‘That’s right, young man!’ Granny agreed. ‘Bansi’s here, isn’t she? Surely that’s the prophecy fulfilled!’
Tam shook his head. ‘That’s what we thought. But if the power was returning to Tir na n’Óg, wouldn’t we know about it by now? And who was it brought you to Balor’s Hollow?’
‘The wolf-boy,’ said Bansi. ‘Conn.’
‘Aye, well,’ Tam said. ‘Take a look at him. Does he look like he’s just come into the inheritance of Derga?’ Bansi glanced over to where Conn stood, glaring in impotent, sullen fury and still clutching his wounded throat. ‘No, if the prophecy had been fulfilled, we’d know about it. There’s something we’re missing.’
Bansi thought furiously. ‘Pogo,’ she said, ‘how did the prophecy start? What were the exact words?’
Pogo’s brow wrinkled. ‘When the Blood of the Morning Stars, joined and flowing together, is returned at last to the sacred earth as the light dies, then–’
‘Hang on,’ Bansi broke in. ‘It doesn’t say “sacred place”, it says “sacred earth” . . .’
‘Same thing.’ Pogo frowned. ‘The only sacred earth I know of is in the sacred places . . .’
‘No, but maybe it’s not the same thing,’ Bansi insisted. ‘Look at the ground. This isn’t earth, it’s rock.’
Pogo shook his little head gloomily. ‘The rock is of the earth, and on the earth, and in the earth. I can’t see it makes a difference.’
‘Aye, but wait, that could be it!’ Tam broke in animatedly. ‘There’s a big crack in the rock over there; you should be able to get your feet into it. It’s worth a try.’ A determined look came over his face, an expression at odds with the carefree smiling face that Bansi felt she had come to know so well. ‘ Anything’s worth a try,’ he added, his tone strange and grim.
Bansi ran to the crack and squeezed one foot in behind the other. She turned hopefully to Tam and Pogo. ‘Anything happening?’
They looked at each other, paused, shook their heads.
‘Your shoes!’ Granny said. ‘Maybe it should be your skin touching the earth!’
It made sense. Bansi crouched down, pushed her hand into the crack, pressed against the ground. The soil felt ancient and dry and dusty and dead.
‘Now?’ she asked.
Tam moved to her and knelt down with her. His fingers scratched at the soil, as if hoping they could help her awaken it. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing. The power of Tir na n’Óg still sleeps.’
‘So the prophecy was wrong?’ Bansi asked, standing. The others gathered round her anxiously.
Tam shook his head again. His perpetual air of merriment seemed to have completely deserted him. ‘It can’t be wrong.We were wrong. It’s the only explanation. We were mistaken.’ He clasped her arm gently. ‘The prophecy didn’t mean what we thought it did. But we still have to fulfil it. And there’s only one way I can think of.’
Bansi screwed up her face in puzzlement. ‘How, though? What does it mean, if . . .?’ Then she realized. ‘Tam, no!’
He flashed her a handsome, rueful grin. ‘Sorry, Bansi, it’s nothing personal. I’ll make it quick.’
One lightning-fast foot struck, stamped, hard and sudden, knocking Pogo off-balance and pinning him down in one deft move. A hand lashed out, flinging dry soil in the old women’s faces, blinding them, leaving them wiping frantically at their streaming eyes. The other hand tightened its grip, twisted Bansi round, pulled her in towards him: in a single movement, he had her.
An instant later, the white bone knife was at her throat.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bansi pushed furiously against Tam’s grip. She felt the blade resting lightly on her skin; strained with both hands to keep it from cutting her. In front of her she could see Granny and Mrs Mullarkey, still blinded, stumbling hopelessly across the circle.
‘They can’t help you,’ Tam said. ‘I put a wee enchantment on that fistful of soil – nothing beside what the Dark Lord can do, but it’ll keep them out of the way until . . . well, until it’s too late.’
