Pogo leaped down and hurried to Bansi as, in front of Granny, the Lord of the Dark Sidhe staggered to his feet. His eyes blazed with pain and fury; he reached out one hand towards her, muttering some incantation; the other hand gripped the bone-white knife, raised it to strike . . .
Granny hit him with the jack handle again.
And again.
And again.
He stumbled against the barrier. Mystical energy crackled around him; the air filled with the hot smell of dark magic under attack from cold steel. Again Granny struck, and again, relentless, a tiger defending her cub, and with each blow the Lord of the Dark Sidhe was pushed further through the barrier, staggering under the weight of her attack, kept off-balance until for a moment he was trapped entirely within it, like a fly in amber. A final blow; the barrier gave way and he fell through, clutching his head in agony.
Conn howled in fury, seeing his master so abused. He yelled with rage; hurled himself uselessly at the space between the stones; was repulsed.
Granny hugged Bansi close, surrounding her with her warm reassuring scent and, just for a moment, a feeling of safety.
‘Excitable wee fellow, isn’t he?’ she remarked, looking at Conn over Bansi’s head. ‘Friend of yours?’
‘Not exactly,’ Bansi told her. ‘Remember the wolf that broke your window?’
‘And left the room in such a terrible mess,’ Pogo added with feeling, from down by Bansi’s feet. He was still standing as if to protect her, and though in truth he could have protected not much more than her shins, Bansi was grateful to have him there.
Granny raised an eyebrow. ‘This is what he looks like when he’s not being a big doggy, then? That makes sense. I had a dog once; he used to behave just like this at the kitchen door when he wanted walkies.’ She looked Conn in the eye. ‘Sit!’ she commanded. ‘Sit!’ Conn growled angrily. ‘Lie down! Roll over!’
The wolf-boy howled once more, a wordless cry of inexpressible fury. He glared at Granny with pure, raw hatred in his face and flung himself against the barrier again.
‘Not very well trained, is he?’ Granny observed. ‘Let’s hope he’s housebroken. They can leave great big puddles all over the carpet when they get this excited. What’s Nora doing? Has she been taking mime classes?’
Mrs Mullarkey was pushing against her own invisible barrier, unable to move in any direction.
‘Yes, very funny, Eileen,’ she snapped. ‘Now stop practising your comedy routines and get me out of here!’
‘Manners, Nora! What’s the magic word?’
Mrs Mullarkey scowled. ‘If I knew the magic word, I wouldn’t need your help, would I?’ she muttered. ‘Daft old haddock.’
Granny chuckled dryly as she touched the invisible cage with the jack handle. There was a whisper like swishing grass, a strong smell of burning spices, and Mrs Mullarkey was free.
Or as free as one can be, trapped inside an enchanted circle and surrounded by malignant faery people. For the nine sidhe warriors had silently fanned out to take up positions on the boundary of the stone circle. And the Dark Lord himself was rising once more, with murder in his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bansi and the others instinctively gathered together, back to back, in the centre of the circle.
‘He said no one could get through the barrier,’ Bansi said quietly.
‘He’ll find a way,’ Pogo told her grimly. ‘It’s powerful magic he’s created, all right, but he won’t have left himself without a way to undo it.’
‘If only Tam was here,’ Bansi murmured.
‘That young lad who changes into horses and things? He brought us here,’ Granny said. ‘But he can’t touch steel,’ she went on, with a sideways look at her friend, ‘so he couldn’t come through that invisible wall thing with us.’
‘He’ll still be nearby, then!’ Bansi exclaimed, hope leaping inside her at the thought. ‘If we could just get to him . . .’
‘And if he could find some way of bringing all my old iron bits and pieces,’ Granny added.
‘Aye,’ Mrs Mullarkey pointed out sourly, ‘and if we could all fly out of here we’d be fine. Well, I’m not going to just stand here wishing for wings. Give me that thing!’ she ordered, turning to Granny and snatching the jack handle. ‘Right!’ she declared, walking forward to address the Dark Lord. ‘Seems to me we’ve got something of a stalemate. So I propose a challenge, Mr Faery. You against me. My weapon’ – here she hefted the jack handle threateningly – ‘against your magic. The winner walks out of here, free to go, with their entire company.’
Bansi stiffened. ‘Is that a good idea?’ she whispered to Pogo, kneeling.
