by Che Golden
‘There is a war coming, but it will come at a time of my choosing and when it benefits my court most,’ hissed Meabh. ‘But this time I will have the Hound on my side.’
Maddy tried to speak. ‘I’m not …’ she began to mutter through clenched teeth, but Meabh squeezed tighter and cut the words off.
‘Don’t lie to me, child,’ said Meabh. ‘I can smell your blood. I know you’re the Hound. But you’re only a pup and you won’t last long in a Tuatha war, not without friends. Bend the knee, swear fealty to the Autumn Court, and I can help you find the unicorn hunter.’
Maddy would have loved to reply to that, but gravity was keeping her jaw clamped shut in Meabh’s hand. Meabh cocked her head and looked at her for a moment as the muscles in Maddy’s neck and face screamed with pain. Then, without warning, she opened her fingers and dropped Maddy back into her chair.
Maddy gasped with relief and flexed her neck. She glared up at Meabh. ‘How exactly are you going to help me out?’
Meabh laughed, a throaty chuckle that excited the fire to leap and dance. ‘See how you negotiate the terms of your capitulation,’ she purred. ‘No words of defiance or anger – you play well. I am the Witch Queen – my court as your ally will strengthen your hand enormously here and in the Land. Not to mention the protection my faeries can give your loved ones. Especially those without the Sight – like your lovely granny.’
Maddy’s blood ran cold to hear Meabh talking about Granny. ‘I need to know your help is worth having before I hand over my allegiance.’
‘Do you now?’ asked Meabh, settling herself back down in Granda’s chair by the fire. ‘Well, I can’t tell you who you are looking for, but I can tell you what.’
‘And?’
Meabh cocked her head again and looked at her with just one green eye, a bird-like movement that gave Maddy the creeps. ‘What do I get if I tell you?’ she asked.
‘My word that I will think about bending the knee,’ said Maddy.
‘Is that all?’ sneered Meabh.
‘Trust me – it’s more than you’re getting right now.’
Meabh stared at her, tapping her teeth with one long fingernail. ‘You have sharp teeth for such a little Hound.’
‘What does that even mean?’ asked Maddy. ‘What’s so special about being a Hound?’
Meabh shrugged. ‘In truth, nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s just a title. It simply means you have the blood of heroes running through your veins, although it is much diluted these days. But you have seen the rest of the Sighted – timid, cowering creatures. So when one such as you comes along and dares to defy us, they get all excited and brave and call you the Hound, thinking back to Cú Chulainn. And some of the weaker-minded Tuatha think of him too and they get nervous, thinking the Hound has returned to give us all a beating. It’s only a title and yet at the same time it’s a nuisance for the feelings it whips up. So if you are going to go round calling yourself the Hound, girl, and causing ripples, I’d rather those ripples flowed out from my court and not into it.’
‘From what I’ve read, Cú Chulainn gave you lot a run for your money,’ said Maddy.
‘Cú Chulainn was brave and unnaturally strong,’ said Meabh. ‘He could have married, had children and lived a long and peaceful life, but he was told that if he picked up a spear he would live a short one, full of glory, and his name would live on forever. He was too vain to resist. If anything is the mark of a Hound, it is stupidity; you’ve all been a little bit thick.’
‘So?’ asked Maddy.
‘So what?’ asked Meabh.
‘You were going to tell me what, but not who, I am meant to be looking for?’ prompted Maddy.
‘So I was,’ said Meabh. ‘Right after you swear an oath of fealty.’
‘Nice try.’
Meabh grinned at her. ‘The Coranied told you the hunter was neither human nor faerie, but something with stripes of both, correct?’
‘Yeah. So?’
Meabh tutted. ‘Patience! No child with both faerie and mortal parents has been born for centuries, so that leaves only one other possibility – a split soul.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Maddy.
‘It is what is left behind when a mortal has a near-death experience in Tír na nÓg. They seem to hold on to a sense of themselves and they gather in the Shadowlands of the Coranied, listening to the whispers of your kind.’
‘I thought stolen children didn’t come back,’ Maddy remarked.
