by Jodi McIsaac
“What you need, my dear, is to remove your little band of troublemakers from my house. I did not sign up to become involved in a dispute between the Danann and the druids.”
Cedar looked at him incredulously. “That’s it? We come to you for help and you’re just throwing us out without even listening? You have no idea what’s at stake.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s something cataclysmic,” he said in a bored tone. “I appreciate that you think so highly of me, but I’m sure that whatever the current crisis is, you can handle it on your own.” He walked over to the door and held it open.
No one made any move to leave. Cedar continued to glare at Logheryman, then crossed the room and slammed the door closed.
“You think that pretending to be neutral is going to help you?” she said, swiveling so that they were face-to-face. “They already know that you’ve helped us in the past. And they’ll find out that we were here and that you let us go. Does that sound very neutral to you?”
Logheryman looked down his nose at her. “Would you rather I not let you go?” he asked.
“I’d rather you do the right thing and help us!” she said, taking a step back. “I don’t know what lies they told you, but they are working for someone who wants to destroy the world and everyone in it.”
Logheryman rolled his eyes. “Unlike you, my dear, I’ve known the Tuatha Dé Danann for more than five minutes. They tend to be, mmm, melodramatic, shall we say? I’m sure that whatever merry chase they’ve led you on this time, it’s not as bad as you think.”
Cedar gaped at him. “Are you serious?” She pulled Jane forward. “They tried to burn my best friend alive—and would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Felix. And they trapped Eden in a nightmare in her own mind—and it was Liam who helped bring her out. They’re serious. If Nuala succeeds, she’ll create a war on Earth that will wipe out everyone. That isn’t melodrama. And you can’t just go back to your normal life and pretend that nothing is happening.”
She took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you don’t want to get involved. I get that. But it’s too late now. If we don’t find what we’re looking for, everyone on Earth will die. You’re already involved. Help us stop her.”
Logheryman considered her for a long moment, then sighed. “I might be able to offer you some assistance, but there is the matter of payment, of course…,” he began.
“Damn the payment!” Cedar said. “Have you never in your life done something just because it’s the right thing to do? Help us, and you’ll save millions of lives. Refuse to help us, and all the gold in the world won’t save you.”
There was another long pause. “And what exactly are you looking for?” he asked.
“The Lia Fáil,” she replied. “The Stone of Destiny. It’s been lost for centuries. We have less than a week. Once we find it, it will prove that I’m the rightful queen of Tír na nÓg, not Nuala. Then she won’t be able to move forward with her plan.”
Logheryman raised his gray eyebrows. “You will be queen? Are you sure your motives here are entirely pure?”
Cedar silenced him with a glance. “I don’t want to be queen, but it’s the only way. Do you know anything about the Lia Fáil or not?”
Logheryman pursed his lips as he looked around at each of them in the room. Cedar held her breath. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t. But I know someone who might, and at any rate it’s best for us not to stay here. Follow me, if you will.”
He turned and walked through the kitchen and out the back door. After a moment’s hesitation, Cedar grabbed Eden’s hand and followed him. The others filed behind her. She heard Felix whisper to Finn and Liam, “Stay sharp. I’ve never known Logheryman to do anything just because it was the right thing to do.”
The leprechaun led them past the clearing where Finn had landed as a dragon and onto a narrow path that headed into the woods.
“Where are we going?” Cedar asked. She glanced behind her to see how Jane was faring. She was walking at the back of the group, still clutching the robe around her and stumbling along in a pair of Logheryman’s thin slippers. Liam had his arm around her shoulders and was helping her along.
“I am not entirely solitary,” Logheryman replied. “We are going to the house of a friend. It’s not far.”
After a few minutes they emerged from the woods into a clearing, in the center of which stood a small, whitewashed cottage. It was about the same size as Logheryman’s house, but much more well kept. Bright flowers spilled from painted window boxes, and Cedar could see a neat, orderly garden on the side of the house. It was midmorning, and an elderly woman with long white hair that fell to her waist was crouched among the pole beans, a pile of weeds beside her.
