The Sidhe Princess

by Loucinda McGary

  Rinsing the rag one last time, she wrung it as dry as she could. Then she wrapped the wand in it, noting as she did how the slender wood had grown as cool as an ordinary branch. But she knew the power that resided within it, waiting for the Maid’s touch.

  Aching all over with fatigue, Moira climbed the steep stairs up to her room. Her injured fingers throbbed as she pried up the board from the sill. With a furtive glance out the window, she placed the wrapped wand inside the hole.

  Her hand closed around the powder box, drawing it out and opening it. Two of the little yellow pills, and five of the large white ones nestled on the cotton wool. She plucked out two white ones and swallowed them whole, anxious for the oblivion she knew they would bring. Until the darkness came again, she didn’t want her mind to endlessly replay the events of this night. Didn’t want to agonize and fret over what was to come. She preferred to pass the time in the numbed stupor the drugs would create.

  After she’d replaced the remaining pills and put the board back in place, she closed the curtains tight. Then she slipped on her nightgown and wadded her dirty clothes in a tight ball. She shoved them under her bed into the far corner, behind her dressy shoes and a dusty carton of Christmas decorations.

  Running a comb through her tangled hair to remove any remaining mud or soot, she crawled into bed and burrowed deep under the covers. Far, she hoped, from any probing eyes.

  Almost two hours later, when the drugs had just begun to cloud her mind, she heard the first shriek. A high pitched wail, but with an unmistakable edge of anger, went off inside her skull with the force of a bomb blast. She bolted upright in bed, hands clasped against her ears, her own cry muffled in her tight throat. As the sound reverberated in her head, it occurred to Moira that there were no other noises from within the cottage or without.

  Could no one else hear?

  She’s scarcely formed the question when the second piercing scream struck her. Gasping for breath, she dived under the covers as the third screech rang out.

  Pulling the pillow over her head, Moira waited for the echoes to die down while she listened intently, half expecting the furious Maid to storm into the cottage and up the stairs. But long minutes passed and the only sound that remained in Moira’s ears was the rapid thumping of her own heart. And soon, the pills dulled even that, as her mind grew too blurry to think about the Maid, their coming confrontation, or anything else.

  Too tired to fight against the inevitable, Moira drew in a deep breath and let the darkness claim her.

  Chapter 4

  Mum’s voice, not the Maid’s unholy shrieking, awakened Moira several hours later.

  “Are you sick then?” Mum’s anxious voice floated up the stairs.

  Groggily Moira answered that she was, and with the events of the night before coupled with the after effects of the pills, ‘twas hardly a lie.

  “Go back to sleep for a wee bit, and I’ll bring you tea and toast in awhile.” Mum said, concern still heavy in her tone.

  Moira could hear her shuffling about in the kitchen. Da must already be out. A little stab of apprehension poked at the back of her fuzzy mind. But if the Maid was going to come get her or her parents, she’d have already done it, she reasoned.

  None of the other-worldly beings had ever come into the yard, much less the cottage. She’d only seen and heard them in the encroaching fens. They must be confined there. Moira sincerely hoped so, because at the moment she was still too tired and confused to hold her eyes open any longer.

  Sometime later, Mum’s heavy tread on the stairs permeated her fogged brain. But by the time she’d pushed herself into a sitting position, her mother entered the loft with a basket over her arm. She’d brought the promised tea and toast.

  Guilt dropped like a large stone into Moira’s stomach while Mum fussed a bit, feeling Moira’s head for fever. The image of the freshly turned grave flickered in Moira’s mind, mixed with the druid’s solemn pronouncement that there was nothing anyone could do. She bit back the sob and dashed the tear from her eye when Mum turned away to remove the teapot from the basket and pour a cuppa just the way Moira liked -- a splash of milk and two sugars.

  The tea did help ease the knot of sorrow clogging her throat, and Moira discovered she had a bit of an appetite after all. On the plate with the two pieces of buttered toast, sat a yellow pill and another white one. Dutifully, she swallowed both of them down once she finished the toast.

