Eire of Mystery

by Gavin Green

  ***

  Saraid felt a slight intrusion upon her lands, and waited to see if the feeling persisted. It could simply be an errant fae flying over or trekking across her borderlands, or it might be a few of her low-borne servants returning from missions. With several other thoughts on her mind, Saraid leisurely walked out onto a long oval balcony that protruded from the sheltering boughs of her secluded tree-haven.

  The sky was a mixture of pastel blues and pinks, with three moons showing in various cycles of wax or wane. Low, dark clouds moved across the distant horizon, spilling sheets of rain across her rocky terrain. The view was a nice distraction from all of the plans and details that swirled in her mind. The feeling of intrusion had continued, so Saraid leaned on the curved balcony railing in wait for the unknown visitor.

  From the many messages she'd sent out, there were only a handful of responses thus far. Saraid wasn't pleased with the apathy from a few of those, especially one of many lodges where fae mercenaries and warrior crews gathered. However, there was an outraged reply from a female warrior, a Fair fae if Saraid had to guess. Her name was Dahlia, not yet with title but held a prospering haven. She was shocked to hear of rebellion against the Circle and offered to be Saraid's champion while the campaign was formed. An invitation to visit in the near-future was sent back.

  Also was a surprising scroll from Devlin; the fool had gotten himself banished, as she suspected would happen. Besides his romantic blathering, he also vowed to drum up support for her efforts. Saraid assumed that Devlin could only pull cohorts from those more foolish than himself, so aid from that quarter would be insignificant.

  Two heavy objects landed on the balcony in successive thumps behind Saraid, jarring the wood beneath her tanned bare feet. She turned in surprise to see two of her nymph servants sprawled on the decking, stunned and barely moving. Hovering ten feet over them was a small fae dressed in browns and white. "If ye want me fuckin' attention," he said with a melodic brogue, "then don't be sendin' these sluts after me. Last I heard, scrolls still be workin' just fine, ye daft tree hugger."

  Saraid assumed the rude fae was Vaughn, who had a reputation as a blunt conversationalist. He was a fetching leprechaun, even if only a few feet tall. He kept his tawny hair and Donegal beard short over a ruddy complexion. The leprechaun wore a white buccaneer shirt under a tan tweed vest and matching slacks, and brown leather boots the same color as the bowler hat tipped back on his head. His large, roguish chestnut eyes stared back at Saraid in irritation. Only because of his claimed skill set was Saraid going to endure a small amount of his verbal lashings, but she had her limits.

  Without apology, Saraid explained. "Time is of the essence for my plans; I wasn't sure if you were currently where a scroll could reach you expediently. These two," she gestured to the groaning nymphs at her feet, "were sent to find you with haste. Nymphs, as you may know, are adept at following ether trails that we fae leave."

  Vaughn hovered down and sat on the balcony railing a few strides away. "I don't care if they're the fuckin' Hounds of Baskerville; they disrupted me craic. Was havin' the dairy cattle strayin' off and eatin' fish hauls, I was. It was causin' quite a stir with the locals, I can tell ye; fishermen and farmers alike getting' in an uproar." He grinned to himself while pulling out a cob pipe. "Quite the prank I was enjoyin'. That is, until yer two wanton whores came a callin'."

  "Quite the prank indeed; where was this?"

  After lighting his pipe, the leprechaun answered, "In Cornwall; the area be alive with glamour, I'll have ye know. Many still be keepin' stock in tradition. In a few spots, though, new hands be replacin' the old, and failin' ta continue with old superstitions. I was losin' out on buckets o' cream and baskets o' flayed fish when some decided to stop settin' anything spare out for good luck. The prats needed a reminder." Vaughn exhaled a long plume of smoke and looked Saraid in the eyes. "Now what the hell do ye want?"

  Despite the leprechaun's vexing tone, Saraid held her temper. Still, she wanted the meeting over with as soon as possible. "I'm looking for someone of your renowned talents to see to a small chore."

  "Hah!" Vaughn scoffed. "A 'small chore' from the likes o' ye usually be meanin' that ye want some bauble from a cave that a pack o' shite-stained ogres call home! If yer chore be anythin' akin to that, then ye can kiss me arse."

  Saraid let out an irritated sigh. "No, nothing of the sort, I assure you. I merely need you to influence a human by way of her dreams; to plant and reinforce a subliminal idea. That is one of your vaunted gifts, is it not?"