‘Do you always believe what you are told?’ said Meabh. ‘And it’s not just children that get taken – Liadan isn’t the only one who likes to play with mortals.’
Maddy gave Meabh a sharp look but decided not to ask any questions about that. ‘Nothing you have said explains why I need the dog Bran.’
‘Have you ever seen a soul?’ asked Meabh. ‘Ever felt the weight of it in your hands? How it feels, how it smells?’
Maddy nodded as the obvious dawned on her. ‘The hunter has no scent. So why do I need a hunting dog to track it?’
‘The unicorns are magic made flesh; they smell.’
Maddy was confused. ‘But we know where the mare is. She’s five minutes up the road.’
Meabh rolled her eyes. ‘Give me strength. We know where she is here, in this world, but we have no idea yet where she fell in Tír na nÓg.’
‘I don’t get how they are in both worlds at the same time,’ said Maddy.
Meabh sighed. ‘They are old magic, girl, older than the Tuatha. They are the life force of the earth, the male and the female, the yin and yang that keep balance within and between all living things. They are the magic that breathes life into this world, made of flesh, and into Tír na nÓg, realm of dreams. They are the foundation stones our worlds are built on, so they exist in both at the same time.’ She leaned forward. ‘And someone has decided to take away one of those foundation stones. Now do you understand?’
Maddy nodded. ‘How can you be so sure the hunter will attack her again?’
‘The mare is sure it wanted her death – that’s enough for me. Mortal-side we can ring her with Tuatha guards and fend off an attack. But we still don’t know where she is in Tír na nÓg, and sending ordinary hounds to track her is risky. Their instincts might take over and they might attack if they found her vulnerable.
‘But Bran never would, right? She always brings her prey back alive. Why is that?’
‘Bran has certain qualities that make her a bit special,’ said Meabh, a sly smile playing about her lips.
‘So you want me to go into the Shadowlands of Tír na nÓg to persuade Finn mac Cumhaill to hand over Bran and then go chasing the unicorns around in the hope of catching the hunter on its next attempt?’ said Maddy.
‘Bravo! The penny drops …’
‘And time is obviously a factor, seeing as the hunter might already be looking for the mare and I’m still sitting here?’
‘Obviously.’
‘So why are the Tuatha not going straight to Finn mac Cumhaill? He’s in your world – it would be a lot faster than trying to force me.’
‘Ah,’ said Meabh, sitting back in her chair and steepling her fingers in front of her face. ‘There we have a tiny little problem.’
‘Which is?’
‘Oísin was Finn’s son,’ said Meabh. ‘And Finn’s wife was a Tuatha who disappeared under strange circumstances.’
‘Did the Tuatha make her disappear?’
‘That would not be an unreasonable assumption to make,’ said Meabh. ‘But regardless of who did what to who, the fact is mac Cumhaill hates the Tuatha and he will never listen to us. But he might – might – be persuaded by a mortal. He might have respect for the Hound, although you do not make a very awe-inspiring figure.’
Maddy sat back in her own chair and stared at Meabh through narrowed eyes. ‘You’re frightened of him, aren’t you?’
Meabh lowered her hands to grip the armrests of her chair. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘You’ve got an
ancient Irish hero sitting in Tír na nÓg who could sort all your problems out and you’re telling me that there is not a single Tuatha who dares to go near him? No one who can make him do what you want, no matter how desperate you are?’ said Maddy, a smile lighting up her face. ‘He has made the Shadowlands his own territory, right under everyone’s nose.’
‘Do I look frightened of you, Feral Child?’ asked Meabh, her voice soft with menace.
Maddy gulped. ‘No.’
‘Remember that,’ said Meabh as she stood up, the crown of her head brushing the low ceiling of the cottage. She gathered her plaid around her shoulders to keep her warm, stray shadows climbing her body to nestle into the folds of the cloth. She walked to the door of the cottage and opened it on to the night. The Pooka sprang to his feet and padded to her side, nuzzling her palm.
‘What are you?’ asked Maddy. ‘God or faerie?’
