To Ride A Púca

by Heather McCorkle

  “Ye shouldn’t be up yet. Ye must be exhausted,” Neala said.

  “I’m fine. Ye don’t have to worry about me,” she said.

  Cecily smiled but even that looked tired. Her gaze moved to Neala’s waist and Neala felt its weight settle onto her sword. Wrinkles creased Cecily’s brow and her eyes narrowed.

  “Why are ye wearin’ yer brother’s sword?” she demanded in a voice as cold as the Irish rain in December.

  “Because it’s mine now and I’m going to need it soon.”

  Cecily slammed the pan in her hand onto the counter, splashing bacon grease everywhere. “Don’t ye talk like that! Yer brother wouldn’t have wanted that life for ye any more than yer da and I do. Ye disrespect him by wearin’ it!” she yelled.

  The edges of Neala’s vision turned a deep green mixed through with blue as her power rose up. She forced her reluctant legs to carry her into the living area so the counter was between her and her ma. The urge to slap her was too much. Her hands tightened into fists and started to glow as her power leaked out her skin.

  “I honor him by wearin’ it. He would have wanted me to live the life I want to live,” Neala said, struggling to keep from shouting.

  “Ye don’t even know how to use it,” Cecily snapped, her voice thick with tears.

  Rage blocked the sympathy that tried to rear up. Neala went for the door, unable to stand being in the same room with her ma any longer. She flung the door open and paused to glare back.

  “Oh yes I do and I will use it when the time comes. Ye’d better get used to it,” she said in her native tongue.

  A tear slid down her ma’s cheek, feeding the inferno of Neala’s anger. Letting out a wordless cry, she stormed out and slammed the door behind her. She went straight for the barn which was around the side of the house. She had no intention of riding off, she just had to get away from her ma before she said anything more she’d regret.

  When she turned the corner around the house she stopped and took a few deep breaths like Bren had taught her. She then dumped her build up of power down through her legs and into the Earth. Though she couldn’t see it, she felt it like a massive pressure slipping away.

  In the absence of her pent up power she felt the Dane’s muted energy nearby. Beneath the shade of the oak tree he spun, thrust, and blocked with his sword. His bare chest was slick with sweat and his blond curls clung to his face and neck. From the rapid rise and fall of his chest Neala figured he had either been practicing for some time or he was having difficulty. The angry red shade of the new skin over his healed wound told her it was probably the latter.

  “What do ye think ye’re doing?” she demanded as she marched up to him.

  He straightened and lowered the tip of his sword to a slightly less threatening position.

  “I’m staying in shape. It takes work to maintain a body this great,” he said with a bit of a playful lilt to his voice.

  “Why? So ye can get back to killin’ me people?” Neala said.

  The Dane flinched and his face fell. “No. So I can survive,” he said, all playfulness gone.

  His words made her feel bad and she hated that. He sheathed his sword and reached for a waterskin that lay beside the tree trunk. Neala was at a loss for words, which was kind of new for her. It only took a moment to be able to think past the feeling of guilt though.

  “Ye should take it easy. Ye’re not completely healed yet,” she said. She’d meant it to sound harsher than it had.

  The Dane gave her a crooked smile as he wiped water from his lips. “Are you worried about me, little thing?” he asked.

  Heat burned Neala’s cheeks and the world brightened as her eyes shot wide open. “No. I couldn’t care less if ye dropped dead except that all me ma’s hard work will have been for naught,” she said.

  The Dane’s smile grew larger. She didn’t think she’d sounded that unconvincing.

  “Neala! Ah, there ye are,” her da’s voice sounded behind her.

  Relieved and grateful for the interruption, she turned toward him. An ax was slung over his shoulder and he had a bucket in his hand. The look he gave the Dane was not friendly. Good, at least she wasn’t the only one in this family who hadn’t lost their mind.

  “Oh Tyr, good mornin’. Neala, breakfast is ready,” he said with forced cheer.

  “Thanks da but I’ve lost me appetite,” Neala said as she glared the Dane—that’s right, his name was Tyr—down.

