by Unknown
“It’s always a wolf for you Americans, isn’t it?” Rory said in anger. Suddenly he was a truly terrifying werewolf that towered over the human and the Sith. His eyes were red flames and his fangs looked like they could rip apart steel. McKay crawled back just as the creature clawed at him.
“Yeah,” said McKay. “That’s what I’m talking about. Who gets scared of a horse these days? Hey, can you do a unicorn? Mahihkan said of all the Supernaturals humans know about the one that doesn’t exist is a unicorn. Can you turn into something that doesn’t exist?”
The Pooka pulled back and looked confused. This was so not the way mortals reacted to a Pooka when he was actually in the act of threatening one.
“Enough!” Niall said. He lifted the sword in his left hand and the purple spat out again, hitting the Pooka in his chest. The werewolf imploded and Rory stood before them.
“He’s still alive.” Rory said. “Why don’t you concentrate on celebrating that fact.” He jumped up and a Raven flew away.
“Wow,” McKay said, “And I thought I had a psychotic ex.” Standing up he added, “Am I safe to assume this wasn’t part of the rehearsal?”
“You seem to be taking this rather well,” Niall frowned, watching the Pooka disappear in the distance.
“I was dating a Loup-Garou before I came to Scotland. There was a lot of messiness involving two separate werewolf packs.” He walked towards Niall. “I haven’t seen a Supernatural who can become a horse as well as a bird. What do you call him?”
“Rory,” Niall said, holding both swords in one hand and then hugging the American tight. He let the fear he had been feeling go and filled himself with the mortal’s warmth. “But to answer what you were really asking? He’s a shape-shifter. He can take on any form. He can be fire or lightning, male or female—and any animal you can imagine. An old game his kind used to play was to imitate someone else’s voice, urging a traveler to follow him and get lost in the woods.”
“Then it must have been his voice pretending to be you and urging me to ride the horse.” Niall nodded.
McKay didn’t say anything for a moment. He was watching Niall carefully while his mind was spinning wildly around what Rory would be like in bed. He suspected Niall could put up with a whole lot of crazy for the options he must have provided. “He’s a Pooka,” the Sith continued. “In England they call him Puck or Robin Goodfellow.”
“And you?”
Niall handed him one of the swords and bowed slightly. “I am of the Daoine Sith.” He looked up at McKay and sighed, realizing the American had never heard of the Sith. “Great,” he thought. “I yell at the others for being too open and risking a visit from an Enforcer and here I am telling a mortal The Secret.”
“A Fairy Prince?” McKay asked in awe.
“Close enough,” Niall answered.
“And this is where you remind me if I publically acknowledge The Secret then the big bad Enforcers will come and use my bones to pick their teeth?”
“North American Werewolves and Garous—loose-lipped all,” Niall muttered. “If an Enforcer comes for you there won’t be enough of your bones to use—even as a toothpick.”
McKay was slowly swinging the great sword, finding it so heavy he needed to use both hands. “What happened to the purple sparks that were on it?”
“That comes from my own self—not the sword.” He held up his hand and a small violet fire danced in his palm. Then it was gone and the two of them were in the dark. “Forget the Pooka. After that performance I don’t think we’ll need the practice.” He put his arm around McKay’s shoulders and walked him back to the castle.
Once inside the Great Hall, Kenna approached McKay, holding a silver helm. She gently placed it on his head. “My son was right,” she said proudly. “Perfection. Remember to hold the claymore with both hands.” Kenna traced the designs on the blade. “The name of the sword is Easc. It’s our word here for Moon.”
“And the name of the one Niall carries?”
“Grian,” she smiled. “It means the Sun.” She led him up to a stage that had been set up in front of the castle where Niall, Gillian (now in a kilt) and a handful of others were waiting. They all wore some type of headdress, but Naill wore an actual crown and handed a slightly smaller matching one to Kenna.
It all seemed unreal to McKay and as he stepped next to Gillian he kept thinking of purple lightning and the mocking Pooka. “You look good,” he told her.
