by Lari Don
“Obviously, it’s not here if you just arrive by sea or wings, otherwise anyone could find it,” said Lee. “But it might be possible to get to it from here.”
“How?” asked Helen.
“I don’t know. We faeries get our own kind of immortality. We don’t have to buy it with our memories. So I don’t know.”
Helen watched the sun settle onto the horizon. “We don’t have much time!” she yelled. “Any ideas?”
“Puffins!” Lavender pointed to a flock of puffins, their tiny wings flapping frantically as they flew along the rocky shore.
“I love watching puffins too,” Helen said impatiently, “but we need to concentrate on getting to Tir nan Og.”
“Watch the puffins,” insisted Lavender. “All Scotland’s birds originally came from Tir nan Og. Perhaps those puffins are going back.”
Sapphire hovered so her passengers could watch the dozen puffins fly sunwise round the island. As they reached the south-eastern corner for the second time, the birds vanished. The air their wings had been beating was suddenly empty.
“Fly sunwise,” shouted Helen. “Fly clockwise round the island. Fly round twice.”
Sapphire flew round twice, and as they reached the skerries of the south-eastern tip for the second time, Helen gripped the spike in front of her in expectation. Nothing happened. They were still flying round an empty grassy island. Sapphire slowed down.
“Don’t slow down,” yelled Yann. “Keep going. Lavender, were the puffins already flying when you spotted them?”
“Yes.”
“Then keep going round, Sapphire. As many times as you have the energy for.”
As the dragon rounded the south-eastern corner for the third time, turning to fly straight into the rays of the setting sun, she flinched from the light, misjudged the tight turn and dipped her wings sharply.
Yann, whose horse body wasn’t secure on the dragon’s back even when she was flying upright, started to slide off towards the dark rocks below.
Helen grabbed for his arm, Lee reached for his tail, but they both missed.
Yann fell off the speeding dragon. Helen closed her eyes and felt Sapphire dive after him.
Splash!
The spray of fresh water drops surprised Helen into opening her eyes.
Sapphire was clambering out of a shallow river onto the soft grass of its bank, where Yann was leaping uninjured to his hooves. Helen, Sylvie and Lee slid off.
They had been above the Minch a moment ago, but now there was no grey seawater to be seen.
Nor was the sun setting in the west. It was overhead, warming a bright afternoon.
Flowers were blooming by the water, daffodils and roses at the same time. Helen saw brambles, blossoming white and ripening purple on the same branch.
The friends stood together, backs to the shallow water, facing a wave of people moving slowly towards them.
All young, beautiful, glowing with health and happiness. Walking arm in arm, or in gently strolling groups. Looking with a complete lack of curiosity at the children who had fallen into their river.
When the first half dozen of them stopped nearby, Helen spoke politely. “We’re looking for Ossian.”
Lee shushed her and declaimed in a herald’s voice: “We seek the bard Ossian, to pay homage to his mastery of song and to ask a favour of one famed for his heroism and his compassion for those in need.”
“Okay,” nodded Helen. “We’re doing that too.”
“Welcome to our land,” said a woman in a cream dress. “Come with us, if you wish.”
The group of men and women wandered off along the river, as if they’d all the time in the world. Helen kept striding ahead and overtaking them. Yann grabbed her shoulder. “Don’t be so impatient.”
Soon they came to a gathering of men. Taller, stronger, hardier than the people strolling by the river. Dressed in leathers and checks, yellow and red cloaks held by large round pins at their shoulders. Sitting in a circle, chatting and laughing, petting huge hairy hounds, sharpening swords and spear heads.
“The Fianna,” said Lavender in Helen’s ear. “The warrior band of Finn McCool. All choosing to pay the price of eternal youth.”
Lee stepped forward and spoke:
“To the son of Finn McCool, we pay respect for your gift of music,
“To the father of Osgar, we pay respect for your prowess in battle,
“To the brother of Fergus, we pay respect for your skill in the hunt,
“To the friend of St Patrick, we pay respect …”
As Lee’s list got longer and more elaborate, Helen whispered to Yann, “What is he on about? Who are all these people?”
