To Ride A Púca

by Heather McCorkle

  After two days of practice she was confident she could do this. At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself.

  “I’ll aim over yer shoulder just in case yer focus isn’t strong enough. Are ye ready?” he asked.

  Using the image of a half-sphere like he had taught her, Neala poured her power out through her open hands. It flowed before her like a misty shield of green and blue that swirled as if caught in a maelstrom. She could see through it as though it were a thin veil, dangerously thin it seemed. But she had to try this.

  “Fire,” she said.

  Fear prickled across her skin when she heard the bowstring twang but rather than let it distract her, she poured the fear into her power. The colors in her shield of energy darkened. She could still see the arrow fly toward her. It was impossible not to flinch. A high-pitched noise sounded as the arrow bounced off her energy shield as though it was solid. Letting out a whoop of joy, she leapt into the air, her shield dissolving as she did so.

  Bren laughed at her and lowered his bow. “Excellent job.”

  Caught up in the excitement, Neala skipped and danced her way to his side and threw her arms around him. Laughing, he picked her up and hugged her tight. Their embrace was long enough that Neala realized how bold she’d been and started to flush with embarrassment. But he wouldn’t let go. The feel of him pressed against her, so warm and strong, was amazing.

  Before it could become awkward, Neala drew back. Bren’s eyes were filled with excitement and something else. Neala thought it might be desire but she wasn’t sure because as soon as she saw it, it was gone. She had definitely been too forward.

  “See, I knew ye could do it,” he said in a soft tone.

  The look of pride in his eyes made her breath catch. That someone could be proud of her for using her power was amazing and precious. It made him amazing and precious. A lump rose in her throat and she had to look away. If only she could convince him that she should fight when the time came…

  “Thank ye,” she said. It annoyed her that she sounded shy and uncertain when she had meant to sound confident. Bren had that affect on her. For the first time in her life she cared what a boy thought about her.

  “Soon ye’ll be able to deflect a whole barrage of arrows,” he said.

  “Ye really think so?”

  To be able to do such a thing would be amazing. It sounded exactly like the kind of thing a warrior druid should be able to do. Her excitement must have shown on her face, because Bren laughed and nodded.

  “Really,” he said as he tossed an arm around her shoulders and led her to where their waterskins sat in the shade.

  The touch was casual enough that it didn’t fluster her, much. Then again, she wondered if that was only because her excitement was overriding her nerves.

  “Ye’ll teach me how to do that too?” she asked.

  “If ye really want me to. But I don’t see that ye’ll ever need it.”

  Unease filled her and the secret she held onto was suddenly an unbearable weight on her heart. Maybe if he knew about the Danes then he would understand why she wanted to fight. Not noticing her inner turmoil, Bren grabbed his waterskin. After a deep drink he handed it to her and gave her a long, questioning look.

  She swallowed a few gulps of water then asked, “What?”

  “I know ye’re a warrior druid and it’s yer nature, but why do ye want to learn to fight so badly?” he asked.

  The question caught her off guard and made her stop and think. There wasn’t a time she could remember not wanting to learn to fight. Bren was right; it must be in her nature. As a warrior druid himself, he should know exactly why she wanted to. How could she not? And how could he not understand?

  She couldn’t keep the secret about Dublin any longer. Bren deserved to know especially since the Danes could be upon them in only a few days now. And, she was tired of him not understanding.

  “Me da and I recently returned from tradin’ in Dublin. We saw Danes ships approachin’ before we left,” she said.

  A blank look came over Bren’s face and his eyes turned to cold, hard ice. “Ye’re certain?” he asked.

  “I am.” She braced herself for the questions and arguments.

  He squeezed his eyes shut tight and dropped his head into his hand. A moment of silence stretched out so long that Neala took a step in his direction and started to reach for him. Head lifting, he reached for her at the same time and grabbed her hand.

  “In a candlemark we can reach the top of O’Donovan hill and from there we can see Dublin on the horizon. Let’s go look,” he said.