  Tyr smiled as if he was completely confident his charm would win her over. He had about as much chance as a badger and Neala hoped the dirty look she gave him communicated that.

  “Well then, ye won’t mind pickin’ yer ma some blueberries from by the lake then,” Ardal said as he tossed her the bucket.

  She caught it without taking her eyes off Tyr. Concern gnawed at her and made her hesitate to answer. On one hand she would love to get away from the Dane. Breathing the same air as him was just short of painful. On the other hand though, she didn’t want to leave her parents with him.

  “Do you mind if I go with you so I can wash up in the lake? I’m in desperate need of a bath,” Tyr asked. The look on his face was innocent but she didn’t trust him. However, it would keep him away from her parents.

  “That would be fine,” she said.

  “Are ye sure, Neala?” Ardal asked.

  His sharp tone drew her gaze. Worry filled his eyes and etched deep lines in his brow. He really had no idea what she was capable of. One Dane didn’t stand a chance against her. His lack of confidence stung. She tapped the hilt of her sword, drawing his eyes to it.

  “I’m sure. We’ll be fine,” she said.

  He still didn’t look convinced. Putting on a fierce look, he walked up to Tyr and didn’t stop until there was less than a handspan between them. The big, scary da routine didn’t work so well considering Ardal was a head shorter than Tyr and nowhere near as muscular.

  “If she comes to any harm me wife will undo all the healin’ she has done for ye,” Ardal said.

  Tyr nodded and gave him a sincere look. “You have my word she will not be harmed,” he said.

  Neala shook her head and started to walk off. “Like ye even could,” she muttered.

  By the time she reached the path that ran alongside the barn toward the forest she heard heavy footfalls running behind her. It dashed her hopes of him giving up if she left him behind. While she didn’t want him near her parents, she didn’t really want him near her either. His persistence was annoying.

  “My thanks. I smell worse than a man who has been on a ship for two weeks straight,” he said.

  “That is certainly true,” she grumbled.

  He jogged ahead a few steps and turned around to walk backwards in front of her. His smile made her want to throw up and the beseeching look in his bright eyes made her want to hurt him.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to be a little nicer to me,” he said.

  “Yes it would.”

  Hurt filled his eyes and he dropped back alongside her as the path narrowed and they passed beside Dubh’s paddock. The stallion ran up to them with his tail high in the air. His ears were pinned and his teeth were bared. Neala hid a smile as Dubh lunged for Tyr, teeth snapping, just barely missing his arm. Tyr leapt back and exclaimed something in a language she didn’t recognize.

  “Crazy horse!” he finally said in English.

  Neala laughed, she couldn’t help it. “He’s not crazy, he’s smart. He doesn’t like ye.”

  They walked on. Now Tyr gave the fence-line a wide berth. Unconcerned, Neala walked right along it.

  “You shouldn’t walk so close. That thing is dangerous,” Tyr grumbled.

  “Only to ye. He’s just protective of me is all.”

  Dubh ran up and down the fence line, bucking and kicking. The further along it they got the more agitated he became. Once they reached the end of the paddock he grew so upset she feared he may try to jump the fence. She stopped and faced the stallion, giving him a stern look.
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  “Dubh, stop,” she commanded.

  He came to a skidding halt and started to paw at the ground with a front hoof. Neala walked briskly up to the fence and though she couldn’t reach him, the stallion took a few fast steps backward.

  “Stop!”

  His head dropped and his eyes softened. Neala relaxed her stance and he walked up to her, putting his head over the fence. She scratched him in the broad black space between his eyes for a moment. After that he let her step away without fussing.

  “It’s all right lad, he can’t hurt me,” she assured him.

  They made it into the forest without Dubh throwing another fit. Neala couldn’t really blame the stallion. He had good instincts. Tyr was dangerous no matter how wounded he was.

  “You’re quite good with horses,” Tyr said.