‘Probably not,’ the brownie muttered. ‘But I don’t have a better one. Only – if he accepts, don’t trust anything he says.’
The warriors of the Dark Sidhe smiled mockingly. One of the women drew a long slim dagger and toyed with it, staring contemptuously at Mrs Mullarkey all the while. From the stone gallery above came catcalls and jeers; some of the watching nobility sat down idly, their legs dangling over the edge, as if ready to be entertained.
‘I have a better idea,’ the Dark Lord said, stepping closer to the barrier, his voice soft as a knife through silk. Bansi found herself shuddering at the sound. ‘Surrender, and I’ll cut your tongues out and keep you as slaves. Except the girl, obviously. Believe me, the alternative will be much more unpleasant.’
Mrs Mullarkey looked defiantly back at him. ‘That’s very big talk. But it seems to me that if you had a way of getting in here, you’d have done it by now.’
The Lord of the Dark Sidhe fixed her with bright, unblinking yellow eyes. ‘And you have a means of escape?’ His gaze held her, like a snake transfixing its prey before swallowing it whole. ‘No? Then choose, old woman. Come out now, and I will be merciful. The girl will die quickly; you, your friend and the brownie will lose your tongues and be pressed into my service.
‘Or you can choose to wait in there, while I slowly unweave the enchantment that separates us. In which case, I will spill the girl’s blood drop by painful drop. Her screams will be the last sound you hear before I stop your ears. Her dying spasms will be your final sight before I cut out your eyes. And when the sacrifice is complete and the power promised by the prophecy is mine, I will transform you into living statues – blind, deaf, immobile, but fully aware and in constant pain.’
His voice was becoming hypnotic, like the constant murmuring of rainfall on a glass roof. An awful crawling sensation spread over Bansi’s skin as she listened, as if a million little spiders were gently spinning their webs over her body. She shivered as though to cast them off and looked at Mrs Mullarkey. The old woman was beginning to sag, weighed down by invisible forces; the Dark Lord’s words were clearly wearing down her mental defences.
With an effort, Bansi called out, ‘Mrs Mullarkey!’ She meant to shout, but the words came out half-whispered, almost like a bad dream where your voice refuses to work.
It was enough. Mrs Mullarkey shook herself. She clutched the jack handle tighter; looked away from those burning yellow eyes; swung her weapon towards him. Sparks burned bright and the air was singed with the hot dark spicy smell of raw magic as the jack handle seared through the barrier towards the Dark Lord’s jaw; but this time he was ready. It passed through empty air as he stepped back, effortlessly scornful in his arrogance.
Mrs Mullarkey shook her head again, as if to clear it, and glared at the Dark Lord. ‘Well, it’s been nice talking to you, young man, but no doubt you have some wee furry creatures to torture, or something of the kind. Don’t let me keep you.’
As she turned away, Conn sidled obsequiously up to his master and whispered conspiratorially. The Lord of the Dark Sidhe raised a quizzical eyebrow and inclined his head with studied graciousness.
‘Wait!’ the wolf-boy commanded, stepping up to the invisible barrier, his eyes fixed on Mrs Mullarkey. The old woman ignored him and kept walking. ‘Stop! Come here, Nora Maura Margaret Mul
larkey!’
Mrs Mullarkey turned slowly, a strange look in her eyes.
Beside her, Bansi felt Pogo freeze. Instantly, she knew what was happening. ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘Mrs Mullarkey! Block your ears! Don’t listen! Mrs Mullarkey! He’s trying to enchant you!’
‘Come here, Nora Maura Margaret Mullarkey.’ Conn repeated, his voice full of malice, and Mrs Mullarkey, jack handle in hand, stepped towards him.
The barrier wreathed her in coruscating fire as she entered it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘No!’ Bansi cried again. ‘Mrs Mullarkey! It’s an .enchantment! Fight against it!’ She raced towards the old woman, thinking perhaps to tackle her, to drag her back to safety. Before she could reach her she felt the magical force of the barrier pushing her away as it flowed like a river around Mrs Mullarkey.
Conn seemed to feel it, too; he stepped back, a gloating expression on his face.
He almost didn’t see the jack handle scything towards him.
