The Raven Queen

by Che Golden

Aunt Kitty clicked her tongue. ‘I remember her. She used to chase after all the boys.’

  ‘Well, she caught up with Dermot right enough,’ said Una.

  Aunt Kitty looked at Maddy. ‘He told me he would love me forever,’ she whispered, her voice full of unshed tears. ‘It turned out forever didn’t last as long as I thought it would.’

  Pretty, witty Kitty, the baby of her family, whose wispy white hair was once thick brown curls. For a moment, Maddy saw the girl who danced for so long on a Saturday night she would have to ease her high heels from her aching feet and carry them, dangling from the tips of two fingers, as she walked home down the lane to the cottage in Blarney, the cold stone of the street pressing through her black seamed stockings. She saw her smile as she touched her lips, her dress of stars twinkling in the moonlight. Pretty, witty Kitty, her life ruined by the secrets in Blarney.

  A nurse began to ring a bell to signal visiting time was over. Maddy jumped up and fussed with her bag, checking her phone and trying not to look too relieved. Una rolled her eyes, while Aunt Kitty cackled.

  ‘Look at her,’ said Una. ‘I’ve seen greyhounds start a race slower.’

  Maddy hid her blush by bending her head right down to rummage in the bag. ‘Auntie Fionnula sent some stuff for you. I’ve got a box of those jellied fruits you like and a fruitcake …’

  ‘I’ll take the sweets but Fionnula can keep her cake,’ said Great-Aunt Kitty, pulling a sour face. ‘Never could bake, that one – her cakes are always dry. You couldn’t even feed the ducks with them; poor things would sink, if you didn’t brain them first, chucking the stuff at them.’

  With a sinking heart, Maddy looked down at the biscuit tin that held Aunt Fionnula’s cake. Great-Aunt Kitty had a point, but she could just see Aunt Fionnula’s gimlet eyes narrowing with rage when Maddy brought it back. Somehow this was going to be her fault. Aunt Fionnula was, unjustifiably, very proud of her baking. This slur would not go unnoticed, no matter what excuse Maddy came up with.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

  ‘Positive!’ said Kitty. ‘I’m not as daft as people think I am. I’d know if I wanted Fionnula’s burnt cakes stuck in my craw. But if there is anyone I want to finish off in here, I’ll be sure to give you a call.’

  The banshee and the old woman hooted with laughter while Maddy stuffed the cake back in the bag. People were drifting toward the exit. ‘I really do actually have to go,’ she said.

  ‘Off you trot then,’ said Kitty. ‘Don’t let me keep you. But you can tell Fionnula that she can get off her backside and come herself next time.’

  I would have to be suicidal to do that, thought Maddy.

  Kitty closed her eyes again and leaned her head back against the chair. Her face was sunken with age and the bones of her skull stood out sharply. Maddy hesitated, wondering if she should kiss her great-aunt goodbye. But as she stood there, dithering, Kitty put a hand out and clutched her wrist.

  ‘You’ll be fine, girl,’ she said, her eyes still closed against the summer sun. ‘You just need to know what the Hound knows.’

  ‘What is that then?’

  Kitty pulled her hand away and tutted. ‘How should I know? Do I look like the Hound?’

  Una plucked at Maddy’s arm and nodded her head toward the exit. ‘We’ll be off now, Kitty,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you soon?’

  ‘You will, please God,’ said Kitty, and then her head nodded on to her chest.

  Una and Maddy left Kitty sleeping in her chair and made their way through the sun-drenched garden to the beautiful building that had once housed nuns. It took a second for Maddy’s eyes to adjust to the dim light of the care home, and its cool air kissed her sunburnt arms. A grand wooden staircase and dark oak panelling gleamed in the half-light and gave off a faint whiff of beeswax polish. Maddy’s trainers squeaked on the elaborate tiled floor that led to stained-glass double doors. She noticed that even though no one around them gave any sign that they could see Una, the little faerie woman was given a wide berth – no one got close enough to jostle her or tread on her bare, dirty feet.

  The small crowd of visitors spilled out into the car park. It could have been her imagination, but Maddy was sure the chattering voices were high with relief as they left their disturbed and disturbing relatives. Or perhaps it was her own guilt talking, because Maddy was certainly glad to escape poor Kitty.

