To Ride A Púca

by Heather McCorkle

  “Neala dear, what’s wrong?” her ma asked.

  “The Danes are comin’!” she said.

  They stared at her and said nothing. Her da sat up as if trying to get a better look at her to make sure she wasn’t crazy. Sure he probably wasn’t thinking that, but it felt that way. The disbelief on his face was not encouraging.

  “That’s not possible. When we left this morning the scouts said they were headed back to Dublin,” Cecily said in a dismissive tone.

  Her words grated on Neala’s nerves almost as much as her tone. If she couldn’t convince them to hide… no she couldn’t even think it. Neala turned on her.

  “Well yer scout was wrong. Our scout saw thirty Danes marchin’ this way.”

  Cecily’s face turned such a bright red that it looked painful. Neala hoped it was. She couldn’t believe her ma was being so daft. A few deep breaths helped her gain a little bit of control over her temper.

  “What do ye mean yer scouts?” Cecily asked.

  Neala ignored her. Now was not the time. “We have to get into the forest and hide. Now,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Ardal stood and approached, shaking his head. “Thirty isn’t an invadin’ force. Chances are they won’t even come this far,” he said.

  He was right, she knew, but it didn’t change the fact that they were in danger. Danes were brutal and knew no mercy. She’d heard stories about how a handful of them could lay waste to a village. It probably wasn’t true, but she wasn’t going to take that chance with her parents’ lives.

  “I’m sure that’s what the people of Uí Faelain said. What are they sayin’ now?” Neala demanded as she leaned toward her da. She’d had enough of their denial. The time they had to escape and hide was slipping away.

  Pain filled her da’s eyes and he looked away. A towel slapped onto the counter and Cecily stepped around it. Her hands were upon her hips and there was fire in her eyes.

  “The people of Uí Faelain died because they resisted. If we don’t fight the Danes they will leave us be,” she said.

  Neala shook with the effort of holding back her rage. She threw her hands up and let out a frustrated cry. “I saw them ma. It wasn’t just warriors. I saw the bodies of women and children. Scores of them. They. Won’t. Spare. Anyone.”

  Tears spilled from Cecily’s eyes but they didn’t wash the rage from them.

  “Ye stay away from there. If they find out that any of our kind still exist they won’t stop until they wipe us out. We can’t fight them,” she said.

  Neala laughed and it came out sounding slightly crazed. “Ye can’t fight them, but it turns out I can,” she said.

  Cecily flinched as if Neala had slapped her and raw pain ravaged her features.

  “Ye were never supposed to know about that. It’s not the life we wanted for ye,” Cecily said. Her soft tone only fueled Neala’s rage.

  “It’s me life ma! It’s what I am. How could ye have kept the truth about what I am from me?”

  Stuttering, Cecily shook her head and looked down, unable to get the words out. Ardal stepped up and put an arm around her shoulders. He fixed Neala with a hard look that made her power flare.

  “Yer ma’s family fought and died, killed because they were druids. Then yer brother died the same way. We couldn’t stand for that to happen to ye. Ye’re all we have left,” he said.

  His words stung, but not in the way he was probably hoping they would. “Maybe me brother wouldn’t have died if other druids had stood up and fought beside him. Denyin’ what we are is no life,” Neala said.

  “It is when it means life or death,” Ardal said.

  “No it’s not!” Neala shouted as she spun away from him.

  She had to get out of the house, even if just for a moment. If she lost control of her power in here someone was going to get hurt, and she was dangerously close to losing it. Blinking away tears, she flung the door open and ran outside.

  The air was misty as if it hadn’t quite decided to rain yet. The scents of blood, horse sweat, and steel assaulted her nose before her vision cleared. Her first instinct was to reach for her sword but she resisted. Revealing that she was armed might be a mistake. A moment later her vision cleared and she realized how lucky she was that she hadn’t drawn it.