‘Your people have so many names for us,’ said Meabh, as she scratched the Pooka behind the ear. ‘You used to call us the Fair Ones and that is where the word faerie came from – did you know that? Your names mean nothing to me. I am Tuatha, and that is enough. But again, Maddy, you’re not asking the question you really want to ask.’
‘Which is?’
‘“Who would be safer to anger – a god or a faerie?”’ said Meabh. ‘That is what you really want to know. And the simple answer is that making any Tuatha angry, especially me, would be a very, very big mistake. And it would be a mistake to fail with mac Cumhaill, so tread carefully.’
‘He is never going to hand Bran over!’ Maddy was practically yelling with frustration.
Meabh tutted, her eyes sparkling with laughter. ‘There’s always a way, Maddy.’
‘Care to explain how?’
‘Care to swear an oath of fealty?’
Maddy ground her teeth while Meabh laughed, her fingers buried deep in the shaggy fur of the Pooka. It wagged its tail as it gazed adoringly at its mistress.
‘Why would I care about keeping the hunter alive? I know it’s a faerie that did this – the Sighted are scared of their own shadows!’ said Maddy.
‘Because you want to know who sent it, don’t you, Maddy? You have all sorts of theories buzzing around that busy little mind of yours and you won’t be happy unless you find out who gave the order to poison the mare.’
‘How do you know someone else besides the hunter is involved?’ asked Maddy.
Meabh shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t. Join my court, Maddy, and you will have all the help you need,’ she said. ‘All my faeries, all my powers, all my riches, will be at your disposal.’
‘But only for your advantage,’ Maddy pointed out.
‘Of course,’ said Meabh. ‘That is the nature of the game we play. Why should you be given all the power of a Tuatha court for nothing? Think on it.’
She turned to go.
‘Wait!’ said Maddy. ‘How will I find you again, if I change my mind?’
‘Just swear your oath, Maddy,’ said Meabh. ‘Say it to the air and I will hear you. But I must admit, you’ve disappointed me tonight.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there is one very important question you have forgotten to ask.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, if the boundaries between our worlds have broken down so much I am able to walk among mortals outside the Samhain Fesh – who else is here?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was the click of the lock on the kitchen door that woke her, just a small snick that was almost drowned out by the dull tick tock of the clock on the mantelpiece. But she was so tense that her mind had not surrendered to a deep sleep and that small sound had cracked like a gunshot to her straining ears.
She lay in the bed, blankets wrapped tight around her, her eyes searching the empty gloom of her room for something to do while her brain panicked, her ears pricked for another telltale noise. She was almost wondering if she had imagined the sound of the door being opened, if she should risk getting out of bed to see if there really was anyone prowling through the sitting room on soft feet, when she heard the softest scratching.
Her mind raced through its memory banks, frantically trying to match the sound to anything it had on file. It was so soft, so tiny a sound, it could only be …
… hair! Stiffened with lime, combed into high spikes on the head of a creature that was too tall for the low cottage ceiling. It must have brushed against the plaster as she turned her head to look from one door to the other, wondering which one to open.
Maddy lay in her bed, as clear and light and frozen with terror as an icicle. Her breath caught in her throat and blocked any screams or cries for help. Her eyes widened as she watched the doorknob of her bedroom door turn slowly, the stiff mechanism chuckling sleepily.
The blade came in first. The silver sword gleamed softly in the pale moonlight that filtered through her thin bedroom curtains, before the door was pushed wider and the faerie ducked her head to make her way into Maddy’s tiny bedroom. There was the soft scratching noise again, as her stiffened Mohican rippled against the door frame. Her blood-red eyes burned in her bone-white tattooed face and her huge wings filled the door behind her, ice-frosted and transparent. They snapped shut like a flower as Fachtna stepped all the way into the room, the hollow bones and gossamer skin folding in on themselves to avoid injury in the tight space.
She grinned, baring her shark’s teeth, and prowled toward the bed, every muscle tense and her eyes waiting for the slightest movement. But as Maddy lay motionless, her grin grew wider.