  His warm touch tingled with agitated energy. It wasn’t painful, but his urgency made his energy pop and snap. Neala looked at the sun. It was only a little past its highest point. There was a good chance they’d make it back well before dark.

  “All right,” she said.

  Her shrill whistle brought Dubh galloping to her side. She slipped his bridle on and leapt onto his back. After giving the stallion a quick pat on the neck, Bren jumped up behind her, nearly missing when Dubh pranced about. But Bren’s impressive control over his power guided him into position on Dubh’s back. Long, back hair flung up into Neala’s face as the stallion threw his head about in protest. He stilled after a few pats but the arch of his neck told her he wasn’t happy about the second rider.

  Scooting up against her back, Bren wrapped his arms around her waist. Neala picked up the reins and with a touch of her legs, launched Dubh into a canter headed for the forest.

  With two riders on his back it wasn’t hard to keep Dubh at a reasonable pace. Still, they managed to cover the distance in almost half the time they should have and that was with Neala slowing the stallion down to a trot for most of the ride. They made such good time that they went a bit further, to the next hill. Before reaching the top, Neala stopped Dubh and slid off his back. She knelt down and crawled the rest of the way up the hill, lying prone once she reached the top. Bren crawled beside her and lay down. From somewhere behind them Dubh let out a small squeal.

  Turning to give him a fierce stare, Neala pushed her hand at him in a motion that told him to get back. He snorted in protest but backed up.

  Neala pulled the druid’s spyglass from a pouch at her waist and cast her gaze across the rolling valleys below them. The port town was close, almost too close even at a day and half’s ride away. The ocean was a dark line against the horizon and just before it, trapped in a bank of fog, was Dublin. The spyglass revealed a terrible misconception on Neala’s part. It wasn’t fog that hung over Dublin, it was smoke.

  “Oh no,” she whispered as she lowered the glass.

  “What is it?” Bren whispered, inching closer to her.

  She handed the glass to him. Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them away. This was no time to let her emotions control her. Her brother had never let his emotions control him. A sharp intake of breath from Bren helped her to focus. His body went rigid beside her.

  “This is bad,” he said, lowering the glass.

  He looked almost as close to tears as she felt. A heartbeat later the look was gone, replaced by a fierce determination. When he fixed his intense gaze on her she shuddered and not in a bad way.

  “They may not stop at this port town. I have to tell me clan elders,” he said as he handed the glass back.

  Her blood sped through her veins, heating her from the inside out. Finally, someone who took the threat seriously! She dropped the druid’s spyglass and rolled over to look around them. Dubh had wandered close to the top of the hill; close enough that she worried if there were scouts they might be able to see him.

  “Dubh, back! Get back!” Neala whispered as loud as she dared while gesturing at the stallion.

  His ears flicked back and forth and he appeared confused but he obeyed and took a few steps back. It looked like he was back far enough now, but was it too late? A horrible feeling boiled in her stomach.

  “He could have been seen,” she told Bren as she started to cra
wl back down the hill.

  She was on her feet and running the moment she thought she was far enough down the hill not to be seen. Dubh pranced about at her fast approach but he didn’t back away. She grabbed his reins and led him further down the hill then jumped on his back. Before she could get settled Bren jumped up behind her.

  He put an arm around her waist and pressed something into one of her hands. It was the druid’s spyglass. “Ye forgot this,” he said.

  The thought of losing the spyglass her brother had made for her caused her stomach to lurch. Cursing herself inwardly, she shoved it into her pouch. If scouts checked the area and found it they would have known it wasn’t just a wild horse on the hill. Determined not to make any more mistakes, she urged Dubh into a trot down the rocky hillside. As much as she wanted to run, they couldn’t risk it yet. Not only was the ground rocky and uneven, which made for poor footing, running would leave deeper tracks in some of the softer areas. Her eyes scanned the valley ahead, searching for the best footing and some kind of cover. There were no trees until the top of the next hill.