  Sunlight shone off the armor of ten mounted Danes who stood upon the grass of Neala’s front garden. From their horned helmets and impossibly broad frames, to the hooves of their massive steeds, they were utterly imposing. The eagerness to fight fled Neala in the wake of a flood of terror. These weren’t men, they were towering monsters.

  The warrior closest to her, mounted upon a mountain of a red horse, removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. A hand rested upon the hilt of the sword at his waist. By the length of the scabbard Neala figured the sword had to be close to as long as she was tall. With biceps the size of her thighs, she was certain he had no problem wielding such a weapon. Long, unwashed hair hung down into troubled eyes the color of the deep ocean. When those eyes fixed on her, Neala’s stomach went cold.

  Remembering her training, Neala tore her eyes from the Danes and glanced around. Ten warriors surrounded a horse-drawn cart. Someone moaned from within it as if in pain. Seeing no threat there, Neala’s eyes moved on. Close to twenty more mounted warriors were scattered across their land, many hiding in the shadows of trees and buildings. There was no sense in even reaching for her sword. She couldn’t defeat them all. But if she had to she would try. She couldn’t let her parents die.

  “Are you the druid healer Cecily?” the blond giant before her asked.

  Disbelief and fear swirled within her, making her dizzy and nauseous. How could they know? This couldn’t be happening. Neala did her best to look confused in hopes of fooling them.

  “Druids have been wiped out for years,” she said.

  Leather creaked and armor clanked as the man dismounted. Resisting the urge to step back, Neala craned her neck up so she could look at the man’s face. He glared down at her with one hand on his hip and the other on his sword. The threat in that casual placement of his hand was not lost on her.

  “Well girl, I hope for your sake that isn’t true,” he said.

  Neala tried to look fearless and imposing but it was hard when all she could see without leaning back was the stubble on the man’s chin. She’d heard stories about the Danes being giants but this was ridiculous.

  “Are you Cecily?” he demanded.

  The door behind Neala squeaked open, making her cringe.

  “No she isn’t. I am,” her ma’s voice sounded from behind her. She came to stand alongside Neala and put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

  “Ma, no,” Neala whispered.

  The man’s heavy gaze shifted to her ma. “Can you do what they say you can do?” he asked.

  A chill raced up Neala’s neck. They? Someone had told the Danes about her ma. It had to have been the villagers. They had betrayed her, likely to save their own pathetic lives. Anger burned through Neala’s veins, stirring her power and her desire to fight.

  “I’m a healer,” Cecily said.

  The man stepped aside and turned. With only a look from him, the other warriors parted, clearing a path to the horse-drawn cart. The man motioned with a flick of his chin for her to follow. Head held high, Cecily strode forward. It was an act though. Neala knew because her ma’s power quivered with terror. Careful to keep her cloak over her sword, Neala followed close behind. There was no way she was going to allow her ma to walk into the mouth of the enemy alone.

  “Cecily no!” Ardal’s voice shouted from somewhere on the other side of the wall of warriors and horses.

  It took all of Neala’s control not to reach for her sword. With a flick of his hand the big blond man parted the warriors and revealed Neala’s da in the clutches of two Danes. He looked small and fragile between them. If they wanted to hurt him he didn’t stand a chance. Neala’s chest tightened.

  “It’s all right Ardal. They need a hea
ler,” Cecily said in a soothing voice that carried power.

  The power didn’t affect Neala but it did her da. He stopped struggling and relaxed as if his fear had been wiped away. Even the wild look in his eyes calmed. Neala had no time to puzzle over it though because her ma was leaving her behind. Already she was standing beside the cart looking inside.

  A few deft steps around the Dane warriors and their horses got her to Cecily’s side. A hand big enough to cover most of her shoulder came down heavily upon it. It felt as though one squeeze could crush her bones but that didn’t stop her from going over the best possible counterattack. Though her mind raced and her power swelled, she didn’t move a muscle.

  “You’d better be here to help little woman,” A gruff voice said.

  “I am,” Neala answered without thinking.