  When she finally awakened again, her growling stomach told her breakfast and lunch had long since passed. Slowly, she made her way downstairs and washed up in the loo, while in the kitchen, Mum brewed tea and reheated scones. The sweet smells drifted in as Moira brushed and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  Da sat at his place on the far end of the table when Moira emerged. He cast an appraising eye over her. “Are you feeling poorly? Do you need the doctor?”

  “Oh, no,” Moira quickly denied as she took her usual chair. “I’m feeling better. Fine really.”

  He and Mum exchanged worried looks as he poured the tea. Moira noticed another fat white pill resting beside her saucer, and pretended to put it in her mouth but slipped it into her napkin instead. After she finished her first scone with jam, she moved the pill into her pocket to dispose of later. She needed to banish the cotton wool from her brain before the sun went down.

  “The chickens were acting all queer this morning.” Mum said after they’d eaten in silence for a protracted amount of time. “They didn’t come out of their coop, not even to eat.”

  “Must be a storm brewing,” Da said as he refilled his cup. “The sky doesn’t look it, but animals know such things.”

  The last bite of her second scone suddenly tasted like dirt in Moira’s mouth. The chickens knew right enough. They might not see or hear her, but they could sense the seething rage of the Maid of Ulster. Moira had to take a gulp of tea to swallow down her mouthful of dry crumbs.

  Once the uncomfortable meal ended, Da went out to finish his afternoon chores. Moira forced herself to help Mum clean up and put things away, rather than give in to the temptation of going upstairs and destroying the wand. But even if she broke the wood into little pieces and fed it to the fire in the cook stove, she knew the Maid wouldn’t leave her be.

  And as she dried the teacups and saucers, the vision of the little dark-haired girl coalesced in her seething mind. The words of a poem about a child stolen by fairies that she’d read in school interwove themselves with the wavering image.

  Not her daughter!

  She almost dropped the dish she held when her fingers tightened convulsively around it. A gasp escaped from her lips and brought a quick, anxious look from Mum.

  “Go back upstairs and rest some more before supper.” She urged, and Moira didn’t argue.

  But rest was not possible with her coming confrontation with the Maid chattering over and over in her brain. To occupy herself with something useful, Moira decided to write another letter to Fee.

  Just as her sister had been careful about not referring directly to Moira’s “visions,” Moira also made oblique allusions to “her friends” and what they said. She wrote to her sister as best she could about everything, Mum’s pending incurable illness, Fee’s next visit, and the frightening possibility of Moira’s “condition” being passed on to a helpless child. Finally, she told Fee she would do everything in her power to change things for the better, and hastily sealed and addressed the letter before she lost her nerve.

  If her parents read the letter before they posted it, Moira knew they would conclude her “condition” had worsened. They might decide to take her back to the sanitarium when she returned from her battle with the Maid.

  If she returned.

  As angry as she knew the Maid to be, Moira didn’t doubt the sidhe princess might do her harm. Too late to worry about that, she chastised herself.

  Supper proved even more uncomfortable than tea, and Moira excused herself halfway through. She’d only managed to eat a few b
ites of broth and bread and even that wee bit made her stomach rebel with nausea.

  Back upstairs in her room, she lay on her bed to wait for the darkness and for her parents to fall asleep. Her mind churned with different plans of what she and the Maid would say and do. But she discarded each scenario after a few moments.

  Mum came up to check on her once, and Moira pretended to be asleep. She listened to the indistinct murmurs of her parents voices for awhile, and finally, the lights downstairs went out, a sign they were retiring for the night.

  She forced herself to stay in bed, counting her breaths to keep her mind occupied. After she reached one thousand, she crawled out and quietly dressed, concealing the wand inside the sleeve of her jumper. In stocking feet, she made her way down the stairs and across the floor where her rubber boots and rain slicker waited by the door.

  Her hand was on the door latch when a prickling on the back of her neck made her turn. Standing a few feet behind her, Da stood in his tattered old robe and bare feet. She froze with her hand poised, heart thumping loud in her ears.