  They reached the valley and she pushed Dubh into a canter, deciding being caught would be worse than leaving tracks at this point. It took only a few heartbeats to cross the valley but it felt like an eternity. Wind whipped Neala’s loose hair back and drew moisture from her eyes. The run wasn’t as reckless as the wild flight that had brought her into Bren’s life, but it was close.

  Dubh didn’t slow when they reached the hill, he attacked it. His massive hooves pounded the Earth as his knees stepped high. Leaning forward to make it easier on the stallion, Neala clung tight to him with every muscle in her body. When they reached the top of the hill she chanced a look back over her shoulder.

  There was no one following them but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be.

  “Which way to the river?” she called over her shoulder.

  Bren pointed ahead of them and to the left. Sitting up a little, Neala cued Dubh to slow down into a trot. The cool shade of giant spruce and oak trees soon enveloped them. Within the shade, a tiny measure of relief surged up to push back her fear. At least they were hidden now. But she wasn’t about to leave their lives to chance. She leaned back against Bren and placed the reins in his hands. While Neala had been to Dublin by road in the past, she had never gone through this forest, it was O’Donovan land.

  “Ye know the way. We’ll get there faster if ye guide him,” she said.

  Bren took the reins and guided Dubh through the maze of trees and underbrush. It wasn’t long before Neala could hear rushing water and taste it in the air. The underbrush became thicker and taller but Bren maneuvered Dubh expertly through it, no doubt leaving almost no sign of their passing. Neala was forced to lean back as they started down a rocky slope leading to the river. The water was moving along at a swift pace but it looked shallow.

  “Thank ye,” Neala said as she took the reins from Bren.

  Picking the shallowest spot she could find along the bank so Dubh wouldn’t jump into it, Neala eased the stallion into the water. From there she let him have his head so he could choose his own path. They traveled all the way back to Neala’s land down the river. It took a lot longer this way, but Neala wasn’t about to risk leaving the water to save a little time. They had taken enough chances already.

  At the end of Bren’s land they prepared to part ways. Before letting go and jumping off Dubh’s back, he hugged Neala tight. She was so shocked she didn’t have time to blush. He looked up at her with so many mixed feelings that she had no idea what he was thinking.

  “I’ll meet ye tomorrow,” he promised. She smiled, nodded, and he turned and ran.

  The long shadows of dusk began to settle over the land by the time Neala led Dubh into the barn. She took her time filling his water, brushing him, and feeding him. Her parents were nowhere in sight which probably meant they were in the house and had noticed her absence.

  Unable to delay it any longer, she closed up the barn and walked to the house. When she reached the path that led to the front door it was dark enough that the stepping stones were hard to see. The door to their home opened and light spilled out around the silhouette of her ma. A hand upon her hip and the scowl upon her face told Neala she had definitely noticed how late she was.

  “Neala O’Carroll, ye get yer hide in this house right now!”

  The use of her full name made Neala flinch. That was never a good sign. The mixture of fear and anger in her ma’s voice did not bode well either. She would have rather marched into the valley with the Dane warriors than in that house, but she did as she was bid.

  9

  Shouted questions and demands soon gave way to a lecture about responsibility. Normally such an onslaught would have brought Neala to tears, but not anymore. After all the lies she didn’t feel like she owed her ma anything. She sat beside the fire, back rigid and arms crossed beneath her chest. Her eyes followed her ma as she paced and ranted, gesturing wildly the whole time.

  “Ye are going to drive me mad child, mad I say! Do ye really think I could stand to lose another child?”

  The words were like a blow to Neala’s chest. Lorcan’s death had made Cecily quick to worry and to anger. She could hardly blame her ma, it had the same effect on Neala. And having to listen to her ma’s ranting was wearing down what little control she had. There was no sign of her da but Neala couldn’t get a word in to ask where he was.