“All these people are Ossian, and Lee is flattering him. Let the faery use his fancy words. It is about all he can do.”
Then a tall man, fair-haired and full of smiles, stood up. “I am Ossian. I forget my deeds, but those who arrive remind me of them occasionally. I will hear your tale, then you may ask your favour.”
So Lee and Yann between them, with their light and deep voices, told of the tragedy of the child James stolen away, the worried mother, the lonely sister. They told of the wicked ways of the Faery Queen, and the quests and courage of the child fiddler that she wanted. Helen realized they meant her and hid, red-cheeked, behind Sapphire for a minute.
Then Yann, as tall as Ossian, with his hair like copper in the sunlight, asked the favour. “To free the stolen child tomorrow night, we need to provide the Faery Queen with music. We know of no better music than yours, and we know of no one else who could play for her, then get away unharmed afterwards. You have done it before, we ask that you do it one more time, to free the child she has, and to protect the child she wants.”
Ossian laughed. “It sounds like good sport. But there will be a price to pay.
“We lack variety here, just as we lack bad weather. We never see rain and we rarely see new challenges either.
“I will come to your revels with my old harp and young fingers tomorrow. But only if you beat me and my companions in a few small contests first.”
He considered the men lounging on the ground at his feet, then grinned at the group of children in front of him.
“I will put forward Tir nan Og’s greatest hound and fastest runner. You must match them, to bring down a deer and bring the deer back. The runner who brings the deer back first wins.
“I will put forward Tir nan Og’s greatest warrior and one of you must beat him in a duel.
“Finally, I myself will challenge you to a riddling contest.
“If you win all three contests, and brighten this long day for us, I will be your bard tomorrow night.”
Helen and her friends formed a smaller version of the Fianna’s circle.
“At least these aren’t quests set by someone trying to trick us, these are honest competitions,” urged Helen.
Lavender objected, “These men have hunted and fought their whole lives. How can we beat them?”
“I have hunted all my life,” said Sylvie.
“I have trained to fight duels since I could hold a sword,” said Lee.
Helen nodded. “What about the riddling?”
“You solved riddles for us last year,” said Yann. “You can do it again.”
So Helen turned to Ossian. “We accept your challenges.”
Ossian smiled, his golden moustache waggling. “Let’s go to the top of the hill and find the deer that graze on the moor. Then your hunter and your runner can compete against mine.”
Helen asked as they climbed, “Sylvie can hunt a deer, but she can’t carry one. Who will run the race?”
Yann laughed. “I will! Nothing on two legs can beat me.”
They reached a grassy ridge overlooking a heathery moor, which was many times wider than the island they had flown over just minutes ago. On the moor, to their left, they saw the rusty red dots of a herd of deer.
Ossian said, “My hunter is the greatest hound that ever was. Here girl. Bran!”
Over the ridge bounded a massive deerhound: long-legged, long-bodied, snake-skulled. Built for running and leaping, chasing and killing.
“Who is your hunter?” asked Ossian.
“I am,” said Sylvie. She flickered into a wolf more elegantly than Helen had ever seen. No half-beast girl in fur. Just a flurry of grey, then the wolf stood in front of them.
The dog Bran and the wolf Sylvie stared at each other.
Bran was taller in the shoulders, but skinnier, with a slight hunch to her lithe spine. Her sandy hair was wiry and coarse. Sylvie had a heavier jaw, bigger brighter eyes and her silver fur was longer and softer. They moved a step closer to each other. Sylvie’s fur bristled. Bran’s hackles rose. Ossian put his hand on Bran’s back. Helen stood close to Sylvie.
“Now my runner,” he said. “Caoilte, the fastest of the fleet Fianna, who can run from the north to the south to the east to the west so fast you are still speaking the words that sent him when he returns.”
A tall man, skinny and pale, stepped out of the gathering of the Fianna, unpinned his cloak and gave it to the man on his left, then took a spear from the man on his right.