“Maggie,” Logheryman said as they approached. The woman raised her head but didn’t turn around as she fussed with the ties on one of the poles.
“You’ve made some friends, Martin,” she said. Cedar raised her eyebrows. Martin?
Maggie stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees. She turned around and took in the group standing behind Logheryman. “Well,” she said, “I’d better put the kettle on.” They followed her through the front door and into a cozy sitting room. “Have a seat, have a seat,” she said. “Tea first, then introductions.” She disappeared into the kitchen, and Cedar could hear the rattle of cups and saucers being pulled out of the cupboard.
“Who is she?” Finn asked Logheryman. Eden was sitting on her father’s lap in a faded armchair draped with a hand-knit afghan. Felix stood by the door, and Liam and Jane had taken seats beside Logheryman on the sofa near the fireplace. Cedar paced the floor, her eyes fixed on Logheryman.
“Maggie O’Daly. An old friend,” he said. “I’ve known Maggie since she was a wee girl. She’s one of the few people left who believe in the old ways. You can trust her.”
“You think she can help us?” Cedar asked.
“If it’s knowledge you’re after, then yes,” he said. “She’s a file.”
Cedar saw Finn, Felix, and Liam make signs of acknowledgment, but she had no idea what a file was. “What’s that?” she asked.
“They call us seanachai these days,” Maggie said, coming back into the room with a tray laden with cups and saucers and a large pot of steaming tea. “Storytellers, bards, that sort of thing. But the fili used to be the most important role in Irish society. This was centuries ago, of course. We were the lawmakers, philosophers, poets, historians, and sorcerers all rolled into one. After a time, the roles were split up: The brehons became the judges and lawmakers, the druids became the priests and magicians, and the fili became the poets and storytellers—which was the same things as being a historian in those days. There are still some of us kicking about, though precious few, I’m sure. My grandfather was one. In fact, the O’Dalys were fili to the High Kings of Ireland even before Saint Patrick arrived, and long before that, I’d wager.”
Logheryman brought out more chairs from the kitchen, and Cedar sat down beside Finn and Eden and accepted a cup of tea from Maggie. She sighed audibly as the hot liquid ran down her throat and gratefully took a cookie from the plate that was being passed around. She watched Eden wolf hers down and felt a pang of guilt. Logheryman’s cupboards had been bare; all Eden had eaten for breakfast was a packet of chips.
Cedar gazed at Maggie, who was sipping her tea and seemingly unperturbed by the group of strangers in her living room. The old woman looked kindly at Jane. “What happened to your clothes, dear?” she asked.
“Um… they got burned,” Jane said, blushing and pulling the robe more tightly around her. “There was a fire.”
Maggie pursed her lips and looked disapprovingly at Logheryman. “Getting into mischief again, Martin?”
“You flatter me, but I’m afraid I can’t take credit for this one,” he answered with a smirk. “My, er, friends seem to have landed themselves in a fair amount of trouble all on their own. Also, I fear I must trespass on your hospitality for a while, dear Maggie. My home has been compromised
for the time being.”
“Again?” Maggie said, her eyebrows raised, and Cedar wondered how often Logheryman found himself at odds with the world.
“It will all blow over soon, I’m sure,” he said, “And I’ll admit that I had another motivation for this visit. I’m afraid I can’t go into details, but do your vast stores of knowledge include anything about the Lia Fáil? My companions here are very interested in its whereabouts, and I am sadly unable to help them in that regard. They shan’t be here for long; once they have their information, they’ll be on their way.”
“The Lia Fáil? Aye, now there’s an interesting subject.” She nodded slowly. “There are many stories about the Stone of Destiny.”
“We know about Murtagh mac Erc loaning it to his brother,” Cedar blurted out. “But the Stone of Scone at Edinburgh Castle is a fake. It was taken from Scone by the English, but we don’t know where it is now.”
Finn shot her an exasperated look, but Cedar didn’t care. They didn’t have time to beat around the bush.
“So it’s not just stories you want, then,” Maggie said, eyeing Cedar keenly. “You want the truth. Well, there is truth to be found in stories, that’s for certain.”