With a yelp he leaped back, raising his hand to protect his face; the bent steel shaft sliced downwards, catching him hard on the forearm. He tried to jump clear, but his cloak was caught, snagged where it fastened around his throat, and as Mrs Mullarkey tried to raise her weapon to strike again he was jerked back towards her. She tugged at the jack handle, trying to free it, and rattled his jaw; he howled in pain. The warrior nearest tried to come to his aid, but Mrs Mullarkey was enclosed in the barrier and could not be reached. Only the steel handle protruded through the magical field; the warrior yelped and leaped back as it caught his hand a glancing blow.
‘Nora Maura Margaret Mullarkey!’ Conn yelled in fury, his head bouncing from side to side as Mrs Mullarkey tugged at her makeshift weapon. ‘Stop! I command you!’
Mrs Mullarkey tugged again, yanking hard on the cloak and catching him on the throat. ‘And I command you to shut your mouth, Fido!’ she snarled furiously. ‘You’ll not use my name against me again!’ she went on, striking angrily with almost every word. ‘Because I went to the priest! And I had myself rechristened!With an extra middle name!’
She rained blows down upon the boy, jerking him back and forth by the collar like a rag doll.
Relief flooded Bansi. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned, glad to see her own relief echoed on her granny’s face. ‘I didn’t think you could be rechristened,’ she said quietly. ‘And anyway, our teacher said it’s a joining ceremony, not a naming ceremony.’
Granny chuckled dryly. ‘Maybe; but if I were old Father Miley, and Nora Mullarkey banged on my door before sunrise, I dare say I’d do anything she wanted just to get the mad old haddock out of the house.’
‘And if she believes that’s given her a new name, then it has,’ Pogo said. ‘It’s a funny thing, belief. Anyhow,’ he added, ‘I doubt he’ll mess with her again! Here – what’s that?’
For something odd was happening to the barrier. The waves of light that flowed around the jack handle as Mrs Mullarkey pounded at Conn were somehow peeling back, like flames burning a hole in a sheet of paper.
‘The barrier’s weakening,’ the brownie muttered. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good thing.’
The cloak parted suddenly at the collar. Trailing a comet’s tail of magical fire, it was hurled through the barrier, arcing high, to hit the rocky floor of the Hollow and flop in a crumpled heap almost at Bansi’s feet. Mrs Mullarkey made one last lunge at Conn as the wolf-boy staggered out of her reach. ‘And let that be a lesson to you, Fido!’ she snapped, brandishing her weapon once more. Then she turned on her heels and marched triumphantly back to the others.
But where the jack handle had wrenched at the fabric of the barrier, a circle of flickering blue flames now hung, suspended, like a burning hole in the air. Bansi gazed at it, intrigued.
‘Well, Nora,’ Granny observed, ‘that Dark Lord chappy isn’t going to be very pleased with you! Aside from hitting his doggy good and proper, it looks like you’ve broken his invisible wall, too!’
The Lord of the Dark Sidhe, however, looked far from displeased. Bansi watched him testing the area around the circle with his knife. The air rippled under the point, pushing back, refusing to be penetrated. Then, taking great care not to touch the flames, the Dark Lord pushed the blade into the very centre of the circle.
There was no resistance.
He smiled – an unpleasant, calculating smile that made Bansi’s flesh creep – and regarded her thoughtfully. She stared back at him, determined not to be intimidated.
It was Pogo who realized what he was doing. ‘Bansi! Look out!’ he yelled – a moment too late.
Quick as thought, the Dark Lord’s hand had already flashed up and back, its bone-white missile perfectly aimed straight through the gap towards Bansi’s heart.
There was a sudden frantic fluttering. The Dark Lord whirled as the blade left his hand; something small and fast had exploded from a tunnel mouth above him. It plummeted, missing his face by inches, and shot like a dart through the flame-edged opening.
It was a bird – a swift, blue-grey blur of feather and beak and claw. As it passed through the torn barrier its wingtips brushed the unearthly fire. Blue flames caught it; leaped, licking hungrily, from feather to feather. It screeched in distress as it fell, flapping piteously and desperately, to the ground at Bansi’s feet. In the talons of one foot, it clutched the white bone dagger.
Then the falcon was stretching and shifting and changing, until Tam lay quivering in agony on the ground, the magical fire dancing in eerie triumph over his body. Bansi threw the wolfskin across him, ignoring Conn’s roar of impotent fury, and knelt, pressing it down to smother the flames. Sparks leaped and crackled through the fur, discharging into the air around her. Ignoring them, she beat at the hide, determined to starve the fire and save her friend.