  She heaved the tote bag that Aunt Fionnula had insisted she bring with her on to her shoulder. It was too big for her skinny frame and the biscuit tin banged against her hip with every step. No doubt the dry-as-dust cake was disintegrating with each bounce and it would just add to the trouble Maddy was in, but she was too hot to care. She dug into her jeans pocket for the mobile phone Granda had insisted she have with her at all times and dialled Aunt Fionnula’s number. After about three rings, she was relieved to hear Roisin pick up the phone. Relations were still strained between Maddy and Aunt Fionnula and the less she had to do with her aunt, the better.

  ‘Ro, it’s me. Can someone come get me? Visiting time is over. I’m in the car park.’ She heard Aunt Fionnula’s sharp voice in the background and her name rapped out in short, hard notes. Roisin’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  ‘Um, Mam’s a bit busy right now. She wants to know if you can walk back?’

  ‘You are joking, right?’ said Maddy. ‘I’m melting out here, and it’s at least a half-hour walk back.’

  There was a scuffling noise as Aunt Fionnula grabbed the phone from Roisin. ‘Maddy, where are you?’

  ‘The car park at the care home,’ said Maddy, through gritted teeth. ‘Waiting on a lift.’

  ‘Madeline, you know full well I haven’t the time to be running around after you!’ barked Aunt Fionnula.

  ‘But it’s a really long walk …’ began Maddy, but Aunt Fionnula cut her off.

  ‘It’s twenty minutes at the most, and you have young legs on you. The walk will do you good.’

  Maddy stared in disbelief as the phone went dead in her hand. She hung up on me, she thought, as she glared at the little screen. She stuck her tongue out at it. ‘Cow!’ she hissed.

  Una tutted, which just annoyed Maddy even more. She fished the biscuit tin out of her bag, walked over to a nearby bin, flipped the lid and slid the cake into the rubbish.

  ‘You are a wicked child,’ said Una, with a slight smile hovering at the edges of her wrinkled lips. ‘And you’re not too old for a smack either.’

  Maddy grinned at her. ‘But you’re far too short to give me one. What are you going to do, stand on a box?’

  Una laughed and crouched down on the pavement, poking a long black nail into her mouth to prise a last piece of toffee off her hardened gums. She sighed. ‘It’s a shame Fionnula has to be angry with you – it’s fierce hot. A lift would be nice.’

  It certainly was. It was one of the rare days in Cork when the heat was not tempered by a dewy breeze blowing straight in off the sea. The air was still and heavy and Maddy could feel her hair dampening at the nape of her neck. She rubbed at her face. She never really coped well with the heat and always seemed to get a moustache of grime as sweat collected around her lips.

  She sighed and eased her thumb under the bag’s shoulder strap. She really should have brought a bottle of water, but she did not think of it, and she had no money to buy one. Of course, she had thought she was going to be getting a lift home.

  ‘C’mon, we might as well get walking,’ she said to the little banshee. ‘I’ll probably cop an earful if she thinks I’ve been messing on the way.’

  But just as the words left her mouth, the blistering heat cooled, just a little, a tang of ozone tickled her nostrils and her sweat-wet hair rose on the nape of her neck. Maddy and Una stared at each other, their eyes widening in fear.

  ‘Can you feel that too?’ asked Maddy.

  Una nodded and stood up, her eyes darting from side to side. ‘We have to get you out of here … we’re too far from the city … we need to be surrounded by iron
!’

  ‘They can’t get at me here. The city is only twenty minutes’ walk away!’ said Maddy.

  ‘Too far, still too far. It won’t stop a solitary, one of the older, stronger faeries; they can still get to you …’

  Una broke off and her eyes narrowed as she gazed down the quiet road, only the odd passing car throwing up the dust that coated the tarmac.

  Maddy followed her gaze: something was on the road, something big and black that was slowly moving toward them. She stood, frozen to the spot with fascination, as every fibre in her body told her to run away screaming, watching as the object drew close and became clearer.

  It was a man riding a black horse, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed from head to foot in thick, heavy black. Black leather gloves covered the huge hands that rested lightly on the reins, black leather riding boots reached above his knees. Despite the exhausting heat, his whole body was swathed in a musty black cloak. The massive animal that he rode drew level with Maddy, but she could not bring herself to look as its angry eye rolled at her. It chomped on its bit as sweat and saliva foamed and frothed down the bulging muscles in its chest. No. She looked past the animal to the tall, stiff collar of the rider’s cloak, the collar standing proud around empty air, and then dropped her gaze to the rider’s lap, where his head was sitting.