“Not all stories are true,” Eden piped up from her father’s lap.
“They’re always true about something, little one,” Maggie said, passing Eden another cookie. “If not about what actually happened, then maybe about the person telling the story—or about the person hearing it. I’ve been telling stories for more than seventy years, and listening to them for even longer, and I call tell you there is always some truth to be found. And it is truth you are after, am I right?”
Cedar nodded.
“Then I have a story for you. Do with it what you will.”
Maggie cleared her throat and then began. “Many years ago there was young man named Donald O’Brien, living just outside a wee village near the banks of the River Boyne. He had a kind heart and handsome face. Everyone who knew him spoke well of him, for he was a hard worker, and yet he always took the time for a friendly chat or to offer a helping hand. Even the wild beasts took a shine to him, for it was he who would take food from his own plate to feed a stray cat, and he never forgot to leave seed outside for the birds and wee creatures of the forest during the long winter months. As a child, he used to play with the daughter of the man who tended sheep just over the hill. She was called Utain, and she was a homely little thing, all elbows and knees and wispy brown hair. She used to cut her hair short to try to make it grow fuller, which made her look more like a scarecrow than a young maiden. But she was a sweet girl, and she and Donald were fast friends, even as they grew and approached adulthood. Then one day Utain went missing on her way into the village. Donald looked everywhere for her, as did half the village, for her family was well loved. But she was nowhere to be found. Her family grieved for her, but many girls in the village were secretly glad she had disappeared because of her close friendship with Donald.
“One of these girls was called Marsha. Her father was a wealthy merchant, and she had everything a girl in those days could dream of. She was also the prettiest girl in the village, with bouncing brown curls and a rosy complexion. But on the inside she was vain and petty, and she had often taunted Utain for her plain looks. Marsha made no secret of her plans to win Donald as a husband. In fact, to hear her talk of it, they had already published the bans and would be married in a fortnight! But if Donald ever felt any affection for her or harbored the same ambition, he never let on. He treated her courteously, as he did all the young ladies who crossed his path. But Marsha’s vanity was such that she led herself to believe he could not possibly find another wife as desirable as her, and she convinced herself that he truly did love her.
“Then one day there was a visitor from the city. A young woman by the name of Aiofe was traveling with her aunt to visit their relatives several villages away. But when they passed by Donald’s family’s farm, their horse grew lame. And so they begged hospitality from Donald’s family in the hopes that the horse would recover with time. Being kind-hearted, Donald’s mother welcomed them in and offered them food and a place to stay. Well, when Donald first saw Aiofe, he felt desire as he had never known before. For she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. Her chestnut hair fell to her waist in thick, glossy waves. She was tall and strong, with curving hips and a full bosom. When she smiled, which was often, her eyes sparkled like stars in the night sky.
“But not only was she beautiful, Aiofe had a vibrant spirit. She would not be waited on and insisted on helping Donald’s mother serve the evening meal and prepare the guest beds. Her aunt said little, and so it was Aiofe who chatted merrily about life in the city and asked many questions about the surrounding countryside.
“The next day their horse was still lame, and Donald said that he would tend to it, if they would do them the honor of staying a little longer. Aiofe’s aunt agreed. By then, word had spread of the beautiful city dweller lodging at the O’Brien farm, who seemed to have finally captured young Donald’s attention. Well, upon hearing this, Marsha flew into a right rage. Early the next morning, before first light, she set out for the O’Brien farm, determined to see this rival for herself and find a way to get rid of her.
“The sun was rising when Marsha approached the farm. She tiptoed around to the back of the house, where she knew the guests would be sleeping. But before she could get to the window, the back door opened. Marsha quickly hid herself behind the hedge. Out of the door crept a young woman, but it was not the beautiful girl from the city. Why, it was none other than Utain, small and ugly as ever, though of course a few years older than the last time Marsha had seen her. Marsha stood there in shock, wondering what Utain was doing in Donald’s house and why no one had spoken of her return.
