by Emma Hamm
“Please, great mother of all and protectress of the Tuatha dé Danann, hear my plea for help.”
Sorcha leaned down and pressed her forehead against the soft moss. She held her breath as she waited, but expected no response. No matter how many times she cried out for help, the Fae always ignored her.
It wasn’t in their nature. Even the Seelie court was fickle, their rules keeping them strictly away from humans. The Tuatha dé Danann were separate from those rules. They were the beginning and the end, the start of all Fae. But that didn’t mean they liked humans any more than their brethren.
Her heart thundered in her ears. Was that a giggle in the forest? Unlikely. Although, if it was, perhaps the Fae were listening.
She waited until her knees ached and her back screamed for relief. The moss turned cold beneath her fingers, the water glimmering in bright droplets upon her nails.
“Please,” she whispered again. “Just this once, please, listen to me.”
A branch cracked. That was no giggle, nor was it caused by the wind. Sorcha’s spine tensed further, and she squeezed her hands in the moss. Could it be possible? Could this be the moment Danu finally answered her?
Loud thuds echoed nearby, the pawing of a large creature she could not see. Sorcha flinched. The breeze picked up. Its heat scorching along her shoulders and whistling in her ears.
“Women do not belong on their knees, child.”
The voice sliced through her consciousness like a well-sharpened blade. It was the rustling of leaves, the gong of sword striking shield, the crunch of teeth biting through an apple. Sorcha’s hands began to shake as she pushed herself up onto her elbows and lifted her gaze.
Her eyes caught upon hooves that sparkled and faded into human feet. A swath of rich green fabric tumbled down atop them. The tail of a golden belt lashed out and settled against rounded hips.
The woman was tall. So tall she rivaled the surrounding trees. Her mane of red hair hung heavy to her waist, the color so vivid that Sorcha’s eyes burned. Harsh angles defined a face not delicate, but strong. Verdant eyes glowed as she stared at Sorcha.
“Are you hard of hearing, girl? Stand up.”
Sorcha stood, albeit slowly. “You aren’t Danu.”
“Astute for a woman so willing to bow.”
The pieces fell together. The sound of stamping hooves, the red hair, the triskele carved into the stones. Sorcha’s brows drew together. “You’re Macha, aren’t you?”
“And you’re at my shrine.”
Every muscle in her body seized. There were many myths regarding Macha, and all claimed she was dangerous. A sister to the Morrighan, Macha was known for her strength on the battlefield. She would paint woad upon her skin and hack through any man who stood in her way. The fanciful tales claimed she had a steed made of fire and trapped dead men’s souls within her blade.
“I meant no disrespect,” Sorcha said as she dropped her gaze. “Please accept my sincerest apologies. I will leave.”
The blade at Macha’s waist shone sunlight into Sorcha’s eyes. Lifting a hand, she held her breath and stepped backward. Each step brought her closer to freedom and the promise of life. This was no kind Fae before her.
“I did not give you permission to leave, human.”
Sorcha winced. “What would you have me do?”
“You asked for help. I’m interested in providing it.”
“I—” It was bad luck to not accept a Fae’s favor. Except this didn’t feel like a gift. This felt like an offer which would require a price. “I don’t make deals with faeries.”
“Yet you came to what you thought was my mother’s shrine? You begged for a favor just moments ago, but nothing is free. Here I am, Sorcha of Ui Neill. Ask your favor of me, and perhaps I shall be kind.”
Her mind raced through the details she remembered of this Tuatha dé Danann. Macha was a war Fae, but also was known for protection. She had once been a kind and motherly figure before mankind tried to kill her and her babe.
There was a small chance that Macha would help. Sorcha was a strong woman, capable, and frustrated by the limitations men placed upon her. Her frustrations would call out to a faerie such as this.
None of this guaranteed safety. In fact, Sorcha might argue the exact opposite was more likely to happen.
Faeries weren't trustworthy creatures.