  The pale, bald pate glowed with a sickly green light that beat against the summer haze and its small black eyes darted about in its sockets. A hideous, idiotic grin split its thin lips, and as Maddy watched the body gathered up the reins in one hand, scooped the head up with the other and held it out to her on its massive palm.

  The eyes suddenly stopped darting about and focused on Maddy’s green ones, its tightly clenched teeth fell open and a black tongue caressed the air as it spoke a word, carried on a breath that smelt of sickly sweet rot.

  ‘Maaddieee,’ it said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As soon as the last syllable of her name escaped those shrivelled lips, the teeth snapped shut again and the monstrous faerie began to lose his grip on the mortal world. Before Maddy’s eyes, he began to fade and drift apart like smoke in the wind as the binding magic of Tír na nÓg called him back. Maddy watched, transfixed, until all that was left was that rictus grin, hanging in the air like the Cheshire Cat’s. As soon as it disappeared, with a pop of imploding air, she turned to look at Una.

  ‘That was the dullahan,’ Maddy said, her voice shaking with fear. She felt herself choke on her words and stopped for a moment to clear her throat. ‘What is he doing here, so far from Liadan’s court? Why did he say my name? I didn’t even know he could speak!’

  ‘He normally doesn’t,’ said Una, her eyes fixed on the spot where the faerie had stood. ‘He never does, unless …’

  ‘Unless what?’ prompted Maddy. ‘Unless what, Una?’

  The banshee gave herself a little shake and looked at Maddy, her dark eyes despairing. ‘He’s the soul collector, Maddy. He doesn’t speak except to say the name of the person whose soul he will come for next.’

  The world fell away under her feet as Maddy’s terrified brain processed what Una had just said. The sound of her own blood roared in her ears and drowned out the noise of a car passing by and a lawnmower droning in a front garden. Her lips struggled silently to form the words that tripped and stumbled into place in her mind.

  ‘That means … that means …’ she stuttered.

  ‘It means Liadan has put a sentence of death on you and has sent the dullahan to deliver it personally.’

  ‘So it’s finally happening,’ said Maddy with numb lips. ‘She’s coming after me.’

  ‘This is much, much bigger than you now,’ hissed Una as she pulled her rags closer about her skinny body. ‘You swore an oath of fealty to Meabh and the Autumn Court when you needed her protection. Remember? For Liadan to go after you, a subject of the Autumn Court, is an open declaration of war. She cannot attack another court like this and not expect them to retaliate.’

  ‘War?’ asked Maddy.

  Una nodded once, a curt bob of her head. ‘War,’ she sighed. ‘It has come at last. While all the Tuatha have been spoiling for it, it would have to be Liadan who tipped the scales. The Winter Queen is truly mad. She will destroy everything in a fit of temper for not getting her own way.’

  Maddy shuddered. What she wants is my head on a stick, she thought. Maybe another faerie will give it to her to avoid a war.

  Una must have been thinking the same thing. ‘I have to tell your granda. He can keep you safe,’ said Una.

  ‘No, don’t!’ said Maddy.

  ‘Why ever not, child?’ asked Una, her dark eyes snapping with anger.

  ‘We knew this was coming, Una. It’s why he sent me to Cork in the first place, remember?’ said Maddy. ‘Surround me with iron, keep the faeries away, and hope that they forget about me and we can all go back to living normal lives.’ She laughed, a bitter sound without humour. ‘I told him it wouldn’t work.’

  ‘And what will keeping secrets achieve?’

  ‘I don’t want to keep secrets from him, Una, I just want time to think!’ said Maddy, her voice rising with anger.

  ‘Think about what?!’ demanded the banshee, her own voice shrill with temper. ‘Do you think you can handle this on your own? Is that it? The last time you went up against the Winter Queen you nearly died – you have a lovely scar on your shoulder to remind you of that!’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘And if you’re thinking Meabh is going to come to your rescue, you can think again,’ Una snapped. ‘Meabh does nothing for anyone unless it suits her. I’ve seen enough of Meabh over the centuries to know that what suits her often ends in nothing but pain and trouble for others. So we are not going down that road!’