The flames rose through the pelt and wrapped themselves round her hands. She screamed as every nerve caught fire, an instant agony of scalding, scorching, poisonous pain. The unbearable burning spread up her forearms, inside and out; she could feel the flesh withering in the heat under her skin, the blood starting to boil and bubble.
She screamed again, fighting down the panic and the pain. Then Pogo was there, snatching the jack handle from Mrs Mullarkey and pressing it into her hands.
The steel shaft sucked the flames up greedily, and with them went the agony. In moments, she was whole again. She gasped with relief; caught her breath; quickly turned back to Tam and ran the jack handle over the wolfskin to draw out the mystical energies. Back and forth she passed it, back and forth, keeping the metal from actually touching the boy as it soaked up the magical fire. As swiftly as she could she bled the enchantment from his skin, leeching it away until none remained. Then she cast back the fur.
Tam stared up at her; blinked; shook his head.
‘Ow!’ he complained. ‘That stung!’ He winked and smiled a little unsteadily.
‘Well,’ Mrs Mullarkey said, ‘and who might this be?’
‘We’ve met, missus,’ Tam said cheerily, stretching his limbs and checking that he truly was, after all, unharmed. ‘Only you were having a wee nap, as I recall. Lying down on the floor in Bansi’s room while the rest of us got on with things. It’s good to see you with your eyes open.’
‘This is Tam,’ Granny explained, ‘the púca I was telling you about.’
‘Really?’ Mrs Mullarkey said suspiciously. ‘Not very goaty for a púca, is he?’
‘Och, Nora, for goodness sake,’ Granny said condescendingly, as she held up the wolfskin and began to check it for damage. ‘All that goaty stuff is just something they do for fun. Don’t you know anything about faeries?’
As Tam got to his feet, his customary grin back in place, Bansi felt her heart lift. That he could smile and joke after his ordeal, that he could recover so quickly, fuelled her hope and her confidence that he could help them. She smiled back and nodded down at the white knife at his feet.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
&
nbsp; Tam picked the knife up. ‘Ah, no problem,’ he said, examining the blade and tucking it away. ‘Well, not much. Apart from the agony and the near-death experience, that is.’ He shook himself, as if testing his body out. ‘But there’s no after-effects – that’s the main thing. Nice hearthrug,’ he added, as Bansi’s grandmother shook out the pelt and began to fold it.
‘Isn’t it, though?’ said Granny, stroking it. ‘Maybe we should get it made into a lovely warm coat.’ She winked cheerily at Conn, who now stood staring in helpless rage through the barrier, hand to his injured throat.
‘What’s he up to now?’ Pogo muttered.
Bansi turned her head. The Lord of the Dark Sidhe was pressing one hand gently against the barrier, near to the hole. The flames were leaping wildly as if Tam’s passing had fed them and made them hungry for more. He muttered something, moved his hand, pressed again; muttered, pressed, moved. The air rippled with faint colours under his fingers.
‘Well,’ Tam ventured, ‘at a guess, I’d say that bent iron bar, there–’
‘Steel bar,’ Granny put in, with a sideways glance at her friend.
‘I’d say it weakened the barrier with all that waving around inside it, and now he’s working out how to weaken it further. You know how it’s easier to tear a piece of cloth once it’s got a hole in it? He’s trying to find out how to break the barrier enough to get in here at us.’
‘Do you think he can?’ Bansi asked, gripping the jack handle determinedly.
‘Course he can,’ muttered Pogo sourly. ‘He’s cunning as a fox, that one. He’ll have some kind of counter-enchantment all set up and ready to go.’
‘Aye,’ Tam agreed. ‘Only now, with the barrier weakened, it’ll take minutes instead of days. Then he’ll be in here, and it’ll all be over. And the sun’s still going down out there; he’ll get in while the light’s still dying, all right. Unless we can fulfil the prophecy first.’
Bansi’s eyes widened; in the midst of all their danger, she’d completely forgotten about the prophecy. ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘That’s why you brought me here in the first place! If we can just . . .’ Her voice tailed off in confusion, as everything Pogo had told her about the Blood of the Morning Stars crowded into her memory. ‘But you said all you had to do was bring me to one of your sacred places!’
Bansi O'Hara and the Bloodline Prophecy Page 13