  As if her wondering had conjured him, Neala felt her da’s energy when he approached the door from outside. It surprised her that she could feel it through her ma’s chaotic power that choked the room. The door opened and her da stepped in. He was wide-eyed and pale. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead.

  “How was the meetin’?” Neala’s ma asked in an unsteady voice.

  With shaking hands, her da removed his cloak and hung it on a peg next to the door. “Not good,” he said.

  He walked right past her ma, took a mug from the cupboard, and filled it with mead. Before he spoke again he emptied it with a few long swallows.

  “Dublin has fallen,” he said.

  A prickling sensation worked its way down Neala’s spine and out to her arms and legs. It was a mixture of fear and excitement that called to her power. Seeing the smoke was one thing, but hearing that Dublin had been taken was another altogether. Now people would have to do something.

  “We must be ready to fight,” Neala said as she rose to her feet. The fire had become too hot and she couldn’t sit still anymore.

  Hair flew free of her ma’s neat bun as she spun toward Neala and shoved a finger in her direction. Firelight crackled in her eyes, catching in the power that glowed there. “I don’t want to hear such nonsense out of ye! Ye leave such things to those responsible enough to come home before dark,” she said.

  Neala flinched. That was a side of her ma she had never seen. She wouldn’t have thought she had it in her.

  A loud clank echoed as her da slammed his mug down on the counter. His eyes cut toward her. “Ye did what? And just where were ye?” he demanded.

  Straightening her back, Neala refused to wither beneath his glare. “I was with a friend and we lost track of the sun.”

  “What friend? I haven’t met any friend of yers!”

  Hands waving and gesturing, her da flew into a rant that was painfully similar to her ma’s. Again she wasn’t allowed to get a word in. It was probably a good thing considering what she wanted to say. They treated her like she was ten instead of sixteen and she was sick of it. Slowly he ran out of momentum and stopped to lean upon the kitchen counter.

  “Ye’re forbidden to leave the farm until this danger passes,” he said.

  “What? No! Da this danger isn’t going to pass,” Neala said.

  She expected him to turn and confront her but he didn’t. Instead his shoulders slumped and he hung his head. It looked like the counter was holding him up. He knew she was right. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. Her ma turned tea
r-filled eyes onto Neala that sent a bolt of guilt shooting through her.

  “How dare ye speak to your da like that. Of course this will pass, they won’t come inland far, they never have. Ye should not be thinking of fighting, ye should be thinking about finding a husband,” she snapped.

  “Find a husband? Where? Who, or would ye have me marry a non-druid? Ye can’t be serious! We’re in danger, this is no time for such things,” Neala yelled.

  “Don’t speak to yer ma like that. She’s right, a husband is exactly what ye should be focusing on right now and it shouldn’t matter whether he’s a druid or not,” her da said.

  Power burned beneath Neala’s skin as though it were trying to boil her from within.

  “Ma, how could ye of all people not understand after yer own family was driven from the North by the Danes. And yer daft if ye think I can find a husband among people who hate us,” Neala snapped.

  Tears spilled down her ma’s pale cheeks but seeing them only made Neala madder. The lies, the denial, and then this on top of it, it was all too much. Letting out a frustrated cry, Neala stormed off to her room. Once inside she spun around when she felt the weight of her ma’s gaze. With a flick of her hand, she threw her power out and used it to slam the door shut. Just before it came between them Neala saw shock register in her ma’s eyes. Using her power in front of her ma may not have been such a great idea. Not caring, Neala turned her back to the door and fell against it.

  That look on her ma’s face tore her up inside, making her want to run back out and apologize. But she couldn’t. If she didn’t stand her ground on this, then her brother had died for nothing. Why couldn’t they see that?

  Her room had always been a sanctuary where she found comfort, but right now it felt small and cramped. The rock walls were cold and confining despite the cheerful dried flowers hanging here and there. Neither her bed with its fluffy quilts, or her writing desk with her scrolls, were very inviting. The shuttered window on the opposite wall drew her. She crossed the room and threw the shutters open wide.