‘You saw the twelve?’ said Quinn disbelievingly.
‘I wasn’t sure who they were at the time. But yes. It was only a glimpse. Only for a moment. And then they were gone.’
‘No one has been into our realm for a long, long time, boy,’ said Fingal. ‘And we like it that way. But those twelve deserve a way home. We can’t do it. Quinn here certainly can’t. And even the elves that control the power to move between worlds can’t. But something tells me that if you can find a way back into that space then you might be the one to lead them home.’
Grady thought about the tapestries in the long room and the way the eyes of the twelve had followed them when the children first arrived. ‘But they are just legends,’ said Grady. ‘Just stories …’
‘Legends start somewhere,’ said Fingal. ‘The question for you is, can you help bring this one to a close? You managed to get in there; no one has been able to for centuries. Those circles have been closed to all. Do you think you can do it again? Think about that while I talk to your sister. I haven’t had a good argument today, so this should be interesting!’ The creature winked at Grady before disappearing again in a flash of light.
‘What have you got yourself into, Grady?’ said Quinn.
‘I don’t know,’ said Grady quietly. ‘I really don’t know.’
Niamh paced the floor in her room devising new spells to try out on Hegeline. She had always been told cheating was wrong, that cheats never prosper, that cheats deserve to be caught. Yet her parents happily handed over the trophy without any second thoughts. The red mist began to descend on her but this time Niamh did not want to control it. She picked up both of her wands – her iWand and Fitzhollow’s blackthorn stick. Her anger flowed down the wands until a red glow formed around the tips. She raised both wands high, pointing them at a large urn that stood in one corner and …
‘You don’t want to do that, girl,’ said a voice right by her ear.
Niamh squealed and dropped both wands. As they clattered on the floor a spell flew from the end of each, shooting across the floor and hitting her bed. The four-posted furniture sprouted real feet which began to furiously tap-dance, each trying to move in a different direction.
The pixie darted across to the bed and pulled a handful of dust from a pouch at his waist, sprinkling it over each foot in turn. The feet on the bed stopped their mad dance and returned to stately silence. Fingal drifted slowly back to Niamh.
‘Thanks,’ she said quietly. The rage had subsided with the appearance of the pixie. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said with a half-hearted scowl.
‘Quinn thought you might need a pixie to cry on. A little angry are we?’ said Fingal as he settled on Niamh’s dresser.
Niamh sat on the edge of her bed, though not before casting a wary look at the feet. ‘It’s so unfair. I should have won that race.’
Fingal lifted the lid on a bottle of perfume and gave it a sniff. Clearly liking what he found, he dabbed a little behind his ears and replaced the lid. ‘Is it just the race? From what I can see of you, the anger goes a lot deeper. And believe me, I know a lot about anger.’
Niamh looked quizzically at the little pixie. Fingal was the least likely creature she would have expected to have understood her problem. But beneath the eye patch and worn leather clothing there was something about the creature that made Niamh want to trust him.
‘Quinn was right,’ said Niamh, her shoulders slumping.
‘About what? Everything in general or something in particular?’
‘They still think Grady and I don’t belong here. That we are freaks. Hegeline said it again today – “Go home. We don’t want your type here”,’ Niamh said, mimicking the Flamville girl. ‘If we had been brought up here I bet I wouldn’t have stopped when Eilidia hit the tree. I’d have kept going and beaten Hegeline. That’s the way they seem to think round here. Even my mother said mercy is for the weak – before the race.’
‘Do you believe that?’ said Fingal, drifting closer.
Niamh held her head in her hands. ‘I don’t know. It would be easier if I did. Mum’s going to be so angry when she gets around to talking to me. She’ll tell me off for stopping. I just know she will.’
‘What do you think your mother meant?’ said Fingal as he drifted round to the footboard on the bed and sat dangling his feet over it.
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ said Niamh, confused.
‘It’s obvious I’m a faerie, distantly related to the others maybe, but still a faerie. But you’d better think twice before treating me like those ridiculous castle faeries you have round here. Not everything is what it seems. Think again.’