‘Such a little thing you are,’ she crooned as she slid on to the bed, her bony knees pressing deep pits in the soft mattress. ‘I won’t be needing this.’ She lifted her sword blade to her lips and kissed it, its keen edge piercing the white skin above her mouth. Bright blood welled up in the cut, trembled and then burst its banks to roll slowly down her chin. She laid the sword on the quilt and leaned forward, her blood splashing on to Maddy’s face. She heard a hiss as Fachtna drew a short, curved dagger from her belt. Fachtna pressed the point of the blade against the hollow of Maddy’s throat, enough to make the skin dimple, but not enough to break it. She lowered her face until her hooked nose was almost touching Maddy’s and her blood-red gaze was all Maddy could see.
‘You’re no Hound, girl,’ she sneered.
Maddy shook with fear and struggled to push the scream in her throat out into the room, but her mouth was locked shut.
‘You’re a rabbit. And I’m going to cook you and eat you, just like a rabbit. But first I’m going to slit you open from throat to groin and I’m going to pull your intestines out and wind them round and round my dagger like spaghetti. Ready?’
Fachtna’s wings flared open and rattled as she pressed down hard with the knife …
Maddy screamed and sat bolt upright in her bed. Her blood thundered in her ears and her pyjama top was glued to her back with cold sweat. She gulped in lungfuls of air that turned her panicking brain as light as a bubble, while her eyes roved around the room and assured her that everything was normal. There was all her stuff piled haphazardly on shelves next to her bed, the curtains drawn tight against the night, and there was nobody standing between the bed and the door, grinning at her.
It was just a dream, she thought, as she hunched over in the twisted sheets and slowed her hammering heart. It was just a bad dream. Fachtna wouldn’t know what spaghetti was!
A nervous giggle escaped her lips before she clamped them shut. She listened for any sounds coming from her grandparents’ room. Surely they had heard her yelling? But all was quiet and still, the ponderous ticking of the clock in the living room just outside her bedroom door the only sound in the sleeping cottage.
She slipped out of the warm bed and peeled her sweat-soaked pyjamas away from her body. Her skin goose-pimpled in the chill predawn air as she grabbed jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt from the chair beneath her window. She dragged them on and gently eased the door of
her wardrobe open. Three jackets hung inside: her school jacket, a fake leather bomber she had begged Granny to buy her and a denim one. All of them hung lopsided on the hangers and out of habit she flicked her fingers against the pockets closest to her. Each time her fingertips hit dull metal, and she smiled. Faeries hated iron and all of the Sighted kept a piece of iron on them at all times. Granda had his iron cuff and he had once given Maddy a little iron crucifix to hang around her neck, but Maddy had wanted something with a bit of bite for when the sun sank and the faeries were stronger. So she had persuaded Granda to have three dull iron knives made for her and then she had raided Granny’s sewing box and carefully unpicked the stitching in one pocket of each jacket, slipped a knife into the lining and stitched a thin band of Velcro into the rent so the weapon could be easily grabbed if she got into trouble. It had taken her hours and patience she didn’t know she had; the lining of each pocket was spotted with rusty bloodstains where she had stabbed her clumsy fingers over and over with a needle. But it was worth it. She never left the house now without feeling for that comforting weight on her right hip.
She shrugged on her favourite, the fake leather bomber jacket, and slipped out into the living room. She peered around the curtain at the sky. It was still too dark to go anywhere; faeries were stronger in the dark, and dawn was only a faint silver smudge on the horizon. Stepping outside now, with the veil between the worlds so fragile, would be suicidal. She sighed through her nose and settled into Granny’s chair by the fire. It was a bony, comfortless thing, a thin wooden frame with foam pads tied to it. It was horribly old-fashioned, but Granny refused to part with it.
Maddy leaned her head back against it and forced her eyes wide open in the dim room, fighting sleep. Her head rang with tiredness and her stomach roiled, but the adrenalin the nightmare had woken in her still crackled like wildfire through her veins. There was no way she was going to get any decent sleep before the alarm went off for school and experience taught her she functioned better on no sleep at all than with a couple of hours of fretful dozing.
