Then, one day, I felt a warm, soft fur pelt covering the three of us.
“We come to serve you, my true queen,” a man’s voice said. He sounded old, and I imagined he had deep wrinkles and a long white beard. The moment he placed the furs upon us, I silently blessed him and his house.
A gentle hand parted my lips.
Drops of blood fell into my mouth.
The sweet fragrance of roses came next.
“The women in my house shall tend to your garments, for they will fade and tear in time,” he said. “I promise that no man will violate you, no blade shall harm you or your boys. No Milesian silver will ever cross the threshold of this cave. We will be your guardians, from now until the end of time.”
If I could have wept at his words, I would have. All I could do was call down a blessing upon him.
And then he was gone.
The sun and the moon were my constant companions, though they seemed to only flicker for a moment in the long passing years. My guardians came and fed both my leanaí and me. Just as the first man had promised, from time to time a woman would enter the cave, speaking gentle words as she changed our worn-out garments with fresh clothing.
Their many sacrifices warmed me and gave me hope.
“Live and prosper,” I spoke silently to each and every one of them. “I shall never forget you, though I don’t know your house or your name.”
Sometimes they spoke back to me, as if my words rang out in their mind.
“Thank you, Seanchaí. We are honored to serve you.”
Snow changed to spring rain, sunlight melted into moonbeams, and the days faded into years until I lost count. At times, loneliness would overwhelm me and I would curse Faelan for what he had done and then one of my Guardians would appear, as if they had heard my despair.
They were my angels in this darkness.
Mortal creatures, with but seventy years or so, they cared for me, the immortal one. During this time, I realized that I loved the Duine even more than my own Fair Folk. I dreamed and I hoped that there would be peace in my country when I finally awoke. Maybe I wouldn’t have to flee. Maybe I could stay here and just be Seanchaí to my beloved Duine.
This dream was born when one of my Guardians became my friend.
He kept his true identity a secret, calling himself merely Cara Maith—a good friend. His voice was rich and deep, and as melodic as a song. He told me stories as he tended to me and my boys. I learned what clans were in power and which had fallen, I found out that the Milesians had never been defeated. Instead, they married the Duine who lived in this island kingdom and now the Milesians’ had descendants everywhere.
Every clan but a few had taken the knee to these rulers. Cara Maith’s house refused and, as a result, they lived hidden in these mountains, hoping for their faery queen to return.
“You will waken soon, Seanchaí. My daughter and I pray for it every night,” he confessed one day after feeding me. His voice carried an unexpected sorrow. “I hope I live to see sunlight glisten in your eyes and the breeze stirring your long, golden hair. But this will be my last visit. ‘Tis time for my younger cousin to care for you. Be well. Be safe, my queen.”
A great, heavy cloak of sadness fell upon me when he left, his boots scuffing against rock, the fragrance of roses stirring in his wake. Benen lay snuggled in my left arm and he let out a soft moan, which Ambros echoed on my right.
All three of us mourned the absence of our friend, Cara Maith.
If ever I longed to awaken, it was that moment.
I wanted to see his face. I wanted to thank him.
I wanted to live like a Duine woman and fall in love.
But I didn’t have the power to break this enchantment.
It seemed a long time before our next Guardian visited us and when he did, his words came in great gasps and he carried a sense of danger.
“Faelan has sent warriors to kill you, Seanchaí!” the young man whispered in my ear. I could hear the clang of his sword and caught the earthy smell of battle on his clothing—dirt, oil, metal.
And blood.
There was too much blood. The small cave filled with its coppery scent and, again, for the second time in centuries, my son Benen shifted in my arms, letting out a soft moan.
Then our young Guardian took a shallow breath—perhaps glancing over his shoulder and staring out the cave entrance—before he spoke again.
“Faelan learned how your sister helped you and he knows our house has been tending to you,” the young man continued, a death-rattle in his lungs. “You must wake up, now! There are only a few Guardians left and I barely made it here, for I took two enemy arrows while climbing the mountain. Faelan’s soldiers are prowling every trail and pass, searching for this cave. Caer’s magic won’t hide you much longer. I will feed you one last time, my queen. Then you must rise, take your children, and flee!”
He fed me then, his blood flowing into my mouth in a rushing, steady stream. I worried that he may have plunged his knife into his neck, for the blood didn’t stop. He never spoke to me again.
‘Twas his own lifeblood flowing out to bring me back.
It was time to wake.
Eight
200 A.D.
My heart beat once. Then twice. I took a long, shallow breath. The smell of the cave filled my nostrils—mossy, earthy, damp, and along with it came the coppery stench of blood. My eyes fluttered open, though at first, all I saw were dark shadows.
Then I saw him.
The young Guardian, barely more than a boy, sprawled dead across the narrow cave floor.
I sat up, awkward and slow, scanning the small enclosure to see if anyone else was here.
My twin boys still slept at my side, their lips bright red from our recent feeding. I pressed my ear against their chests, glad to hear their hearts beating.