“The scrawny girl looked around, a shawl wrapped over her bony shoulders. She wore only a thin shift, but in her arms she carried a fine dress of deep blue silk. Marsha followed the girl down to the river as quietly as she could. It was midsummer, but the water was cold in the early morning, and Utain shivered as she removed her shift and placed it and the dress on the dry bank, entering the water naked. When she was waist deep in the water, she started chanting words in a strange language. Then she bent backward and submerged herself completely. When she rose up out of the water, she was no longer the small, ugly girl from the farm next door. She was a glowing vision of perfection, more beautiful than any woman Marsha had ever seen, like a bright flower growing in the midst of a swamp. Utain gazed at her reflection in the water for a moment and smiled. Then she climbed out onto the bank, clothed herself in the blue dress, and headed back toward the house.
“Well, Marsha had seen enough. Utain had to be a witch—there was no other explanation for it. She dared not confront her directly, but she knew that something had to be done. She returned home and told no one what she had witnessed. The next day, when it was announced that Donald and Aiofe were to be married, Marsha knew that she needed to find some way to expose Utain for who she was and end the engagement before it was too late.
“So Marsha stole some coins from her father’s purse and went to Old Nat, the eldest woman in the village. Some said Nat herself was a witch, others claimed that she had druid blood in her, or was a changeling, switched as a baby for one of the fairy folk. Marsha had never believed these tales, putting no stock in the old ways—until now. She told Old Nat what she had seen and asked for a way to expose Utain’s deception without putting herself in harm’s way. After Marsha gave her some of her father’s gold, Old Nat told her of the existence of a magic stone that was said to remove enchantments. If Aiofe really was Utain in disguise, she said, the spell would melt away as soon as she stepped on the stone, and Donald would see her for the homely farm girl she was.
“Marsha returned home to continue her scheming. Then she sent a message to Donald and Aiofe with her congratulations, saying that she would like to give them a new mare as a wedding gift and
that they could choose the horse themselves. To do this, they would need to come to a certain hill, where Marsha and her grooms would be waiting with several mares for them to choose from.
“Thrilled with Marsha’s kind offer, Donald and Aiofe accepted, and promised to meet her there on the arranged day. When that day arrived, Marsha set out early, with neither groom nor horses, and followed the directions given to her by Old Nat. Nat had told her where the stone could be found, on the hill they called Tara.
“Marsha worried that Nat’s plan might not work, but she had no choice but to go through with it. When Donald and Aiofe arrived, Marsha greeted them warmly. ‘My grooms are bringing the horses now,’ she told them. Then she led Aiofe over to the stone. ‘If you’ll just stand up here, you’ll be able to see them as they crest the hill.’ Aiofe stepped up onto the stone, and then it happened. Her glossy tresses withered and shortened until they were like bits of straw that had been blown about a courtyard. The plumpness of her breasts and hips shrunk until her dress hung loosely on her lank figure. Her cheeks paled and her eyes grew dull. She looked down at herself in dismay and covered her face in her hands. Marsha stood there watching, waiting for Donald’s horrified reaction.
“But it never came. He was surprised, even shocked, to be sure. He stared open-mouthed at the girl before him. But then he rushed to her and crushed her in his arms, saying her name over and over again. ‘Utain, Utain, Utain.’ Needless to say, this was not the reaction Marsha had been expecting.
“‘She’s a witch!’ she cried. ‘I saw her down at the river, using sorcery to make herself beautiful. She should be hanged!’
“‘Is it true?’ Donald asked Utain. ‘Are you a witch?’
“‘No,’ Utain sobbed. ‘But I went to see one. I loved you so much, you see, but I knew you deserved better. You deserved someone beautiful. I knew… at least, I thought I knew… that I would never be more to you than a friend. And I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t live without you. I ran away; I thought if I didn’t see you every day, I would forget about you. But I didn’t. I nearly drove myself mad with longing. So I went to a witch, and she gave me a spell to perform each morning in the river that would make me beautiful. I thought… I thought maybe then you’d love me. And you did… as Aiofe, not Utain.’