  Maddy knew full well what Meabh thought of her. It was ten months since Maddy had pledged her allegiance to the Autumn Queen. Ten months since she had found out she was the new Hound of Ireland, thanks to the blood of heroes that ran through her veins. It didn’t make much difference to Maddy’s life – it gave her no superpowers, no advantages at all. The only thing it brought was trouble, as it seemed to make her irresistible to faeries and make Sighted humans – humans who, like Maddy, could see faeries – look at her as if she was an unexploded bomb. She remembered what Meabh had said to her when Maddy realized she had been tricked into swearing an oath of fealty.

  Now that I’ve collared you and leashed you, I’ll stoke those fires in you. And when the time comes and I let loose the dogs of war, the Hound of Ireland will lead my pack, baying for blood.

  She swallowed. ‘I have no idea what I am going to do, Una, but if you give me a couple of hours I might think of something,’ she said.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Una. ‘I know what kind of daft ideas you come up with when you are left to your own devices. No, I told your granda I was going to look out for you, and that’s exactly what I am going to do.’ Maddy watched in horror as Una’s wizened little body began to ripple away from her, the little faerie moving so fast her body was a long blur that left streaks of colour in the air behind, like fuel trails from a jet.

  ‘Una, wait!’ Maddy lunged at the little faerie woman but it was too late. The banshee was gone and would no doubt be talking to her granda within half an hour.

  ‘I hate it when you do that!’ shouted Maddy, even though the faerie was now long gone. The fat little man mowing his lawn gazed at her suspiciously. Maddy was suddenly very conscious that she was raving at thin air at the entrance to a home for the mentally ill. She smiled nervously at the man and then began to walk quickly in the direction of Cork city and Aunt Fionnula’s house.

  The dullahan was an old and powerful faerie, strong enough to pierce the barrier that kept the mortal and faerie worlds separate, even for just a few minutes. Halloween was when the barrier was weakest, the best time for the faerie to break loose, but that was still three months away. Maddy was sure there would be no other faeries stalking her as she walked home. Even so, it was a
n effort to stop her shaking legs from breaking into a run, to get away from green suburbia with the countryside lapping its boundaries into the iron heart of Cork city.

  Maddy didn’t own a summer dress, and her jeans stuck to her sweat-slicked skin, taking away all her flexibility. She felt as if she was lumbering along like a mummy and that was going to make her just as conspicuous to a lurking faerie as it would if she sprinted home. Sweat made her scalp itchy and her thick brown hair sat like thatch on her head, the sun beating down on it. She tried not to flinch at sudden loud noises or peer too closely at the faces of passers-by or children playing on the pavement. One little girl made her flinch, her narrow pointed face and shock of red hair as she looked up from chalking the pavement catching Maddy’s eye. The flash of green eyes, the long thin bones of her hands, made Maddy suspect a faerie, but the child’s eyes were clear and innocent.

  Her body screamed with tension and her back was aching from the effort of keeping her muscles clenched by the time she turned on to the street where Aunt Fionnula lived. It was an ugly little road, built in the 1960s with tonnes of concrete to form grey houses, grey pavements, and a cracked and neglected tarmac road, but Maddy could have dropped to her knees and kissed the dusty ground. Devoid of any landscaping to soften its harshness, and with many of the tiny back gardens smothered in decking, there was no lush vegetation here to attract faeries, no wood copses where trees bent feathery heads together to talk, no streams to sing to birds while their waters sparkled like diamonds in the summer sun. It was as soulless and miserable an urban environment as anyone hiding from a faerie could hope for, where every pitted, stained surface reflected the heat and the taste of dust coated Maddy’s mouth. As much as Maddy hated Aunt Fionnula and hated her overcrowded, cluttered house, right now she was grateful that she lived here and not in the soft, green village of Blarney, so close to the faerie mound.

  She pushed open the spindly black iron gate that marked the boundary of the house from the road. It was a tiny house, jammed tight into a terrace and, like many of their neighbours, Aunt Fionnula and Uncle Jack had concreted over the front garden so they could have off-street parking. As she walked up the path, Maddy quickly scanned the terrace to count how many other front gardens were the same, how many patches of earth were crushed by slabs of concrete, seedlings choked off in the dark. The less nature she could see, the better she felt.