“I wish to stop the blood beetle plague,” she said. “If there is a way to save my father, to prevent other deaths, I would like to know it.”
“You are a smart girl. No promises, no questions, just a statement I cannot interpret in any other way.” One of Macha’s brows lifted. “I like you.”
“I did not come here to beg for help from the Fae. Nothing comes without a price and I have very little to give.”
Macha’s gaze turned stormy, and she strode towards Sorcha. Closer and closer she came, growing ever larger until they stood toe to toe. Sorcha’s neck ached as she tilted her head. The faerie was easily seven feet tall and her hair made her seem even larger. The cloud of color sparked with static electricity.
“You want something that you are incapable of without help. You have to ask for it, Sorcha. Ask for my assistance, and I will give you all you desire.”
“I don’t know your price.”
“And you won’t until we strike a deal.”
Sorcha sucked in a deep breath. Their chests brushed, a zing of magic traveling through her and sparking at the points of her ears.
“Will you provide a cure for the blood beetles?”
The soft sigh brushed across Sorcha’s face and smelled of crushed grass. “Yes, I will. And I will do even more. So long as you are on this journey to find your cure, your father will remain alive.”
Sorcha thought she might faint. “Papa?”
“It is the least I can do. I am sending you on a quest, little human. Far from your homeland, from your family, from everything you know. Centuries have passed since I last saw the cure you seek. Even I am uncertain where it lies, although I have my suspicions.”
“If you don’t know where it is, how am I supposed to find it?”
“There are others who know.” Macha cupped Sorcha’s chin, her hand so large it touched both pointed tips of her ears. “You will start by finding my children. Their names are Cormac and Concepta. Use their knowledge wisely.”
“You want me to find two faeries? Here?”
“They were banished from the Otherworld and remain in yours.”
“Glamoured or invisible?” Sorcha asked.
Macha's hand clenched, squeezing Sorcha's jaw until her eyes watered. “Glamoured to look as you do. They will appear as nobles, but they should be the only twins living in the same manor. Find them, and you’ll start your journey.”
“What do I say to them?”
“That I asked you to find them, and that they owe me a favor. Tell them what you seek. They will guide you.”
Sorcha wasn’t so certain that was the truth. Two unknown Fae who owed a favor to a Tuatha dé Danann? Her breakfast rose dangerously high in her throat.
Air filled her lungs as Macha stepped away. The myths had not prepared her for the cold gaze of a Fae. She wanted to flee from that angry look. What had she done? Had she somehow insulted this faerie of war before she had even started?
“Thank you,” Sorcha said, “for my father. He has suffered for far too long.”
“I care little for human life, but I can see how important it is to you. As such, it is my pleasure.”
Though it made her sweat to ask, Sorcha swallowed hard and murmured, “What is your price?”
Endless possibilities unfolded before her. The Fae might ask for a child, for Sorcha’s life, or something as simple as an unnamed favor.
She wasn’t certain how much she was willing to pay. Many faceless infected people may not be worth a life enslaved. But for her father? He had saved her from begging, took her out of the slums and into the city, gave her a life.
How could
she say no?
Macha bent and dipped her fingers in the holy water of the shrine. She licked the droplets and smiled. “You will endure hardship, pain, and perhaps even death. I will enjoy watching your struggles as payment.”
“What kind of quest are you sending me on?” Sorcha heard her own voice as though underwater. Distorted and slow, it echoed back upon her.
“One that benefits the both of us,” Macha replied. “You get your cure. I get my children back.”
“What does the cure have to do with your children?”
“Nothing at all. But in finding your cure, I trust you will bring my children back to Tír na nÓg.”
“The land of youth?” Sorcha stumbled over the words. “The Otherworld?”
“I am growing tired of explaining my decisions to you. Leave now, or I will run you out of this shrine and rescind my offer.”
Sorcha scooped up her bag and spun on her heel. She could not risk the Fae changing her mind. This was a chance to save her father! To save everyone!