  The scent of blood and decaying flesh drew Neala’s reluctant eyes to the contents of the cart. A boy maybe a year or two older than her lay within and he was dying. Short blond curls clung to his sweaty brow which was creased with lines of agony. Every bit of flesh that his leather armor didn’t cover was either bruised or cut. But the worst part was the gaping hole in his left side. From the width it was obviously a wound caused by a sword. It was deep enough that she could see bone and muscle. The flesh around the edges had already started to turn a sickly green. People didn’t survive such a wound.

  “Ma, no,” Neala whispered, hoping beyond hope that her ma would see reason and listen to her for once.

  But it was too late. Cecily had that far away look in her eyes that meant she was already committed. Neala had only seen her heal someone this bad off a few times. It took a lot out of her; so much that she almost hadn’t come back from the brink of death herself. In one case the warrior hadn’t survived.

  “This boy is dyin’. I’m not sure even I can save him,” Cecily said. There was no fear or bravado in her voice, just the facts as the healer druid within her spoke.

  A shadow fell across both Neala and her ma, the sheer size of which sent a shiver of fear through Neala.

  “If he dies so does your man, and you and your daughter will become slaves,” the big blond warrior said. The promise in his voice was chilling and left no doubt in Neala’s mind that he would follow through.

  “Ye are askin’ me to take him back from Death’s hands. Such a thing is next to impossible,” Cecily said.

  Neala cringed. Surrounded by a wall of muscle and steel, still her ma could not lie and wouldn’t show fear. Why had she never seen strength like this in her before?

  “I’m not asking. From what the villager said, you can accomplish the impossible,” the man said.

  So it had been the villagers. Betrayal fell over Neala like a weight that threatened to crush her. Sure, those people had never been their friends, but her parents had saved many of their lives. How could they have given them up so easily?

  “Sometimes I can,” Cecily admitted.

  “This had better be one of those times,” the man said in a near growl.

  To her credit, Cecily ignored the threat. Neala did her best to show no reaction, though the hair on the back of her neck stood up and her power flared.

  “We need to get him inside out of the weather,” Cecily said as she cast a look up at the swollen clouds.

  “No. Heal him and we’ll leave,” the man said. From his tone Neala was guessing he wasn’t a man who was used to people arguing with him.

  “His wound is too severe for that. It will take a few healin’ sessions over a few days. I’ll need time to regain me strength after each healin’,” Cecily said.

  A tiny bit of relief eased the tightness in Neala’s chest. At least her ma wasn’t foolish enough to try and heal him all in one day. Still, the fact that she was considering doing it at all made Neala’s jaw clench so tight her teeth ground together. Her gaze flicked to the big Dane behind her ma. Frustration contorted his face. A look at the boy in the cart filled his eyes with concern. That little bit of softening in his demeanor allowed Neala to see the resemblance between the two of them. The man looked as though he could be the boy’s da. His faced turned hard again as he looked at Cecily.

  “All right. I’ll be back for him in a week. If he isn’t alive we’ll sack your village, kill your man, and take the two of you,” the man said.

  Where their shoulders touched Neala felt her ma trembling. She looped an arm through hers to help support her. Cecily swallowed hard, lifted her chin high, and nodded.

  “Can ye carry him inside?” she asked the blond man.

  “Men, lift him,” the man commanded as he motioned to two of the warriors. They dismounted and moved forward to do his bidding.

  “I’m sorry but I don’t think more than one of ye will fit in me home,” Cecily said.

  The big man took a long look at their house then shook his head at his men. “She’s probably right. I’ll carry him in myself,” he said.

  A man whose face was mostly obscured by a horned helmet touched the blond man’s arm. All Neala could see were his eyes and they were full of suspicion.

  “Fraener, it could be a trap,” the helmed man said.

  The blond man—Fraener apparently—laughed and brushed the man aside to get to the rear of the cart. “I have nothing to fear from these people,” he said.