Fresh clothing lay in the corner, a long dress with a warm fur collar, matching blue suits for my boys. Beside the clothing rested earthen jars filled with clear water, along with baskets of bread and fruit and meat. And thick rose vines twined and curled everywhere. My Guardians must have brought this offering so frequently that the flowers took root. The blossoming vines spread throughout the cave and almost completely covered the entrance, pale pink flowers blooming even in the dark cave, long spiky thorns everywhere.
I quickly woke my leanaí.
Ambros whimpered, “I don’t want to get up.”
So glad to hear his voice, I laughed and hugged him.
“Let me sleep, Ma,” Benen said.
“Wake, children, we must flee quickly!” I told them, using my banshee voice. I hated to use that voice upon them, but it forced their eyes open. They stood up, both of them unstable on their feet.
“Eat,” I commanded, pointing to the baskets of food. “Drink.”
They ate like tiny, hungry wolves.
I grinned. This was how we would escape.
Once we had all eaten and drunk our fill, I made them sit and explained the danger.
“Faelan is coming for us, my little ones. We must run and we must hide. While we run through these hills, I will disguise us all as white wolves. But you must stay with me and do not get lost! If you do, you will remain wolves forever, for no one can break my spell but me. After we get to the Duine, I will change our appearance again, for the mortals hate wolves and would try to kill us.”
“I will do as you say, Ma,” Benen said.
“I will run fast and stay with you,” Ambros promised.
I wrapped them both in a long hug and then told them we needed to remove our clothing and leave it in the cave. After that, I whispered the Incantation of Change, a spell so strong few faeries dared to use it. It was our only chance. Just like the Leanan Sidhe blood magic, I reverted to the Old Ways.
As soon as I finished the spell, we became a wolf pack—a she-wolf and her precious cubs—and we ran, four paws each, scrambling over rocks and past rivers and through forests. We could smell Faelan’s hunters long b
efore we saw them.
They smelled like sour milk and unwashed flesh. Bitter, sharp, dangerous.
We knew immediately which way to go to avoid them.
We ran, day into night and into day again. We ran until we were so weary, we could run no further.
That was when he almost caught us.
Nine
The mountains had changed during the centuries while we slept. Entire forests had been cut down, while others grew up in different places. The Liffey and Slaney Rivers had changed their courses and even the sunlight seemed a different color. If the damp, peat soil hadn’t smelled the same or if the wind hadn’t blown off the snow to reveal the brilliant ling heather beneath, I would have thought I’d stepped into another world.
Normally, I knew my country so well, every inch of it—but now, I felt as confused and lost as a Duine who’d never been here before.
I stopped running long enough for my boys to drink from a waterfall that cascaded down through the rocks. A thick grove of Scots pine surrounded us, while the ground was soft and springy from a summer of purple moor grass. The wind carried the scent of nearby animals—foxes, badgers, rabbits—and my wolf skin longed to hunt.
I fought that primal urge and focused on another instead. We needed a way of escape.
While my boys rested, I searched for a path that would lead us down to the sea. Then, I remembered that the longboats were no longer waiting for us. Panic surged through my veins, causing my fur to shiver. I needed to find another way out of the hills and this country.
It felt as if the thick foliage closed around us, branches and bushes turning into a trap. I couldn’t even find the path that had led us toward the waterfall. I’d never felt so lost or alone before.
There was no one to call upon for help.
That was when I heard the warriors that Faelan had sent to kill us. Their footsteps rustled to my right and my left, too loud and clumsy to be a deer or a mountain goat. I motioned to my children, warning them to be silent.
“They went this way!” a man cried, so close he could have reached out and grabbed my twins.
“Ma, they’re coming!” Benen whispered.
“Hush!” I warned him. “Hide, quickly both of you. But stay close enough that you will hear me if I call.”
They scampered off, following one another through the tall pine trees until both my wolf cubs disappeared in shadow. The last I saw of them was their long white tails wagging and their noses to the ground as they loped away.
I held my breath, wishing I had a sword.
“You cannot hide from me, Eire,” a man said somewhere behind me.
His voice brought tremors to my flesh.
I turned around swiftly but saw no one. He must still be hidden in the forests. I recognized his voice, but how could it be? I’d heard Faelan kill him back in the cave, centuries ago.
Yet, here Greagoir was, striding into the clearing, his skin darker than the last time I’d seen him, his muscles glistening, his expression fierce. Sure enough, it was my once-trusted manservant. ‘Twas his hand that had given the enchanted wine to my lads and me.
He flashed a sinister grin, revealing teeth as long and sharp as my own wolf canines.
“Surprised to see me?” he asked.
If he’d had a bow and arrow, I might have escaped with my life. Instead, he carried a broadsword, the color of metal unfamiliar to me. It was dark silver, instead of bronze. I’d never seen anything like it.
It would take only one well-placed swing to separate my head from my body. No Tuatha de Danann could survive such a blow.
“How are you still alive?” I asked. I kept my head low to the ground, sizing him up, wishing he would walk close enough for me to leap and seize his throat in my wolf jaws. “I heard Faelan kill you, a thousand years ago.”
He shook his head, obviously enjoying my confusion. “He was merely keeping his promise to give me immortal life. I’m just like you now.”
