by Frewin Jones
“Who else would a young lady need to phone but her ma?” Michael replied. “You’ll be wanting to let her know you’re all right.”
“Yes,” said Tania. “That’s exactly it.”
Curious but friendly eyes glanced at them as they passed. Tania felt neither self-conscious nor uncomfortable under their scrutiny, though she knew that she and Rathina must have made a strange sight, squelching as they walked along, seawater dripping from their gowns and wet hair glued to their skulls.
“I’ll wait over there,” Michael said, pointing to a huge stone fireplace that dominated the far wall.
The phone was fixed to the wall alongside the bar. Tania lifted the plastic receiver while Rathina fed coins into the slot and then pressed out the numbers as Tania recited them.
A short wait and then her mother’s voice. “This is Mary Palmer’s phone. Sorry I can’t take your call right now. Please leave your number and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
For a moment Tania had no idea what to say. She choked with emotion at the sound of her mother’s voice, then: “Mum, it’s me. I’m just phoning to say I’m okay. I can’t get home right now, but I’m fine. I’ll call again when I have a chance. And . . . and . . . you and Dad had nothing to do with the illness. You know what I’m talking about. It was something else. Not you.” She began to speak more rapidly now, afraid that the message time would run out before she finished. “I love you. I hope Dad is okay. Tell him I love him so much.” She finished breathlessly, “I’ll call again when I can.”
Rathina was watching her. “Did she not wish to speak with you?”
“She was out. I left a message.”
“How? With whom?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She put the phone down, careful not to touch the metal cradle. “I’ll try again later.”
At least she had been able to make some kind of contact with her parents. Perhaps her mother was at the hospital with her father. Perhaps that was why the cell phone was turned off.
They made their way to the fireplace. Stone seats jutted out on either side. Red and yellow flames danced over logs of sweet-smelling wood. To one side of the fireplace lay a wooden platform like a small stage, upon which rested a violin, a bent-necked stringed instrument that Tania recognized as a lute, and a shallow, wooden-framed hand drum.
Michael and a young woman sat together by the fire. The woman was dressed in a long dark skirt and a blouse of white silk and had long black hair plaited and tied with small cornflower blue ribbons. She turned as they approached, gazing at them with deep, thoughtful eyes.
“Hello there,” she said, smiling darkly. “He found you, then.”
“I did, that,” said Michael. “Rose, this is Tania and Rathina. Tania and Rathina, this is my beloved gypsy runaway, Rose Maguire.”
Room was made for Tania and Rathina up close to the fire. Tania soon saw the steam rising from her damp dress, and the heat of the leaping fire began to seep into her limbs.
No questions were asked, and Tania was glad of that. The landlord brought trays laden with fresh buttered bread and plates heaped high with slices of crusty pie from which the aroma of mutton and rich gravy arose. And there were tall frothing cups, too, brimming with hot chocolate laced with whipped cream.
Tania had not realized how famished she was until she tasted the tender mutton in her mouth. The cheerful sounds of the pub formed a backdrop to their meal. She thought of Connor, wondering fearfully where he was, hoping he was not being harmed. Rose and Michael sat hand-in-hand, gazing into the fire. Tania felt a pang as she remembered similar times with Edric.
“And now for song,” said Michael once Tania and Rathina had finished. He stepped onto the stage. Eyes turned toward him as he picked up the fiddle and plucked the strings to check the tuning.
Rose stood at his side, the bodhran drum like a shield on her arm, the double-headed beater in her other hand.
“Good evening to you, lovers of good evenings,” Michael announced. He gestured toward Tania. “Will you give a warm welcome, please, on the lyrical lute— my new friend Tania.”
Tania stared at him in surprise and consternation.
“No, I can’t . . .” she said.
“Yes, you can.” Rose smiled.
Rathina leaned across the fire. “Play with them, in memory of Zara,” she said. “The lute was ever your finest instrument.”
“But I hardly remember,” Tania whispered.
“You will,” Rathina reassured her. “Play!”
Uneasily Tania turned and picked up the lute, settling its round belly in her lap.
Keep it simple. Give it a few bars to work out the key— then see how it goes. And be ready to make a dash for the toilets if you screw up.
Michael began to bow the fiddle, spinning out a slow, mournful melody, accompanied by the deep rhythmic beat of Rose’s drum.
“In a land as far as the farthest star, yet as near as candlelight
Strange music plays through a twilight glade, between the daytime and the night
A mound there stands with ramparts grand, to encompass the rowan ring
Where the horsemen nine, beyond all time, pay homage to the Faerie Queen . . .”
Tania’s heart caught in her throat—was he really singing about her mother? How extraordinary! She held down the strings of the lute and plucked tentatively. The mellow notes sang out. She felt for the melody, finding it quickly, her fingers moving almost of their own accord. A stream of notes hung in the air, dancing among the sonorous lyric, cascading into the gaps between lines, chiming like silver bells. Rose’s high, clear voice joined in harmony to the song.