Niamh’s brow furrowed as she mulled over Fingal’s words. Back and forth she went over the meaning while the pixie pulled a small but deadly looking knife out of his belt and began picking dirt out of the soles of his feet.
‘Do you mind?’ said Niamh indignantly.
Fingal looked at the tiny pile of dirt that had landed on the bedspread before shrugging, putting his knife away, and delicately sweeping it off the bed onto the floor. ‘My apologies Princess. Now keep thinking.’
A light went on in Niamh’s head. She jumped up off the bed and sprang to where Fingal sat. ‘It’s not that showing mercy is weak. It’s that the weak need to be shown mercy, isn’t it! That’s what makes a champion. That’s what Mum and Aoi… Mum was trying to say.’
Fingal’s eyes flashed as Niamh nearly said Aoife’s name. But the moment passed. ‘You have it,’ he said. ‘Some witches and wizards try to twist the phrase and use it the way you imagined it was meant to be used. The saying is more famous than you might think. But the true meaning is important. Never forget it.’
Niamh breathed a sigh of relief.
‘How’s the anger level now?’ said Fingal.
‘Much better. I don’t feel too …’
‘Well stay angry!’ Fingal yelled loudly as he flew threateningly close to Niamh’s face again. ‘Anger is your friend. Hang onto it for those moments when you need it.’ The creature relaxed a little and drew back from Niamh’s face. ‘But never make a decision in any of your races based on anger. That will lead to mistakes, to forgetting who you are. Use your anger to train harder, work harder. Where do you think we pixies would be if we stayed angry all the time?’
‘You mean you aren’t?’ said Niamh, truly surprised.
‘Now I could get angry at that comment but your friend asked me to talk to you, so I’ll let it go. This time.’
‘Okayyy,’ said Niamh deliberately.
‘But to answer your question – no, we aren’t always angry. There’s a difference between angry and belligerent. If you need to know what it is then look it up in a dictionary. But for us the difference is we have to be prepared to defend ourselves. It’s tricky when others treat you as if you don’t belong, as if you should simply go home, as if you are some sort of freak.’
Niamh grimaced. Fingal had used the same words as she had. Understanding dawned on her. ‘You were treated the same way, weren’t you?’
‘Explains a lot about us, don’t you think?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Niamh. ‘We have it easy compared to you.’
‘Well I’m not saying it’s all bad. We had anger issues even before we had our problems here. And we have the space between worlds to ourselves, mostly.’
‘Mostly?’ said Niamh curiously.
‘Some creatures turn up from time to time, but we keep them under control. Let’s just say there are days when we eat really well.’
Niamh shivered at the evil glint in the pixie’s one good eye.
A knock on the door made Fingal turn sharply and draw his sword. ‘Time to go. Think on what I said.’
‘I will. Thanks.’
‘And one more thing. You and your brother need to read that book. We didn’t cart it back to you for nothing. If you can reach the space inside the circles then you need to be better prepared. Read it. Before you go back there.’
The knock cam
e again. ‘Niamh. Are you in there?’
‘It’s Mum,’ said Niamh quietly. ‘Coming Mum!’ She turned back to Fingal. ‘Thank you.’ Niamh leaned forward and gave the pixie the smallest kiss on the cheek she could manage. The creature put his hand to his cheek and smiled. With a bright flash of light he vanished. Niamh took a deep breath and opened the door to her mother.
‘Was I interrupting something?’ said Grace softly.
‘No Mum. Nothing at all. Just … dealing with some anger issues.’
Grace smiled. ‘There’s nothing for you to be angry about. You remembered exactly what I said today. You did show mercy. And you are a champion. Can I come in?’
‘Of course, Mum,’ said Niamh, stepping back. Perhaps today was not going to end so badly after all.
Chapter 16
Revelations
Grady smeared another pancake with icing sugar and syrup before stuffing it into his mouth. An errant trickle of syrup ran down his chin, which he wiped away with the back of his hand.
‘Grady! Use a napkin!’ exclaimed Niamh, picking up her own and throwing it at him.
