

  * * *

  Domnall and Micol stood in the warm entrance of the Sithein, a light mist rising from their wet clothes. Tam stood behind them. Elspeth lay on the crumbled leaves of the hallway, attracting stares from all around. A small and excited faerie had already run off to find an Elder. Whispers surrounded them; within a matter of minutes everyone knew that there was a human in their home.

  Maeve walked through the crowd, her face haggard. “Out gallivanting, were you? Having a grand old time?” Domnall tried to speak but Maeve held up her hand. Her eyes were as cold as winter. “I was up all night with the child crying in pain. You gave up.” She turned and stomped back into the nursery before he could say a word.

  Tam frowned. “Sorry, I should have warned you she was out for blood. With the excitement of you two dancing in the rain all night, I forgot.”

  Domnall spun towards him, anger flaring from his eyes.

  Tam blinked in surprise as Micol stepped between them. “It wasn’t Domnall’s fault,” she said. “It was long past sundown when we took a break; he’d been going non-stop for two days.”

  “I wasn’t trying to say . . .” Tam paused and chose his next words more carefully. “I wasn’t taking Maeve’s side, friend. I’m just glad you had some good luck yourself, for a change.”

  Domnall clenched his fists, struggling to keep from telling Tam everything.

  A pale-faced courtier walked up and spoke. “Gyre-Carlin wants to see you personally,” he said, glancing at the body draped uncomfortably on the floor. “All three of you.”

  Domnall found his voice again. “Tam wasn’t involved! He only helped us drag the human here.”

  The messenger shrugged. “The Queen wants all three of you, I was told. Someone is coming now to deal with . . .” He looked at the body again. “With that.”

  Domnall clasped his hands behind his back and held his tongue. You did not argue with a summons from the queen. He glanced at Micol. She looked frightened but said nothing.

  “We’ve done nothing wrong,” he reminded her.

  She frowned and nodded. Tam watched them both closely.

  Domnall took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

  Queen Gyre-Carlin sat on a rough-hewn stool with no back, leaving room for her wings. She was surrounded by fresh-cut flowers and a long swatch of human-made lace.

  She spoke to Tam first. It quickly came clear that he’d merely stumbled across them as they made their way back to the Sithein. “Find out the state of the mortal you’ve dragged into my realm,” she told him with a wave and then sat in silence until he was gone.

  Domnall and Micol stood before her, head bowed.

  “You’d seen the human before?” Her silvery voice was as brittle as ice.

  “Yes,” said Micol. “Domnall had seen her in her village. We were following her.”

  Domnall cut in. “I was seeking a crib for Nighean. I found a place for her, but the mother left the family, I didn’t know where she was going. We followed and realised she wasn’t going to return to her home, there was no point swapping the baby for Nighean as there would be no mother’s milk. So we left her and—”

  “And . . . forgot about her,” Queen Gyre-Carlin said. “Forgot you had a human wandering near you and stopped in the middle of nowhere to . . . to make merry.”

  “She was asleep, not wandering,” interjected Micol, her face hot with embarrassment.

  The queen raised an eyebrow at Micol and continued. “Personally, it’s you I’m surprised by. I would have credited you with more intelligence, or at least better taste.”

  She squirmed under Gyre-Carlin’s stare.

  “Well, whatever happened out there,” she gave Micol another searching look, “the fact remains that the mortal is here.”

  She turned her head towards the entrance just before the knock sounded. “Come.”

  Tam opened the door but didn’t step in. “The human is ill. Daoine says she has suffered trauma or shock and has not yet woken.”

  Domnall stared at the floor, frightened his face would betray him.

  Gyre-Carlin sighed. “Has she milk?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “But she’s definitely entranced? Not just some ill mortal that these two,” she glanced at them again, “that these two picked up and brought here?”

  Domnall’s heart caught in his throat. That hadn’t occurred to him: if she had simply fainted from exhaustion they were in a world of trouble.

  “Well,” said Tam nervously, “he didn’t say that she was definitely entranced. But he didn’t say that she wasn’t.”

  “Find out.”

  Tam stepped back and Domnall heard the door close, followed by the slap of Tam’s bare feet against the packed earth as he ran full speed to the healer. Domnall kept his eyes firmly on the floor and hoped that Micol wouldn’t blurt out a confession.

  “This is not what it seems,” said Gyre-Carlin. No response. She let the seconds stretch into minutes and then spoke again. “Look at me.”

  Domnall held his breath as he lifted his head. He could see Micol doing the same from the corner of his eye. Gyre-Carlin stared at both of them.

  “The punishment for endangering the Sithein is banishment. The punishment for bringing intruders to the Sithein is typically death.”

  Domnall couldn’t hold back. “This wasn’t Micol. She was following me; I took her out. If anyone should be sent away, it’s me.”

  “I tend to agree, Domnall,” she said in a voice like rotted wood.

  The air escaped from his lungs in a whoosh when he heard another knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Tam appeared again. “He’s not sure on the milk but thinks she might, said she’s recently been with child. And definitely entranced, he said, shock as well though, he thinks she’ll recover but doesn’t know when.” He bit his lip once the words had tumbled out.

  “Thank you,” said the Queen, and looked back at Domnall and Micol. Silence filled the room.

  “Tam,” she said. “You may go.”

  “Yes, my Lady. Sorry, my Lady.” They heard his running steps disappear into the distance again.

  “Well,” she said. “It’s done. She’s here. Perhaps she’ll be useful.”

  Domnall dared to breathe again.

  “I don’t know what happened out there. Perhaps I don’t need to.” The Queen paused. “You’ve made your choices, the girl is here. Whatever secret you are keeping, I expect you to make sure it is kept.”