He flexed his long wiry legs. “Who will race me?”
“I will,” said Yann.
Caoilte looked Yann up and down, examining his horse legs as if he was thinking of buying him. “I’ve never met a horse, not even a talking one, I couldn’t beat.”
Yann smiled confidently. “Then even on this land of forgetting, you can welcome a new experience!”
Ossian said, “The competitors have weighed each other’s worth. Now let’s see the quarry.”
He pointed to the herd on the moor below. “This is a race not a fight, so I don’t want you pursuing the same quarry. I don’t want your teeth bared at each other.
“Bran and Caoilte, bring me the deer with the reddest hide.
“Wolf girl and horse boy, bring me the palest deer.
“The winner is the one who drops their quarry at my feet first.
“Go!”
He lifted his hand and slipped the hound at his side.
Helen expected to see Bran race off, Sylvie at her shoulder, in a desperate sprint downhill. But both hunting dogs, the wild and the tame, crouched low, bellies almost touching the earth, and slid downhill towards the herd in almost invisible forward movements. The runners didn’t move at all.
Of course. Helen realized there was no point in either Bran or Sylvie getting to the grazing ground first if they’d already scared the deer away.
This might be the slowest race ever. Helen sat down to watch.
Chapter 17
As Bran and Sylvie raced slowly towards the herd, Caoilte and Yann stared at each other. Arms folded, legs relaxed. Neither in a hurry to begin the race.
Helen frowned. Was no one taking this seriously?
Lee smiled. “It’s a stand off. Neither will admit they need to be near the kill to get back first; it would be a sign of weakness to leave first.”
Helen shook her head, wondering if she’d ever understand boys.
She looked downhill. The wolf and the hound had disappeared from view.
Lavender whispered, “They’re moving round to the left, so they can come at the deer downwind.”
Helen looked to her left and saw two wriggles in the heather halfway down the hill.
The deer were still grazing happily.
Helen had a sudden desire to yell, or wave her arms, or throw a shoe at the herd, to warn them of the approaching danger. She clenched her fists in her pockets.
Yann and Caoilte broke off their staring match to glance down the hill. They nodded to each other. A friendly agreement. They both started walking very slowly.
Suddenly the world exploded into speed.
One of the deer lifted its head, sniffing the air … then it bolted.
The rest of the herd moved as one, sprinting across the moor.
The heather broke open at the foot of the ridge and two shapes shot out. Silver and gold, racing towards the deer.
The man and the centaur ran too.
But Helen didn’t watch Yann and Caoilte. She watched the hound and the wolf. Normally, Helen supposed, they would go for the stragglers at the back of the herd, but on this hunt, they’d been given more difficult quarry.
They raced past a limping hind, who almost fell over her hooves in surprise at still being alive after being overtaken by a deerhound and a wolf. They followed the main body of the herd, the healthy fast animals.
They weren’t running side by side any more. Bran was chasing a young stag, with small antlers and a rich red hide, along the foot of the ridge. Sylvie was pursuing a pale slim hind, who was leaping over heather and tiny burns, heading further into the moor.
Then the stag swerved and doubled back towards the grazing ground. Bran curved round to follow him.
Helen sighed. “Our hind is running further away, Bran’s stag is coming back! Even if Sylvie brings the deer down, Yann will have much further to run than Caoilte.”
Lavender groaned beside her. “Worse than that. She’s chasing a white hind. A very lucky animal. It will not bring luck to our quest to kill a white hind.”
Helen glanced at Ossian. Was he another tricky one? Had he set them up to fail too?
He was watching the hunt, whispering encouragement to Bran from under his long silky moustache.
Helen looked back down. Both deer were tiring, cut off from the protection of their herd. The wolf and the hound seemed to have endless energy in their long springy legs.
Helen felt a shudder of guilt. Sylvie and Bran were hunting live animals, terrifying them, chasing them to their death, as a sport, to decide if Ossian would play to protect her. These deer were being sacrificed for her and James.
She couldn’t let that happen.