“Dressed in the colors of autumn and summer, they kneel at her woodland throne
Three clad in tunics as red as the blood, three in the poison green
Three in a yellow as rich as ripe corn, and each with a steed of sorcery born
Enchanted forever, in fealty unending, unable to seek their release
“An apple tree grows on the Faerie Queen’s hill that bears the fruit so round
Could they but pluck from the spreading branch, three by three, three by three
An apple as red as the blood, and an apple adorned in the poisonous green
And another as yellow as ripening corn, then they would cast off
The Faerie Queen’s bonds, and great lords again would they be.
“But this doom she has deemed, her knights to enslave, their land beneath her sway
They must pluck not the fruit, not suffer another by magic, nor stealth
To come nigh the tree, but they bring them to death
And none can approach, save she whose step is an airy dance
And she who can thwart the Faerie Queen’s will
With her true love at her side.
“In a land as far as the farthest star, yet as near as candle’s gleam
Strange music plays in a twilight glade, twixt the waking world and a dream
A mound there stands with ramparts grand, their laughter’s the wind in the trees
Where horsemen nine, beyond all time, pay homage to the Faerie Queen . . .”
* * *
“Sleepers, awaken!”
Tania opened her eyes. She was resting against the stone surround of the fireplace. Rose was leaning over her and smiling.
“It is time to go now,” she said.
Tania gasped, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, stiff from having slept so awkwardly. “Oh, I’m sorry!” She looked around. The pub was deserted now and the lights were low. On the other side of the hearth Michael was gently shaking Rathina into wakefulness.
“How long was I asleep?” Tania asked. She could remember little of the evening beyond that first haunting song. She had put down her lute and stepped from the stage. Then there had been another song, slow and soothing. And then it was as if a warm dark veil had come down over her mind, peaceful and soothing.
“A couple of hours, that’s all,” said Rose. “You’re
dry now, and warm—and you must be on your way. Michael and I will guide you to the edge of town—but from there you’ll need to go on alone.”
Tania looked into her fathomless black eyes. “Who are you?” she asked. “You seem to know things about us but . . . how can you? Are you from Faerie? Were you sent here to help us?”
“Were we sent?” Rose murmured. “I can’t answer that—I have a mind filled with long winding corridors and many closed doors.” She frowned. “As have you, I think, Tania.”
“Are you all ready and set?” Michael asked, looking bright-eyed from Rathina to Tania.
“We are,” said Rathina.
They made their way between the empty tables and stools, Tania careful not to brush against the black cast iron. The landlord stood at the open door.
“Will you be back tomorrow evening?” he asked Michael as he stepped out into the night.
“That’s my plan, unless events overtake me,” Michael called.
The door closed behind them and the bolt was thrown with a sharp clack.
Only a few windows showed lights now, and the long peace of the night hung over the town. Rathina walked alongside Michael, her hands clasped behind her back, her head bowed. Tania and Rose came along behind.
“You sing a merry air, Master Michael,” Rathina said. “But the words of that song where you spoke of the Faerie Queen—there was little sense in them, you know. Our mother would never enslave men to do her bidding nor hold their land in thrall.” She turned to look at him. “And I have traveled Faerie all o’er, yet I have never seen an apple tree that bears fruit of yellow, green, and red.”
“Well, songs are not always what they seem, Rathina,” he said, smiling. “And maybe that one was about a different Faerie Queen?”
“There is no other,” Rathina said solemnly.
“Maybe so,” Michael replied. “If we had more time together, you could teach me the truth of things, and I could write some new verses. Maybe if we meet again I could learn at your knee?”
“A worthy aim, forsooth,” said Rathina. “But tell me, where do you take us and what do you know of our quest?”
“I don’t know anything at all,” said Michael. “But I’m taking you to Ballinclea Heights, if the name means something to you, which I doubt.” He gazed into the sky, his eyes narrowing. “Something urges me on to that place—I have the strong sense that you need to be there.”
“You speak in riddles, Master Michael,” said Rathina.
“I know.” Michael sighed. “I wish I understood more.”
“I have something for you,” Rose said to Tania. She pulled the something from a pocket or fold of her skirt. “Take it—you’ll find it useful.”
Rose dropped a leaf into her palm. A single diamond-shaped leaf, smooth and shiny.
“Thank you,” Tania said, puzzled.
“It’s called doras oscail,” said Rose. “It has a virtue so that no door can remain closed against it.” Her black eyes gleamed cannily. “I think it’ll be useful where you’re heading.”
“Yes, thank you.” Tania said. It was becoming clearer and clearer to her that these were not normal Mortals she and Rathina had met by chance. All Faerie drowsed under the Gildensleep, so surely they could not have come out of the east. But if not of Faerie— then where?
She looked keenly into Rose’s face and a thought struck her. “Are you the Dream Weaver?” she asked.
“No, I think not.” There was something in Rose’s voice that stopped Tania asking more. She closed her fingers carefully over the leaf.
They came to a road that flanked a great flattopped hill skirted with trees and shrubs and rising in folds of reddish earth and white rock high into the sky.
Michael pointed up the pathless hill. “That’s your way,” he said. “Good luck to the both of you—and I hope you find your friend.”