  Domnall took a deep breath, but words failed him. He dared a glance towards Micol. She hung her head unhappily, staring at the dirt floor. This was her first ever audience with the Queen; she must be mortified. He cleared his throat. “It was all my fault,” he replied. “Micol just wanted to . . .” His words trailed away at the frown on Queen Gyre-Carlin’s face.

  “Micol chose her own path,” she said.
“Now, we have a revel planned. I expect both of you to attend.” She looked from one to the other. “Together.”

  Domnall held his tongue and nodded.

  Gyre-Carlin looked from one to the other and then sighed. “You may go. Do try to stay out of trouble.”

  Micol and Domnall said, “Yes, my Lady,” as one as they fled the room.

  It continued to rain throughout the day but by nightfall the clouds had broken up, allowing the occasional star to peek through. Domnall sat between Tam and Micol on the hillock watching the early dancers.

  “You don’t act very romantic,” complained Tam. He picked up a lute and plucked out a quick melody. “Considering how much you risked for a dance.”

  “Leave it, Tam.” This was embarrassing enough without his friend playing matchmaker.

  “It’s a shame,” grumbled Tam. “But I can still gossip, at least that’s something.”

  The droning sound of a bagpipe drowned out Domnall’s response, which was probably for the best. “Not again,” he shouted over the din. “It’s still awful.”

  “Don’t you like it?” Micol’s eyes were shining. “I’m learning to play. I think they’re wonderful.”

  Domnall opened his mouth and then closed it again, biting back a scathing remark. The caterwauling finally finished as he stared into the distance, feeling like a grumpy old has-been.

  Tam sensed his mood and changed the subject. “Have you seen the human since she woke?”

  “No,” said Domnall. “I wanted to, but Maeve’s already moved her into the nursery. Every time I got near she sat and glowered at me until I left again.”

  “She must be so lonely,” said Micol. “All alone in our Sithein. I am going to make friends with her.”

  “Steady on now,” said Tam. “I mean, I know you have bad taste in companions but this is taking it a step too far.”

  “I feel sorry for her, is all,” Micol snapped back. “Besides, she wouldn’t be the first mortal to have fae friends. What about that old song about the Queen and the mortal Nourice?”

  “That wasn’t so long ago,” said Domnall. “You are still just a puppy.”

  “You speak as though you are ancient,” she said.

  “Over twice your age and every day exhausts me. With Fin training the scouts and Elspeth saving the fledglings, I’m not even useful. Maeve would say I haven’t been for years. I’ve thought about going for a wander.”

  His friends stiffened at the words. The plague of immortality was that there was no natural end. An old fae often left the Sithein without warning, to drift through the world until he ranged so far from his people that he simply faded away.

  It was the closest thing to a non-violent death that the Seelie knew. “Don’t be silly,” said Tam. “You’re not much older than me and Finvarra knows you haven’t had all the mischief beaten out of you yet. We’ve more adventures yet to follow, old friend.”

  “Perhaps.” Domnall thought about the gnarled pine tree where they’d made their faerie ring. He had planted that tree, a century before. “Perhaps my time has come. Or perhaps I just need a few good nights sleep and a decent drink to revive me.”

  Micol smiled and stood. “There’s dew of bluebell, would you like some?”

  “No!” He spluttered and recovered. “Just . . . don’t drink that. Take my word for it.” Tam snorted with laughter.

  Micol looked from Domnall to Tam and then back again. “What have you done?”

  “Nothing at all.” His cheeks flushed pink.

  “He might be ancient, but he’s still just a boy at heart,” piped up Tam, who clearly had a good guess at Domnall’s brand of sabotage.

  “Apparently so,” said Micol. “So . . . no drink?”

  Domnall picked up Micol’s pipe and handed it to her. “No drink. Let’s dance! Here’s our chance, without the rain and lumbering mortals.” He shook away memories of the night before—Micol dancing for him and him alone.

  Micol took the pipe from his hand and fluttered out a scale. He gave her a weak smile and stood, moving into the makeshift faerie ring of dancers without looking back.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book often feels extremely isolated but in order to have the time, effort, knowledge and motivation to write, an author needs a tribe. There are way too many people to list here but there are a few special helpers that I’d like to call out as especially helpful with this project. Georgina Allen was endlessly supportive while I wrote the early drafts of the faerie saga. Maggie Walker and Cathy Jones were on hand for all my Scottish questions. Alice Peck gave amazing editing advice and helped me to keep faith in the project. Robin Billings refused to let me give up on Domnall and Micol. Deborah Walker convinced me to take the whole thing to pieces and Laurel Amberdine helped me to put it back together again. Thank you also to the Scots Language Resource Centre, an amazing resource who patiently dealt with all my questions.

  About the Author

  Sylvia Spruck Wrigley was born in Germany and spent her childhood in Los Angeles. She emigrated to Scotland, where she guided German tourists around the Trossachs and searched for the supernatural. She now splits her time between South Wales and Andalucía. She writes about plane crashes and faeries, which have more in common than most people might imagine. Her fiction was nominated for a Nebula in 2014 and her short stories have been translated into more than a dozen languages. You can find out more about her at www.intrigue.co.uk/.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Begin Reading

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Newsletter Sign-up

  Copyright Page

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  DOMNALL AND THE BORROWED CHILD

  Copyright © 2015 by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley

  Cover art copyright © 2015 by Kathleen Jennings

  All rights reserved.

  A Tor.com Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

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  ISBN 978-1-4668-9199-9 (e-book)

  ISBN 978-0-7653-8531-4 (trade paperback)

  First Edition: November 2015

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