At the edge of the clearing, she paused. One foot crossed the threshold of the shrine and into the forest beyond. The other remained in the enchanted glen.
She looked over her shoulder at the faerie who watched her with calculating eyes. Macha reclined on the mossy ground, her fingers playing in the burbling water of her shrine.
“Why are you doing this?” Sorcha asked one last time.
“I, too, have been at the mercy of men, more times than I wish to recount. My mother would tell you the best way to answer them is to remain steadfast, quiet, and continue doing the right thing.” Macha’s eyes flashed brilliant green. “I am not a woman, but sword and shield. I will carve my own path or I will force others to create it for me.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
Their gazes met and Macha smiled. “You are the same, little human. They tell you time and time again you are a pool of still water. Yet, we both know underneath the surface a tempest rages. I will enjoy seeing your claws grow.”
Unsettled, Sorcha plunged into the forest. Branches pulled at her clothing and tugged at her hair. She did not let them hold her. This was no longer a safe place, no longer a haven.
Her breath sawed out of her body in ragged gasps. She had made a deal with a faerie. What had she been thinking? Such a contract was binding.
What if she didn’t find the cure? Sorcha stumbled out of the forest and fell onto her hands and knees near the carriage road. Had she agreed to go on a wild goose chase for the rest of her life? Would she spend eternity searching for an impossible thing?
She couldn’t breathe enough air. It stuck in her throat and made her chest ache. Her ribs expanded, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to breathe.
Logically, she knew this was a panic attack. Some part of her mind recognized her imagination carrying her away from sanity. Her body did not recognize this, and vomit rose from her stomach.
She coughed as she expelled her breakfast violently. Mucus hung in streams from her nose and mingled with the drool dripping from her lips.
What had she done?
“Inhale, Sorcha,” she muttered. “One breath. Two breaths.”
In and out, she counted every heartbeat and movement of her lungs. Birds chirped in the trees nearby. Twenty-seven chirps before they stopped. Carriage wheels creaked and stones crunched under their weight.
Her fingers curled in the soil. She would be all right. There was a cure. There had to be a cure because faeries couldn’t lie.
Now it was up to her, as it always had been, to save her people. Her family. She could find the one thing that would save them all and kill the blood beetles. Her life had meaning again, other than just being the midwife who serviced both a brothel and the entire town.
“Is that Sorcha?” The sound of the carriage paused. Hooves stamped the ground, making her flinch. “Sorcha, darling, what are you doing? It is not safe to be on the road in the twilight hours!”
The shrill voice made her wince. “Dame Agatha. It is so good to see you again.”
“Well, I should hope it would be under better circumstances than finding you on the side of the road! Get up, child.”
The words were too similar to the faerie’s. Sorcha pushed back onto her haunches, wiped her hands against her plaid, and staggered to her feet. Panic fled to the back of her mind, resolve and purpose taking its place.
A red carriage had paused in front of her. The wheels gleamed with gold paint, along with the emblem of a rose. A delicate flowered curtain drew back from the small window and framed Dame Agatha’s aged face.
“How are you feeling?” Sorcha wearily asked her least favorite patient.
“Well, I was just about to call upon you, Sorcha. I have exciting news!”
“You’re to be blessed with a child?”
“Again!”
“Again,” Sorcha repeated with a sigh. Her lie had been the truth after all. “Congratulations are in order, then. I suppose you’ll be stopping by the brothel soon?”
“Oh goodness, no, I’ll need you to come to me!”
Dame Agatha had never come to the brothel for any of her treatments. She considered their home to be a den of miscreants and thieves, no matter how many times Sorcha assured her it was the safest place in Ui Neill.
She wiped her mouth on a sleeve, trying her best to ignore the acidic taste of vomit on her tongue. “This is not your usual carriage, Agatha.”
“Oh goodness, no. A dear friend loaned this to me. I’m going to visit them! Certainly, you’ve heard of the MacNara twins. Lovely folk.”
Sorcha froze. “Twins?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard of them yet? They are new to this area, but the nicest family you’ll ever meet. So giving! So progressive!”