She shifted in the heather, starting to get up. Lee put his hand on her knee. “They are predators, Helen. This is what they do. They hunt. Sylvie hunts to eat. She hunted yesterday. She will hunt tomorrow. She’s not doing this for you, she’s doing this because she is a wolf. You don’t need to feel guilty.”
Helen nodded reluctantly. She knew Sylvie didn’t buy her meals in the supermarket, those fangs weren’t just for frightening people, but it was still hard to watch her hunt.
Sylvie wasn’t behind the pale deer now. She was running beside her.
Bran had reached the hindquarters of the stag.
Sylvie came alongside the hind’s head and leapt for her neck. The weight and speed of the wolf knocked the deer to the ground.
An instant later, Bran brought the stag down, her teeth gripping his throat. Caoilte caught up with them and stabbed his spear down.
Helen closed her eyes. Then opened them again. Where was Yann?
He was already with Sylvie. Pulling the hind onto his shoulders and galloping towards the ridge.
Caoilte dropped his spear and hauled the stag onto his bony shoulders.
Helen said anxiously, “Yann has a longer distance to run!”
Lavender pointed out, “Their runner has a heavier burden.”
Lee added, “And Yann has more legs.”
The race between Yann and Caoilte had been preceded by stares and begun with a nod, but now it was run in earnest.
Helen had never seen Yann gallop at such speed. Nor had she ever seen a man run so fast. But on the flat Yann was faster. They could hear the boom of his hooves on the earth, while Caoilte ran silently on his hard bare feet.
They reached the base of the ridge at the same time, but Caoilte was directly beneath Ossian. Yann was out to his right, with further to go uphill. He had won the sprint; could he win the climb?
Caoilte ran straight up the ridge, the stag bouncing on his shoulders, deer blood running down his chest. Yann, whose horse legs were not designed for scrambling, was struggling across the slope lower down, his hooves scraping and his breath heaving.
The big men of the Fianna laughed, taunting their companion.
“He’s catching up, Caoilte. Can’t you smell his horse sweat? Don’t you remember how to win? Perhaps you should have hunted a hare not a deer, it would be lighter.” Only Ossian, standing apart like a judge, wasn’t yelling.
Lee called out, “Yann! You have the power of a stallion and the pride of a warrior. You have won the race of the flat as a horse, now win the race of the hill as a man!”
Lavender joined in, though Yann couldn’t hear her over the noise of his hooves and breath. “You’re the fastest fabled beast on any island!”
Sapphire sent up a beacon of sparks for him to run towards.
Helen shouted, “You will be our first victory, Yann, on our first successful quest!”
The Fianna laughed louder. “The boy has horseflies as fans, Caoilte! Can you hear them buzzing? Come up here and silence them.”
But it was too late for Caoilte. While everyone searched for the right words to goad or encourage their runner, Yann found more breath, more power, more speed. He leapt the last few rocks and shot past the groaning Caoilte. He dropped his burden, a pale crumpled heap, at the feet of Ossian.
Yann tottered three more steps, then leant against Sapphire’s wide strong side, so he didn’t fall to the ground.
Helen ran to him. “Thank you so much.”
Then she ran to the deer.
Ossian now had two deer at his feet. Caoilte, who was making a show of staying on his feet without support, had just dropped a bloody heap of red hide and antlers beside the splayed legs and white hide of Sylvie’s prey.
But when Helen looked at the hind, she couldn’t see any blood. She bent down. The white hind was still breathing. Helen stroked her soft muzzle and the huge long-lashed eyes opened, just as Sylvie and Bran slunk over the edge of the ridge.
Sylvie slid over to Yann and smudged weakly back into a girl.
The white hind sprang to her feet.
Helen stroked the deer’s muzzle again. She felt the deer’s warm breath on her hand.
The hind trotted down the hill.
Ossian laughed. “The luckiest animal on Tir nan Og has blessed you, child. I wonder if your luck will hold with the next contest.”
Helen turned to Sylvie. “Did you know you hadn’t killed her? Did you plan to let her live?”