‘What?’ he said through a mouthful of food. ‘It’s only a bit of syrup.’
‘That’s not the point! At least try and show some table manners.’
‘I will when you set up your own shop somewhere.’
‘What?’ demanded Niamh.
‘Then you can stick to your own business and leave me to mine,’ said Grady, smiling.
Niamh rolled her eyes. Despite their shared secrets bringing them closer together than ever before, she still found what she felt were genuine reasons for hating him.
‘Would you two leave it alone?’ said Merritt, peering over the top of the morning paper. ‘We’ve a day to ourselves so it would be good not to have to listen to you two badgering each other.’
Grady stuck his tongue out at his sister as his father returned his gaze to the paper.
‘And don’t think I didn’t see that Grady,’ said Merritt, without looking at the children.
‘But …’ Grady began. He was silenced by “The Hand” from his mother so held his tongue.
‘There’s a good report in here about the race yesterday, Niamh,’ said Merritt casually.
Niamh perked up at the news. ‘Does it say anything interesting?’ she said, trying not to sound too eager.
‘Why not read for yourself,’ said Merritt, handing over a section of the paper.
The headline in the sports section of the Lake Morrigan Mail did not look promising: Flamville Rider Bags Third Win was written in large letters with a picture of a gloating Hegeline and her team mates below it. But underneath the surprisingly short report on the race was another headline which really caught Niamh’s eye. Racetrack Rumours Swirling and in smaller case below that: The Princess with Healing Hands? A picture of Niamh and her spectacular landing on the first target range accompanied the story.
‘Can I see, Niamh?’ said Grady, peering over Niamh’s shoulder. His sister seemed to ignore him completely as she scanned through the report. ‘This is great, Niamh!’ he said when he saw the headlines.
‘What does it say, Grady,’ said Grace, smiling and sharing a look with Merritt.
‘It’s brilliant Mum,’ said Grady enthusiastically.
Rumours are circulating around Lake Morrigan about the amazing antics which accompanied the first entrance for many years of a Royal Princess in the annual Lake Morrigan Broomstick Biathlon for juniors. The rumours are based around the happenings between the final target range and the finish line where it appears Miss Eilidia Ardghalia (Raith na Riogh School) suffered a fall which split her broomstick into two pieces. According to the next rider on the scene, Miss Coralina Carraig (Sandune College), the Princess was attending to the prone form of Miss Ardghalia who, in the words of Miss Carraig “looked as if she had been beaten around the head with a sack of spuds.” Miss Carraig did not elaborate on what type of spuds may have been used to create such an effect. She believed she saw bruising and a cut to Miss Ardghalia’s head.
On the arrival of medical teams however there was no evidence of any bruising or abrasions. Leader of the medical team, Rueppel VonMillevinkel, was surprised to find Miss Ardghalia alert and apparently unharmed. “Ve vere told zere vould be blood. Ve vere most disappointed. Ze Princess must have some special skills in healing for ze impact damage of ze broomstick on ze trees voz impressive. It must have been a nasty knock. But zere voz no blood for us. No blood.”
Whatever the reason for the crash it was apparent the Princess taking time to attend to her fellow rider cost her any chance of winning the race. The Princess and Miss Ardghalia were well placed leaving the final target range but the incident put paid to any possibility of a podium place.
Race officials, members of the public, and school officials were full of praise for the sporting behaviour of the Princess. Comments by Victor Vanderbilt of the Lake Morrigan Sporting Society summed up the mood of the crowd; “The actions of the Princess were of the highest order. She should be congratulated for her fine upholding of the traditions of our sport. Sometimes it is not about winning but how you play the game that determines true champions.”
The winner of the race, Miss Hegeline Baskerville (Flamville College) would not comment other than to say she was “happy to have beaten everyone again and to have proved how much better I am than the rest of the field.”
The Royal Princess was unavailable for comment at the time of writing.
‘Feeling a little better about it now?’ said Merritt.