  “You’re going out again then?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “Are you meeting a boy?”

  Moira shook her head, adding, “I have to go, Da.”

  He didn’t seem surprised by her answer, nor did he try to stop her. Instead he sighed in what sounded like weariness or defeat. “Promise me you’ll come back. ‘Twould destroy your mother if you didn’t.”

  “I’ll be back by dawn,” she replied, and slipped out the door without looking at him again.

  Outside, the chilly night air cooled her flushed face, but her heart continued to pound in triple time. She didn’t stop to fetch the torch from the shed, depending on the starlight as she hurried across the yard toward the waiting darkness of the fens.

  Whatever happened would be over by dawn, but that seemed a long way off, and she knew she couldn’t let herself pause to think about all that might happen before then. For now, she could only concentrate on putting one boot in front of the other and missing the worst of the muddy spots.

  She’d scarcely passed the first patch of brambles when the Maid appeared.

  “Give me what is rightfully mine, you wretched girl!” Anger twisted her delicate features so that Moira wondered how she could have ever thought her beautiful. The Maid stamped her foot and commanded, “Give me my wand!”

  As Moira opened her mouth to speak, she noticed a rustling of leaves on either side of the Maid. That same prickling on her neck told her that more than she and Oonagh O’Dwyyer were present. But neither the Maid nor anything else moved closer. Clearly they couldn’t cross the boundary of their realm.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her quaking nerves Moira spoke loudly, “Send your minions away or I’ll destroy your precious wand right where I stand.”

  The Maid hissed through her teeth, like a spiteful cat. Then she uttered a low guttural command. Moira saw a pair of misshapen shadows dart away in the undergrowth.

  Drawing her anger around her like a regal cloak, the Maid lifted her chin and spoke imperiously, golden eyes as hard and unyielding as glass. “Yes, this is between only the two of us. Don’t expect that nasty Druid to help you now. I’ve banished him from moving between our realms until long after you are dead.”

  Since time seemed to have little meaning to these other-worldly creatures, Moira doubted Bran would suffer overmuch from banishment. To think otherwise would make her lose what little resolve she’d mustered.

  “I only expected the two of us, same as before.”

  “Hardly the same,” the Maid scoffed. “You are a cheat and a thief! Give me my wand.” She thrust her hand, palm up at Moira.

  Stung by the truth in the sidhe princess’s words, Moira nevertheless gathered every bit of courage within her in order to answer calmly. “No. I wish to strike a bargain. Last night, you said I had nothing you wanted. Well, now I do. Give me what I want and I will give you this.” Carefully, she worked the smooth stick from her sleeve with her opposite hand and held it up, far from the Maid’s grasp.

  A fleeting look of avarice and desire crossed the Maid’s haughty expression, but her tone remained aloof. “Perhaps I’ll just make a new wand.”

  That brief glimpse had been enough to tell Moira the other woman was bluffing. She grasped the tip of the wand in her left hand and pushed until the wood bowed out. “Surely such a lovely piece of work is worth more than the trifling requests of a mere mortal like me. Don’t you at least want to hear what they are?”

  The Maid crossed her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes heavenward. “I’m sure you want me to change your future.”

  “Can you then?” Moira challenged, letting go of the wand tip but keeping the handle firmly in her grasp. “Can you keep my mother from dying so soon?”

  “I’m quite sure the druid told you that nothing can be done for your mother,” the Maid harrumphed with disdain.

  Moira coughed to keep the tears from forming in her throat. “He told me, but I wanted to see if you would speak the truth. You were less than honest with me last night.”

  Arms still crossed, the Maid glared. “Perhaps you didn’t ask the proper questions.”

  “I want my daughter to be spared of this curse I have, being able to exist in my world and your realm too. Can you do that?”

  The small woman gave an arrogant sniff and turned her gaze away, the metal and glass beads in her hair tinkling as she moved. “I suppose, if I had a mind to.”