“I never thought I’d be paraded about in my own village as a Drag King,” she laughed. “I’m not sure if this is some public approval of who I am, but I’m willing to accept it as such.” Suddenly drummers and pipers began and the performers moved to their places.
McKay looked out at the crowd waiting excitedly in front of him. At some point someone had lit gas lamps so there were flickering lights wherever he looked. The lighting gave everything a surreal atmosphere, glittering off the silver metal of the crowns and other ornaments the various performers wore. He felt he and the others were play-acting, but Niall and Kenna wore reality.
He became caught up in the action around him. Niall and Kenna took turns narrating, matching their own timing to that of the players, evidence of their long experience. In what seemed to be the space of a single song, Kenna called out in a clear voice, describing the fight of the Easc and the Grian.
Niall seemed to be dancing. Then it was as if he stopped dancing and became the dance. McKay was so fascinated he almost forgot to lift his own sword when Niall swung at him. He reacted automatically and moved to block the blade that was suddenly in his face. The weight of his own sword caused him to spin as if he were also dancing.
When he turned back to face Niall, the Sun sword met his with a loud clang and the American’s hands stung with the vibration. He understood the appeal of doing this with sticks. He had a sudden respect for the Morris Dancers.
The drummers sped up the beat and McKay and Niall simultaneously lifted the broadswords, striking their tips above their heads. The pipers began a staccato rhythm and the sound of the fourth blow of swords drowned out the music. McKay’s sword was knocked out of his hands and the American fell slowly and gracefully to his knees before the Sith. He was aware of the music again as Niall’s sword pushed slowly between his arm and chest, appearing to the audience as if McKay had been stabbed. The Sith pulled away and McKay dropped back on the floor of the stage, now officially dead.
Niall took over the narration and Kenna stepped forward with a silver goblet that sparkled in the light of the gas lamps. From McKay’s perspective she seemed to be holding liquid light. Gillian was beside him and keening. As the Lady, Kenna knelt beside him and lifted him up enough to place his head on her lap. She touched the goblet to his lips and he was suddenly sipping something he didn’t recognize. It seemed halfway between air and icy liquid. Then everything went dark for him.
When he opened his eyes he was met with silence and a horrified look in Kenna’s eyes. To her side, Gillian’s mouth was open and she seemed terrified. He tried to sit up and felt so dizzy he stopped moving.
To his right McKay saw an enormous black eagle fall so heavily it cracked the wooden stage. As he watched the bird, its outline wavered and a nude woman with long black hair stood before them. She started screaming, “Get out of my head, yuh ancient gash!”
“Get ye gone!” Niall yelled with more than his voice. His command struck the humans and most began to run back to their homes. The Sith glared at the moaning Pooka and took McKay’s face in his hands. “Are you back with us now?”
“What happened? I passed out after she gave me whatever was in the silver cup.”
“Nay, it had nothing to do with that. One of the ancestors began to speak through you. You called out to us in the Sith tongue to warn us of the stone, whatever the stone might be.”
The Pooka was now on all fours, writhing. She cried out and began quickly speaking in words unfamiliar to McKay. Gillian squeezed his hand and he could feel her trembling.
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“And now this one,” Niall looked at Kenna. “If they’re going to do this, why through the mortal and a Pooka?” His mother shook her head. He glanced at McKay and said, “The Pooka speaks for yet another of our auld kith and ken. She tells us the stone has returned. She admits freely to being the Leannan Sith of a mortal named Logan.” Then the Pooka screamed and became molten light that bubbled across the stage, taking on a dozen shapes and sizes in the space of a breath. The light was extinguished and Maeve’s nude and unconscious body remained.
Kenna stood. She seemed to keep standing, looking taller and more powerful as McKay watched. “I Summon the Sith,” she said. She didn’t raise her voice but McKay experienced the sound as a physical wave that filled him and left him dizzy once more. Then Kenna seemed herself again and was looking at Niall. “They speak before the Drawing Down the Moon. If these two are pushing through then let’s use the moon to help them.”