She glanced towards the forest. “Thank you, again, for making this easy on me.”
Movement stirred branches nearby. Sorcha thought she saw a flash of unnatural green and the glint of fiery hair.
“Agatha? Might your friends have need of a midwife?”
“Well I don’t see why not! You know I love having you meet my friends, Sorcha. Not your sisters, of course, I’m certain you understand why. Do come with me! It will be so refreshing to have a new face at these boring social gatherings.”
Sorcha looked down at her earth stained dress and the dried crust of vomit on her sleeve. Her sisters would be far more presentable, even after a hard day's work. It was a shame Agatha would never realize that.
“It would be my honor, Agatha.” Sorcha stepped onto the footrest and opened the carriage door. Black cushions and waxed wood covered the interior of the impressive carriage.
“You can tell me what you think of names for this newest little one!”
“Ah, how many is it now?”
“Nine, child. You should know, you’ve delivered them all!”
“Right,” Sorcha said as she settled onto the seat across from Agatha. “My apologies, I lost count at seven.”
“Truthfully, so did I. What do you think of Derval?”
Their carriage ride was dreadfully boring. Sorcha kept a smile plastered on her face and showed more teeth than was necessary. Agatha continued to prattle on without caring if anyone was listening. By the time they reached the stately manor of the MacNara twins, Sorcha was certain they had debated every name under the sun.
She was ready to get out of this cramped space. The scenery passed by at a slower pace than Sorcha could have seen if she was walking. The company turned out to be less than agreeable, and the destination could not live up to the promised entertainment.
But she would be a fool to not take this opportunity while it lasted.
They slowed to a stop, and the driver struck his hand against the ceiling. Sorcha opened the carriage door and stared up at the splendorous home. White marble gleamed in the splashed pink of the setting sun. The house was four stories high with rare glass windows. Twin staircases rose from the ground, meeting in a half circle that led to
the red front door.
“My goodness,” Sorcha whispered.
“It is quite a sight, isn’t it?” Agatha said as she stepped out of the carriage. “They are impressive people with more wealth than they need. If they continue spending it on such things, I say let them keep it! Give us plebeians more sights like this. It does a body good to see real beauty.”
Normally, she wouldn’t agree. But the stately manor might change her opinions if it was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside.
Agatha smoothed a hand down the silk of her gown. It was an unusual choice for dealing with nobles partial towards velvet and embroidery.
Did the other woman know the twins weren’t human?
Tentatively, Sorcha asked, “Agatha, why are you meeting with the MacNara twins?”
“Oh,” she lifted a hand and fanned her face. “They invited me to their manor, so of course I said yes. It’s good to meet one’s neighbors.”
“They are hardly our neighbors, Agatha. They live half a day’s ride from us.”
Sorcha noted the way Agatha’s eyes slanted to the side. The other woman pressed a hand against her throat as though she might still the pulse fluttering there. “Can you keep a secret, dearest?”
“Yes,” Sorcha said, but she already knew what Agatha would say.
“The gossips aren’t always right, but it’s said the MacNara twins have some… gifts. I know in my progressed age that having a child will be difficult. But I already love this one as much as the rest, and I want it to survive.”
“You want to make a deal with them.”
“It’s not a deal with the devil, my goodness! They’re blessed.”
“They’re faeries, Agatha.”
A measured stare filled the silence, stilling Sorcha’s bitter tongue. “They are not faeries, Sorcha. There’s no such thing as faeries, but there are blessed people.”
Blessed? Sorcha wanted to smack some sense into the woman. Faeries were not blessed creatures hailing from the Heavens. They were earthen spirits making deals which required payment. Why couldn’t Agatha see the truth in these thinly veiled secrets?
For all she wanted to get started on this journey, Sorcha didn’t want Agatha’s life to hang in the balance. They shouldn’t stay here. Surely the cure could wait until the new babe arrived. The thought left a foul taste upon her tongue.