  Vaughn sneered at the question. "I'm a fuckin' leprechaun, ain't I? O' course I can be doin' that. Land alive, ye fool auld woman, do ye know any o' my kind that can't? Question is, why me?"

  Saraid took a moment to phrase her answer, and looked down. Noticing that her servants were still dazed and laying about, she used her foot to push one, then the other, off the balcony and out of her sight. Their grisly impacts onto exposed tree roots a few seconds later sounded painful to anyone who cared. At that moment, no one nearby did.

  She looked back to Vaughn and said, "I don't want to deal with novice dream dabblers and hope they succeed. I want an accomplished dream-crafter to see to this mission, and my message implanted deeply and without error. There should be no misunderstanding by the target of how to interpret her affected dreams. Is that clear enough for you?"

  "Clear enough; what's yer offer?"

  Taking a seductive step closer, Saraid softly said, "I'm sure we can... negotiate a price."

  Vaughn dipped his head down, but still kept his eyes on her. His upper lip curled into a snarl. Saraid literally felt his mental defenses deflect her glamoured seduction. "None o' that, ye slatternly cat; I have me own choice o' willin' playmates, and don't need ta be playin' me organ in yer big cathedral." He paused a moment to let the insinuation sink in. "You'll either have an offer worth me while, or I'll be on me way."

  Unable to hide her scowl, Saraid hesitated before making her offer. "I offer to declare you worthy of title to the Circle, with its name to be discussed later." Although it only sounded like a formality of rank, having a title had tangible benefits. With a title, glamour was more easily gained, and more could be internally stored for more extended use of gifts. Moreover, a title holder's Lore lands grew quicker in prosperity, which drew low-caste fae to that court to place themselves in servitude. "Although you are not quite of elder age, your skills should see you clear without issue once I have declared my endorsement."

  Vaughn nodded appreciatively. "Ye must be wantin' this with a thirst if ye be willing ta offer title. With that settled, then I'll be needin' the particulars. But nothin' too foul, mind ye." He pointed a finger at her for emphasis. "I'm no fuckin' redcap who'd fill yer dreams with butchery and the like; given the manky bastards had the gift."

  Saraid forced a pleasant smile. "Of course not; my message is simple and innocuous. The target is Jane McCarthy. She lives with her parents in a village called Ballaghadaere, in the northwest of Eire. I trust your other gifts can find her from there?"

  "Without doubt, they can." Besides being a dream-crafter, Vaughn had the rare gift of 'location'; he merely had to concentrate on a person or object to learn of its whereabouts. "And what message would ye want enforced?"

  "Initially, place an image of a door in her dreams; any door will do. And then I want you to implant the messages, 'first, one door, then another', and 'one room, two doors'." Saraid wanted to keep the messages simple so as to avoid confusion in Jane's mind. A clearer message would have been better, but any options she could think of were too lengthy. "Insert that image and those words in as many sessions of rest as you deem proper. As for when you should stop... if it isn't obvious, I'll send word for you to return. There, nothing so sinister, wouldn't you agree?"

  Vaughn nodded in wary approval. "Sounds simple enough, it does, which puts me on guard. Still, I'll accept if that be the whole of yer mission and payment...?"

  "It is."

  "T
hen we've got a bound pact, Moon Maiden, and I'll be getting' right to it." Vaughn tapped out his pipe and stood up on the railing. "I'd ask fer a 'by yer leave' or some such, but I couldn't give a shite." He tipped his bowler hat to her and then shot off into the sky, leaving a trail like a bottle rocket.

  Saraid watched the leprechaun go, and was happy for his departure. She mused that if Kazimir was still guarding Jane, he'd have great difficulty in cornering the likes of Vaughn. If the big morpher was absent from that location, then the mission would be simplicity. Either way, she'd have success.

  If Saraid couldn't take Jane, she'd make the girl come to her. The only issue was where that second door of Jane's might open; in neutral lands, surely, but where within those vast and rugged stretches? She thought that perhaps a scout could find its way into the room and remain unseen to make a report once Jane completed her first bridge. A wisp would do nicely; they needed no sustenance and could deliver simple messages.

  Saraid looked wistfully over the railing at the tiny, broken bodies below. She needed better servants.