  Neala watched the sunlight dapple across his face as they walked, looking to see if he was sincere. He seemed to be and she wasn’t sure if that disturbed her more than if he hadn’t been. She had never dreamt she’d see the day when a Dane complimented her.

  “Thank ye,” she said after a moment.

  “You’re welcome,” he said in a cheerful tone that grated on her nerves.

  She kept an eye on him as they walked but he didn’t try anything suspicious. He seemed to be studying the trees, looking high up into the boughs as though they held some great mystery.

  “What are ye lookin’ at?” she asked.

  “The trees, they’re beautiful. Some of these must be hundreds of years old,” he said.

  The horrible scene of the devastated Wicklow forest rose in Neala’s mind. A chill ran through her that left her shaking despite the warm summer morning.

  “What would yer kind know about the beauty of forests? Animals have more respect for the trees than ye do,” she snapped.

  Tyr’s face fell into a look of deep sadness. It didn’t appear to be fake but Neala didn’t know him well enough to say for sure. His posture sagged and his shoulders rolled in as if he was trying to collapse into himself.

  “You saw what my father and his men did to that forest,” he said. The sorrow in his voice sounded real enough.

  Neala had to take a few deep breaths and concentrate hard on her control. When she became this angry she often slipped into speaking her native tongue. To do that in front of this man could be the death of her. Her language was forbidden by his people.

  “Yes I did,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why would ye do such a thing?”

  Tyr gave her a hurt, almost desperate look. “Not me, I would never do that. I tried to talk my father out of it but he wouldn’t listen. They wanted the trees for building on the next island over,” he said.

  The chill that had gripped Neala spread, raising her power as it went. She knew the Danes had invaded Scotland, but to hear they were building was new. This could not be good.

  “What?” she said, hoping to press him for more.

  Tyr turned his gaze to the moss-covered path before them, refusing to look at her. “I’ve said too much.”

  Knowing that pushing the issue could be dangerous, Neala let it drop. For a while the only sound was the singing birds in the trees above them. Here and there Neala spotted a fairy peering at them from behind a leaf or vine. She knew they wouldn’t show themselves with a Dane present. They avoided them at all costs. Why they were even risking a peek at Tyr she had no idea.

  “I don’t want to be a warrior. I don’t want to invade other lands and kill people. The one time I went to battle with my father he spent the whole time protecting me because I wouldn’t kill anyone,” Tyr said in a thick voice.

  It almost sounded like he was fighting tears. When she looked, Neala saw the shine of moisture in his eyes. Her anger was swept away as if by a swift wind and curiosity settled in its place.

  “What do ye want to be?” she asked.

  An almost wistful look came over him, making him look much younger than he was.

  “I want to build ships! And I don’t just mean carving prows. I love the whole process from bow to stern. The way the wood comes alive in my hands as I shape it is the most amazing feeling! And I’m good at it, really good,” he said.

  He went on and on about all manner of things ship related. Neala only understood about half of it but she nodded at what seemed like the right times. It was hard not to get caught up in his excitement, despite her dislike of him. Talking about ships transformed him into a different person, someone filled with wonder and gentleness. He finally fell silent and resumed staring up into the trees as they walked, a huge smile on his face.

  “Then why not build ships if it makes ye so happy?” Neala asked.

  Tyr’s lips sagged and deep lines cut into his brow. “Because I can’t. I am son of Fraener, mighty Dane warlord. It is expected that I follow in his footsteps,” he said in a bitter tone.

  “I’m sorry,” Neala said and meant it. She knew all too well how it was to be molded into something you didn’t want to be by your parents.

  Tyr stared straight ahead. “Don’t be. I can’t change who I am.”

  The sadness in his voice touched her. “Ye and me both,” she murmured in a sarcastic tone.

  “What was that?”

  She ignored the question. There was no way she was going to share anything about herself with him.

  “What about yer ma?” she asked.

  His eyes lit up and a big smile transformed him into something radiant. Neala didn’t like the effect such an expression had on her so she looked away.

  “My mother tried to talk my father into letting me stay with her. She loved the idea of me building ships and living close to home instead of conquering and killing,” he said.