“Not like me,” I continued to circle him, making sure his sword could not reach me. “You’re a servant to the Leanan Sidhe—a blood drinker. You have no soul.”
“Neither do you.”
I raised my head and howled, singing a sweet banshee song crafted just for him. He would fall to the ground in a heartbeat—dead forever.
Except he didn’t fall. He didn’t even stumble.
I stared at him, wondering if this was the same magic the Milesians had used.
“She’s here, men! Come and catch her wolf cubs. Faelan wants all three of them dead by nightfall.”
I heard a rustle in the nearby wood, branches breaking, men talking to one another as they ran, and I howled again, setting my banshee voice free. I had to kill all of these prowling half-human/half-monsters and quickly. I left an octave or two out of my song, just enough to protect my own boys. Meanwhile, all around me, the sweet woodland creatures began to die. Wrens and blackbirds fell from the skies, squirrels dropped out of trees, white foxes slumped over in the midst of running.
Each one of them broke my heart. I’d never wanted their sacrifice.
Only Greagoir’s.
My nemesis swung his sword and the blade nicked me, blood spilling onto my white fur and down onto the snow.
“Your song can’t hurt us, you cursed banshee witch.” He touched one hand to his ear. “Just like the sailers of old blocked out sirens, we’ve filled our ears with wax. Your song is nothing more than the desperate howl of a she-wolf.”
Then an arrow sailed through the clearing, just missing his shoulder.
“Watch it, you fools!” Greagoir cried out as he glanced behind himself. “You almost struck me! Aim for the banshee.”
Another arrow flew and then another, all of them aimed right at him. I didn’t know what sort of treachery was afoot, whether Greagoir’s own men were turning on him or if one of my beloved Guardians was nearby. I didn’t care. I only knew that my enemy was temporarily distracted.
I had to strike now.
I leaped through the air, speaking another enchantment at the same time, my fur changing from white to brown. In less than a second, I got bigger and stronger, while Greagoir’s eyes widened in fear. He let out a horrifying scream, like that of a lost soul.
I descended upon him.
My shape had changed from that of a white wolf to a massive brown bear. With an angry swipe, I ripped open his chest. His scream turned to a gurgle as his heart was exposed.
Then he swung his blade at me, slicing my left shoulder.
A long, deep bleeding gash exposed muscle beneath my thick brown fur. I roared, the pain thudding through me like fire.
I circled him three times, until I no longer feared his sword. At that moment, I lunged again, grabbing his heart in my teeth and ripping it from his chest.
I expected him to collapse, his knees to buckle, and his body to slam to the ground.
Instead, he glared at me, defiant, demonic.
It didn’t make sense. How could he stand without a heart? What sort of magic had Faelan used to create this monster?
Sensing my hesitation and confusion, Greagoir lifted his sword, ready to swing and chop off my head—it was the very move I’d been dreading, but I wasn’t prepared for it. He began the death blow, pulling his sword back to his shoulder, then swinging forward in a swift arc—
A barrage of arrows flew from the woods, a single archer firing one barbed missile after another.
One arrow flew through Greagoir’s empty chest, another shot pierced his left thigh, a third arrow sliced his right hand in half—
My enemy dropped his weapon.
Greagoir spun around, wild and angry, a warrior’s cry in his throat.
A fourth arrow plunged through his right eye.
He should have died, but he didn’t. He stumbled, lost his footing, blinked his good eye and then screamed. It was an unholy, horrible screech, so raw and powerful that the ground shook. For one brief instant, I thought I saw Faelan standing there in the clearing, a d
ark look on his face, his golden eyes glaring.
He was so terrifying that I took a step backward.
And then, Greagoir righted himself and he loped away, his joints loose and his balance unnatural. It was as if he was being propelled by Faelan himself, until Greagoir managed to disappear into the shelter of the forest.
Ten
Faelan’s image faded, but he left behind a patch of scorched and burning grass where he’d been standing. I shuddered, glad that the black-furred, Leanan Sidhe master wasn’t really here. I wasn’t even sure if he’d been able to see me or, if he had, whether he recognized me since I still wore the skin of a bear.
My left shoulder hung crooked and bleeding, Greagoir’s heart clutched in my right paw.
Unable to stop the pain from my injury, I roared again, loud and wild.
Then a hunter strode into the clearing, passing right through the spot where Faelan had stood. I knew it must have been the archer who had fired a storm of arrows at Greagoir. But when the stranger’s gaze fell upon me, he saw a bear with a dangerous taste for human flesh.
His next arrow flew through woodland mists and it struck me in my wounded shoulder. I growled and faltered, then growled again.
Another arrow nocked and ready to fire, the archer halted, several paces away from me, a stricken expression on his face.
“What kind of magical creature are you?” he asked, suspicion in his voice.
Without realizing it, my cries of pain had changed. I no longer growled like a bear. I now screamed like a woman. Without me willing it to happen, my skin shifted. I could not hold the shape of a bear, for the pain was too great. This was the problem with the Incantation of Change—it was an unpredictable and unreliable spell.
I became myself.
Vulnerable. Wounded. Unarmed.
I was now Eire, bloodstained, pale-skinned, faery ears and all.
Fairytale Christmas Page 3