Niamh glanced at her mother and shared a smile with her. ‘It’s fine. Nothing to get angry about. But I would like to have won something. Hegeline won both of the events I competed in. That’s wrong.’
‘I think you should be proud of what you did,’ said Merritt. ‘It’s a great report that …’
Niamh stared over her father’s shoulder while he was talking. His voiced faded away as a figure materialised on the terrace. Time melted away and the air seemed to darken. The only break in the gloom was around the figure, the hound that sat by him, and Grady. It was the old man who had shown them the stone circle under a dark sky. The figure did not move but smiled and pointed at them. Neither Grady nor Niamh saw the man’s mouth move but his words were heard clearly in their heads. ‘Read the book, then look for me.’ And that was all. Light flooded back into their world, dazzling each of them. When they looked back the man was gone.
‘Niamh?’ said Merritt. ‘Are you alright?’
‘What?’ said Niamh, disoriented by the man’s appearance.
‘I said are you alright. You and Grady both look like you’ve seen a ghost!’
‘I’m … I’m …’ Niamh stammered.
‘We’re fine, Dad,’ said Grady, cutting smoothly in seeing his sister’s distress. ‘Probably the sugar rush from the pancakes.’
‘Well, lay off the syrup,’ said Merritt, sitting back with his paper.
‘I think I might go and lie down for a while,’ said Niamh, standing quickly.
‘I think I could do with a lie down too,’ said Grady.
‘Really?’ said Grace to Grady. ‘Let me feel your forehead. Do you have a temperature?’
‘Nope. All good,’ said Grady brightly. ‘A little worn out from the excitement yesterday, you know.’
‘Piffle,’ said Merritt. ‘Apart from the racing you were bored to death half the time and spent most of your energy on your iWand playing Wizcraft. I’ve a good mind to take it off you when we go out next time.’
‘A little rest and I’ll be fine,’ said Grady, looking enthusiastic. Niamh tried to make surreptitious “tone-it-down” gestures.
‘Up to you guys. You can do pretty much what you like today,’ said Merritt, grabbing a cup of steaming coffee and turning his attention back to the sports pages.
‘What was that all about?’ said Grady quietly as he and Niamh made their way through the corridors. ‘Why did he show up here? And how does he know abou
t the book?’
‘How should I know?’ said Niamh peevishly. ‘And how did he get into the castle? I thought no one could get in here who wasn’t sealed to the castle.’
‘I don’t think that sort of magic is going to put him off,’ said Grady as he skipped to keep up with his sister’s stride. ‘He took us out of a crowd without anyone being able to do a thing about it. I have a feeling he can come and go where he wants.’
Niamh knew Grady was right but her attention now was focused elsewhere. ‘Forget him. Where’s the book? That’s twice in two days I’ve been told to read it!’
Grady peered over his shoulder to make sure the corridor was clear. There was no sign of anyone except the ancient looking statues scattered at odd intervals along the way. ‘In my room. It’s still in my trunk. I haven’t taken it out since we arrived.’
‘Well it’s about time we did.’
Niamh broke into a trot as they vanished towards their rooms. In seconds the corridor was silent save for the occasional buzzing of dust faeries attacking errant specks of dirt on the statues. The silence hung like a shroud over the corridor before it was broken by a faint clanking noise from behind one of the statues. It was accompanied by a low groan. The grogoch attempted to quietly slip out from his hiding place. He was hampered by his inability to move anywhere without carrying at least two of the pots he had come to covet. The creature looked thoughtful for a few moments before scuttling off towards the stairs which led down to the kitchens. His tiny coal dust footprints were cleared away by the dust faeries and in seconds there was nothing to show he had ever been there.
Merritt and Grace waited until the children had been gone from the room for some moments. Grace quietly moved to the door and checked the corridor was clear.
‘It happened again, didn’t it.’
‘Yep,’ said Merritt, putting down the paper. ‘It was only a flicker but they … blurred. The way they did in the parade. Something or someone spoke to them.’ Merritt turned to the terrace. ‘Did you see anything?’
Azrael's Twins and the Circle of Stone Page 22