  He grabbed the blankets the boy was lying on and pulled. They boy stirred and grimaced, his teeth biting his bottom lip to hold back a whimper. A tender look passed between Fraener and the boy then it was gone and Fraener was once again a stoic monster. A cry of pain slipped between the boy’s gritted teeth as Fraener lifted him into his arms. From the way the boy’s head lolled back it looked as though he had passed out. With a wound like that Neala didn’t blame him.

  The warriors parted without argument. It didn’t surprise Neala considering Fraener was the biggest, most fearsome looking one among them, which was saying a lot. Her ma tightened her grip on her arm and pulled her along with her. Turning her back to the Danes made Neala’s heart pound and her power pulse. At any moment she expected a sword through the back or an ax to cleave her skull. Could her power stop it? She wasn’t sure.

  Though it was only a few steps away, getting to the front door felt like it took forever. By the time her ma’s hand settled on the doorknob Neala’s power had built so much that she feared she might explode.

  Cecily let go of her hand and looked back at Fraener. “Please have them release me husband. If any of me family is harmed I won’t be able to focus and I must focus to be able to heal,” she said.

  At that moment her ma’s utter brilliance astounded Neala. It was quite possible her choice of words had just saved all their lives.

  “Let him go,” Fraener told his men.

  Her da joined them and they stepped into the house as rain started to fall. To Neala’s horror her ma led Fraener to her brother’s old room. The four of them barely fit in the small room but Neala didn’t want to leave her ma alone with the enemy. Her da lingered in the living area of the house. Neala had to fight back the urge to scream as the Dane laid the boy upon the bed. This room was like sacred ground to her and these monsters were violating it. How could her ma do this?

  Reason started to slowly slip away as she watched the boy writhe and bleed upon her brother’s bed. He was of the very people who had killed her brother. It wasn’t right. The room became stifling and Neala was vaguely aware that it was due to her building power.

  “Neala, go get some clean rags and put a pot of water on the stove,” Cecily said.

  “But ma. . .”

  “Go child, now,” Cecily demanded, power heavy in her voice.

  The power had no effect on Neala but the words did. A flush of anger nearly made her lose control. In her mind she chanted a mantra Bren had taught her to help strengthen her control. It worked but just barely. She choked down her pride and backed out of the room. If she challenged her ma now there was a good chance Cecily would lose face in Fraener’s eyes. As much as she hated giving in,
Neala couldn’t let that happen. Any sign of weakness could prove fatal.

  Though she left the room, Neala remained where she could see. She felt her ma’s power spike like a pressure building in the room, then she laid her hands on the boy’s wound. All that power poured into him as a blue and green mist. His chest rose with a deep breath and his eyes fluttered open.

  “It hurts,” he groaned.

  “I know, I’m sorry. Tis going to hurt for a few days,” Cecily said in a gentle tone.

  A powerful surge of irritation seized Neala. How could her ma be so sympathetic and kind to these monsters? Who knew how many of her people had died at the hands of this boy? Neala was glad he was in pain and wished she could make it worse.

  Fraener bent his towering form to the boy’s level and examined the wound. The long braids of his mustache trailed in the blood pooling near the boy’s navel.

  “You really can do what they say. It looks better already,” he said.

  “Doesn’t feel much better,” the boy said in a weak voice.

  A laugh erupted from Fraener and he clapped a hand roughly beneath the boy’s chin. “Pain is good. It lets you know you’re alive and makes you stronger,” he said.

  The boy smiled and tried to look brave but Neala could tell by the look in his eyes that the words stung. “Yes father,” he said.

  With a nod, Fraener straightened. “The witch will have you healed up in a few days. Rest and regain your strength. I’ll be back for you at the week’s end,” he said.

  The boy nodded and Fraener turned his attention to Cecily. The look he gave her was a tumultuous mix of gratitude and loathing.

  “In one week I’ll be back for him. I expect him to be healthy and strong. If my child dies, yours will suffer a worse fate at the hands of my men. All of them,” he said.

  Cecily nodded slowly, as if it took every ounce of strength she had left just to do that.