  Since demands hadn’t worked, Moira decided to appeal to the sidhe princess’s vanity. She ran her thumb and forefinger along the smooth surface of the wand before she spoke. “Such a fine piece of magic craft must have taken a lot of your time and skill. It ought to be worth far more than the service of one puny mortal child. Oughtn’t it?”

  “Of course it is!” the Maid snapped. She narrowed her hard, golden eyes for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision. “Stay here whilst I fetch the potion you need.”

  She whirled away in a flash of pale cloth and another jangle of beads, and disappeared into the fens.

  Moira released a long, slow exhale at this first small victory. But she knew she still had a long ways to go before this confrontation was done. She suspected the Maid still planned further treachery, and she wouldn’t trust anything the sly creature said or did without proof of its veracity.

  As she cast about in her mind for the best way to ensure her honesty, the Maid reappeared. Moira saw a small leather pouch with a drawstring dangling from her ring-bedecked fingers.

  “When you first feel the babe quicken within your belly, brew the contents of this into a tea and drink--”

  Before she could finish, Moira interrupted with a harsh laugh. “I’m not such a fool as that! How do I know this won’t kill both me and my babe?”

  “How indeed?” the Maid sneered, grasping the pouch into her palm. “Except you must trust me.”

  “I’ll never trust you. You lie, but your mirror does not. Show me this new future in your mirror and I will believe.”

  The Maid gave her another appraising look, her eyes lingering just a moment too long on the wand. “Follow me then, unless you can remember the way.”

  “Any tricks and I’ll break your precious wand into a dozen pieces.”

  Mud pulled at her boots, and trepidation fluttered in Moira’s stomach like the yellow leaves clinging to the scrubby bushes as she followed behind the Maid.

  Sooner than Moira expected, she saw the wall of trees and boulders ahead.

  The sidhe princess gestured with her chin. “Wait by the well while I fetch my mirror. ‘Tis in a new hiding place now.”

  “Don’t take too long,” Moira retorted, and ducked into the clearing.

  She saw that the ashes from Bran’s fire had been cleansed from the cairn of stones. And when she approached the well, the dipper sat empty on the top of rock wall. Without letting go of the wand, Moira managed to toss the hollow gourd down and draw it back up full of water. S
he knew they would need it for the scryying mirror.

  The noises she made while doing this task were the only sounds in the stillness. No breeze stirred the leaves of the hawthorn tree, as if everything in this realm held its breath in anticipation of what the Maid would do next.

  Was the sidhe princess’s desire for her magical wand stronger than her need to avenge its theft? Moira knew her child’s future hung on the answer.

  But she had no time to speculate. A rustling between the willows announced the Maid’s return, the golden plate under her arm. She placed the mirror on top of the pile of stones before she acknowledged Moira’s presence.

  “I’ll need the wand to begin.” With a contemptuous expression, she extended her palm.

  Moira returned her scornful look. “I’ll hold it. You can guide my hand.”

  Though the Maid gave a loud sigh of annoyance, Moira caught a fleeting nod of respect as she sidled up beside the smaller woman.

  The delicate fingers that gripped her wrist felt as cool and brittle as the spent leaves littering the edge of the clearing. Moira stiffened her arm so that it was like an extension of the wooden stick she held tightly in her fist.

  With slow deliberation, the Maid moved Moira’s arm so that the wand touched each of the runes on the stones. And with each touch, Moira could feel a little surge of energy pulsing through her hand and into the wand, making first the tip glow and then the runes. The two of them moved awkwardly around the cairn until the complicated pattern, which Moira couldn’t possibly duplicate, was completed.

  “There! Now pour in the water.”

  Still not relinquishing the coveted prize, Moira fetched the dipper and poured with measured precision. Then the Maid picked up her hand again and touched the water with the shining tip. Knowing what to expect, Moira squeezed her eyes closed before the flash of light.

  “This scryying will require more than your breath,” the Maid announced. She released Moira’s wrist and plucked a strand of hair from her temple before she could move or even think.