He turned, his arm around Rose’s shoulders, and the two of them moved quickly away and vanished into the trees.
“Thank you!” Tania called.
“Well, now,” mused Rathina, her fists on her hips. “What do you make of that coil, sweet sister?”
“I have no idea,” Tania said. “But I think we can trust them.” She held out her arm. “Take my hand,” she said. “I’ve got a feeling we’re near Dorcha Tur.”
Hand-in-hand they stepped forward. The world rippled and wavered.
The hill was much higher now, rearing to twice its previous height. A great black castle shimmered into being on the top.
They had come to the fortress of Dorcha Tur.
Chapter Thirteen
“I like not the smell of this place, sister; it reeks of malevolence.”
They were in a stone corridor somewhere within the thick walls of the fortress. Wall-hung torches flared with a ruddy light, staining the low roof black with soot. So far they had not encountered any of the inhabitants, but a sense of menace followed them like an invisible mist.
The leathery little leaf had done all that Rose had promised. Their way in through the rear walls had been via a narrow postern door to one side of the formidable main gates. The door had no handle or lock on the outside. But the moment that Tania had touched the leaf to the heavy wooden panels, it had swung silently outward.
“A curious thing indeed for a Mortal woman to give you,” Rathina had said, eyeing the leaf dubiously. “If the two minstrels are indeed of Mortal stock.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Tania had replied.
The open door had revealed a low, cramped black tunnel that burrowed in under the wall. Coming out of the tunnel, they had slipped past a gatehouse, lantern-lit and murmurous with low voices. Hugging a flanking wall, they found stone steps that led to a second door.
The doras oscail worked its magic again, and now they were within the castle keep and flitting soft-footed along a stonewalled corridor lined with heavy wooden doors. They came across black arches every now and then revealing winding stone stairways leading up and down. They encountered no one, although Tania had the strong sense that the castle housed many people.
“Sister, stop,” Rathina said, her hand on Tania’s arm. “The fortress is huge—we could waste a night and a day searching and not find our quarry.” She frowned. “Are we certain that this is the castle of which the man Welsh spoke? Is Master Connor even here?”
Tania looked at her. “Someone or something sent Michael and Rose to meet us,” she said. “There are only two reasons for that: either to help us or to cause us problems. Which do you think it is?”
“I could sense no falsehoods in them,” Rathina replied. “I think they wished us well.”
“Then we have to believe that this is Lord Balor’s castle and that Connor is being held here. The only question now is—where.”
“Had we weapons, we might snatch one of the denizens of this ugly furuncle and seek an answer from them at sword point.” Rathina sighed heavily. “Or if Eden were with us, she’d use her Arts to sniff the boy out—and we’d be away with him in a ball of fire ere Lord Balor climbed into his britches!”
“Maybe Eden can help us,” Tania said. “Come with me. I’ve got an idea.” She ran quickly to the nearest door and pressed her ear to the panels. Gesturing for her sister to be quiet, she listened intently.
There was no sound from within. She touched the leaf to the door and it swung into darkness. Rathina lifted a torch from its wall sconce and they entered the room. It was small and bleak, with a narrow, deep window and six bare bed frames. A dormitory of some kind, Tania thought—but disused, judging from the broken crockery on the floor and the musty smell and the thick dust that lay over all.
She closed the door behind them. “Help me,” she said to Rathina. “Hold my hand. I’m going to try to make contact with Eden.”
She closed her eyes and took Rathina’s hand and conjured Eden’s face in her mind. A long face, solemn-eyed, careworn, framed with flowing white hair.
Yellow lights flickered behind Tania’s closed eyelids.
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“Eden?” A name hardly breathed.
The image that Tania had of her sister went white. From far away it seemed, a shred of darkness rushed forward. Suddenly it filled the white frame and it was Eden’s face, haggard with effort and care, shadowed deep beneath the eyes. The blue eyes locked on to Tania.
“Sister.” The voice was soft but clear. “What is it? Quickly, now. I cannot hold this for long. My strength is stretched thin.”
“We need weapons,” Tania said, her lips moving but her voice only sounding in her head. “And we’ve lost Connor. Can you help us find him?”
“I will try.” Eden’s hand rose and she moved an outstretched finger toward Tania. There was a sharp clattering at Tania’s feet, and she felt an icy pain in her head—and then she saw behind her eyes an image of Connor strapped by leather bonds to a tilted wooden board in a deep, dark chamber in the bowels of the castle.
“Thank you, thank you.” Tania gasped, wincing from the pain in her head. “How is the Gildensleep working? Are you . . . ?”
But the image of Eden fizzed out like a spent candle flame and there was only darkness behind Tania’s eyes.
“By the spirits of justice and fate,” said Rathina, pulling her hand from Tania’s and staring down at the boards between them. “This is all I would have wished and more.”
Two swords lay on the floor. One was a Faerie sword, its blade a keen-edged length of pure shining crystal; the other was of Isenmort—Rathina’s own sword, the sword that she had picked up on the battlefield of Salisoc Heath, and whose bitter blade she had plunged through the body of her true love, the treacherous Gabriel Drake.