  “She sounds like a wise woman.”

  He swallowed hard as he nodded. Neala let the conversation drop, partly because they had reached their destination and partially to spare him.

  The forest gave way and the lake spread out before them, a gleaming blue spot breaking up the green of the forest. It wasn’t a big lake by any standards, but it was clear and deep and held a good amount of trout if you knew where to drop your line. Neala came here often with her da to do a bit of fishing. She headed for a familiar spot on the rocky shoreline. Wedged between a trio of moss-covered rocks was an earthenware container that she removed a bar of soap from.

  “Soap! That’s great!” Tyr said as he accepted it. “Wait, are you saying I stink?”

  She wrinkled her nose. Even over the lake water and pine trees she could smell him, and it wasn’t pleasant. “Yes.”

  He laughed, a light, easy sound. “Thanks a lot.”

  Wincing, he bent and pulled his boots and socks off and laid them aside with his sword belt. His brow furrowed as he gave her a calculating look. “Can I trust you if I leave my sword here?”

  The sword was so massive Neala doubted she could lift it without using her power.

  “If I wanted to kill ye I wouldn’t need yer sword,” she said.

  A short laugh—almost a bark really—issued from him. “I guess you’re right. You’re mother could just stop healing me,” he called over his shoulder.

  Breeches and all, he walked into the lake, scattering lily pads in his wake. That surprised her since Danes didn’t strike her as the shy type. Then again, this one was different than anything she’d heard about. She watched as he rubbed the bar of soap over his breeches and then it made sense. Shaking her head, she turned toward the lake shore and began scouring it for blueberry bushes.

  There was a bush not far away, hovering over a steep part of the bank that led back into the forest. Neala left Tyr to wash himself and his clothes and went to pick blueberries. The berries were so ripe many of them had fallen off the bush and she had to watch where she stepped.

  Faeries materialized out of thin air as soon as she started filling the bucket. They fluttered about excitedly, some peering in the bucket, others darting around her. Neala recognized two of them, the purple winged fairy with blond hair and
the blue winged one with dark hair. They kept looking over her shoulder, toward the lake.

  “Ye’re curious about him are ye?” Neala asked them.

  They nodded and began chatting in their strange, barely audible language. Their wings moved so fast Neala could no longer make them out. She wondered if they knew he was a Dane, or even what that was.

  From somewhere in the forest close by a deep, throaty snuffling sounded. The tiny hairs on the back of Neala’s neck stood up and her power flared awake. The fairies started to scatter and then suddenly disappeared. Berries dropped as something big shook the bush from the other side. There was more snorting, this time so close she could feel the warm breath of whatever was over there. A huge flat, black nose appeared amidst the blueberries and bright green leaves. It was as big as her fist.

  “It can’t be,” she murmured as she took a few slow steps back, a hand going to the hilt of her sword.

  An enormous head covered in coarse brown fur with small, upright ears shoved through the bush. The creature stared at her with dark eyes and its mouth hung open, revealing canine-like fangs.

  “Neala get back! By Odin what is that thing?” Tyr cried.

  She took a few quick, stumbling steps backward but there was no way she was going to turn her back to the creature. It came crashing through the bush, sending blueberries flying in all directions. The thing looked like it was practically Dubh’s size, only with fangs and claws.

  “Get back it’s a bear!” Tyr cried as he stepped in front of her with his sword in hand.

  His protectiveness was somewhat charming but totally unnecessary, which took a lot of the charm out of it. By getting in the way he was going to make things worse. As if to prove her point, the bear let out a deep growl and stood up on its hind legs. It towered over both of them, making Neala feel small and insignificant. But she knew that was exactly what the bear was trying to do. Tyr started to draw his sword arm back.

  Neala knew she had to try something before Tyr or the bear ended up dead. She couldn’t let anything happen to Tyr or her ma would kill her before the Danes came to do the job. But she couldn’t let him hurt the bear either. Bears were extremely rare and that made them precious.