“If she were going to speak, why pick the Pooka instead of you?” Niall looked more confused than angry.
“And why did Bonnie Laird Jamie use the mouth of a mortal?” Her eyes met McKay’s. “Unless he’s not as mortal as he seems?” Kenna stretched out her hands and a lavender light surrounded her fingers and then danced around the American. It felt warm to him but not uncomfortable. “Mortal to the core,” she said. “I understand none of this, but answers shall I have if I have to liquefy bones.”
“Gillian,” Niall said, “Bring Riley back with you. With a Pooka falling from the sky things are even more out of balance. Silence will not serve us for what we need to do. Go. The Sith are on their way and you and Riley will join us in the back garden.” She looked up at McKay, then bowed to Niall and took off at a run for her family’s home.
Kenna touched the still unconscious Pooka. There was a line of blood on her forehead from when she struck the stage. As the Sith watched, the blood was absorbed back into Maeve’s skin. She opened her eyes and stared icily at Kenna. “You said I had all the Power of a village hedge witch,” she hissed. “I can feel how little Power you hold. If you can, keep the voices of your ancestors out of my head or you’ll see how far a Pooka is from any mortal or Sith you’ve known.”
“Beware who you threaten,” Kenna said flatly. McKay tentatively tried to stand and felt Niall’s strong arms supporting him. They followed Kenna to the back garden. Maeve came last, once more in the shape of a black wolf.
“This would be done as part of the ceremonies tonight, but it’s rare a mortal is allowed to join us,” he told McKay. “But if in these strange times our Dead seek to speak through you and a Pooka, I’m willing to listen. Let them also have the option of Gillian and Riley. Riley is the oldest of the mortals. Maybe it’s time for the Sith to hear what history your kind have been holding.”
A handful of Sith McKay didn’t know were waiting for them. Some were holding rowan wands and others had an assortment of various weapons. McKay wasn’t sure why they were so heavily armed. “Are you expecting a fight?” he asked.
“Best to be prepared,” Niall answered. “Some are holding Power Objects that are in the form of a sword of spear. We may not need them as weapons but as a focus for what we hold within us.” As he spoke, more Sith emerged from the castle and they looked as if they were shining. McKay realized how accurate the term Fair Folk was to describe them.
A moment later Gillian had returned, her arm linked with Riley’s. Both looked worried. “Relax,” Kenna told them. “You are here as our welcome guests. I give you my word the three of you,” she held the eyes of Riley, then Gillian, and finally McKay, “are under my protection. We ask you to speak freely because you might know something we need. I’m one of the older ones among us and I’ve never been told of a night like this one where our Dead are speaking through the non-Sith.”
“Do you know what Drawing Down the Moon is about?” Niall waited for Riley to answer.
“Aye,” he said. His voice was firm, like that of a much younger man. “We’ll sometimes do it when we have our own privacy. It’s a ceremony that allows the sacred to speak through a host. It’s usually the Lady or the Lord.”
“Lady or Lord?” McKay repeated.
“Those are terms of respect,” Gillian said softly. “We learned to use such words whenever the Church had ears. Before the Christians came, we were talking about the Lord or Lady of the Forest.” She looked at Kenna and then back at McKay. “The Moon is calling those that are as beyond the Sith as the Sith are beyond humans.”
“But as you’ve already seen so far,” Kenna added, “sometimes the Dead will use a host in times of great danger or need.”
“Speak honestly,” Niall said to Riley. “Did you understand what McKay or the Pooka were saying?”
“A word here or there,” Riley said. “But we were never taught the old tongue of the Daoine Sith.”
“The Pooka claimed to be a Leannan Sith to a mortal named Logan. It’s a common enough name. Kenna glanced at the black wolf. “Do you see a connection?”
Gillian stepped closer to McKay and handed him his Grandfather’s journal. She then returned to Riley’s side.
“I may have some idea,” he said. “I told you I was retracing the steps my grandfather Logan McKay took from Scotland to the United States. This is his personal journal but there are sections that Gillian and I don’t recognize. She says it isn’t written in Gaelic. It certainly isn’t written in English.”
Niall took the leather covered book and handed it to Kenna without comment. She began flipping through the pages. A variety of emotions spread across her beautiful face. Mostly she was frowning. After a few minutes she closed it and looked at her son. “It’s true,” she said. “These are the writings of Logan McKay and he’s using the tongue taught to him by one of our own.”
“Logan McKay,” Riley said. “A name I’ve not heard in many a year.” Now all eyes, human and non-human were on him. “When I was older than this one is now,” he pointed to the American, “it was a time of great scandal. It was said one of our own had found his way to a Sith’s bed. If the stories are to be believed he stole a jewel of great price and broke her heart. He escaped from the village and was never seen again.” Riley slumped slightly against Gillian. “She died before Logan’s tracks were cold.”
“My Grandfather was no thief,” McKay said in anger. “He was the most honest man I’ve ever known. You must be mistaken.”
Kenna ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken. “Fenella was her name,” she said. “But there was no missing jewel.”
“Fenella,” Niall repeated. “There was a time when a number of us searched for Logan McKay. We had many questions to ask him about her. She died by magic and none of us had seen anything quite like it. That’s why we wanted Logan back.” He looked at the American. “And so he ended up in the States. An ocean away. So many decades it’s been I didn’t make the connection with you.” He touched McKay’s face.
“We’ll Call her,” Kenna said. “Fenella spoke of a stone when she was riding the Pooka. Maybe that’s what the mortals thought was a jewel.”
“There was a stone,” McKay said, “but when I showed it to a Master of Stonework he told me it didn’t make sense to him—that it was empty of any sort of magic or spirituality.” He pulled the small deerskin bag he had around his neck from where it was hiding beneath his shirt the way Logan had done in the hospital. He removed the carved stone and showed it to Kenna and Niall. Both held up their left hands, their palms flat. After a moment both dropped their hands.
“It’s as if there’s nothing there,” she said.
“Aye,” Niall added, “if I weren’t looking at it I would not even have noticed it. I’ve known nothing like this before.”
“It’s not among the list of Objects of Power we guard,” Kenna concluded. “We’re not known for such small stones. We’ve always preferred cairns and monoliths.” McKay placed it back in the leather pouch and let it fall back beneath his shirt.
“The Moon is rising,” Ril
ey said softly, looking to the sky. “We should begin.”
Kenna nodded and directed those around her to form a circle. The Pooka remained a wolf. A very bored looking wolf. Niall moved the mortals to three of the cardinal directions while Kenna stood on the Eastern point. She stood tall and crossed her arms above her breasts. She began to speak in the old language and McKay looked at Niall.
The tall Sith nodded and began to translate for the three mortals. “Lady of the Moonlight, Mother of the Sky, we honor you. Your name has been sung throughout the ages and in all lands. You who are constant but always changing. You are the ever-becoming. We ask you to shine your wisdom and love upon us. We open our hearts to you.” Kenna then moved her feet apart while she raised up her arms. The pale purple light she had used before shone from her hands. “If all goes well,” he added softly, “she’ll channel the goddess.”
The flame-like purple around her intensified. Then she fell back as if hit and twin beams of her violet light struck McKay and the Pooka. As Kenna fell to her knees the other two were suddenly floating a few inches above the earth, held by the eldritch Power. As she rose, Maeve regained her human form as she shouted, “Shite!” before she began to scream.
Maeve opened her eyes and looked peaceful. She began to speak quickly. Gillian heard her say “Fenella,” but that was the only word she recognized. She tried to catch Niall’s eye, but he was focused on McKay. He said something and McKay—or the one who rode him, nodded and answered back.
Maeve frowned and looked around her. Raging, she took on the form of the Wulver and roared so loudly both Gillian and Riley covered their ears. There was a flash of white light and Maeve dropped to the ground. “I warned you to stay out of me! I’ll nae have your Dead use me this way!”
McKay’s voice rang out harshly. He lifted his hands and there was a crash of thunder followed by a bolt of lightning that struck the Pooka.