‘Tam, wait!’ Bansi spoke as calmly as she could, though she felt sure he must be able to hear her heart pounding frantically. She held herself still, bracing her arms against his knife-hand, afraid that the slightest movement would send the blade slicing through her throat. ‘Please! You don’t have to do this!’
She felt him shrug. ‘Afraid I do. Sorry. No hard feelings, eh?’
‘No hard feelings?’ Pogo growled from underfoot, vainly struggling to free himself. ‘You’ve got a knife to her throat! Just let me up, Tam, and I’ll show you hard feelings, all right!’
‘But why, Tam?’ The unfairness of it suddenly hit Bansi like a blow to the stomach: for smiling, carefree Tam to turn on her like this when she thought he’d come to help her. She felt her eyes prickle as unwanted tears rose; furiously, she blinked them away. ‘I thought you were my friend!’ she said, hating herself for how weak it sounded.
‘Friend?’ Pogo spat venomously. ‘He’s a púca. Púcas don’t have friends. They don’t know how. How long have you been plotting this, Tam?’
‘Ah, be fair, now, both of you,’ Tam said. ‘I’m just doing what has to be done for the good of Tir na n’Óg. And I would do anything –anything – to stop it from falling into the Dark Lord’s hands. If Derga’s inheritance becomes his, he’ll seize the realm of Faery like a ripe plum and swallow it whole.’ He nodded towards where the Lord of the Dark Sidhe now stood, face cold with rage, eyes focused on the hole in the barrier, hands held out as if drawing power from the air. ‘See? He’s nearly ready now. In a minute he’ll be through, and there’ll be nothing we can do to stop him killing Bansi. She’s dead anyway, Pogo. The only question is who kills her.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry about this, Bansi, I really am. You got any last requests?’
Bansi’s pride burned at the thought of asking her captor for anything; but she had to. ‘If you mean that, Tam,’ she said, her voice trembling, ‘then find my mum and dad. Promise me you’ll rescue them.’
Tam cleared his throat. ‘Your parents? Ah. Well. You don’t need to worry about them. The fact of the matter is, they never were in any danger. They were never kidnapped. They’re still back at your granny’s house.’
‘What?’ Pogo exploded. ‘Why, you—’
‘What you saw – the room overturned, your parents gone – it was a glamour. An illusion. I made it look like they’d been taken, but they were there all the time, sleeping peacefully. Probably still are. I cast a wee enchantment over them, so they wouldn’t get woken in all the fuss.’
A cold fist of betrayal twisted in Bansi’s gut. ‘You mean – you tricked me into coming here? You’ve been planning this all along?’ She breathed in, a long, deep breath, as if trying to suck back all the bad feelings that were rising up inside her. ‘You brought me here to kill me?’
‘I should never have trusted you, Tam!’ Pogo spat, still vainly struggling against the púca’s weight. ‘Is this what you meant when you said to Caithne, “No matter if the girl dies”? That you were planning to kill her yourself?’
‘No! I never planned this! I honestly thought all we had to do was to bring you to one of the sacred places. That’s what I’ve always believed the prophecy meant, and that’s all I planned to do, Bansi – persuade you to come to Tir na n’Óg; take you to one of the sacred places; get you home again. That’s all I was going to do. But, yes, I tricked you. I had to. The risk was too great otherwise . . .’
‘Risk?’ Pogo stormed, arms and legs thrashing angrily in a futile attempt to break free from the foot that pinned him down. ‘Risk? You swore an oath, Tam! You swore an oath to Caithne and the whole company, to the fellowship of the Sacred Grove, that you’d guard the girl in the mortal world, and keep her safe–’
‘No, Pogo. I swore to the company I’d abide by their decision. And I’ve done that.’
‘You’ve what?’ Pogo spluttered. ‘Are you mad? We agreed that we should keep the Blood of the Morn
ing Stars away from Tir na n’Óg–’
‘No, Pogo,’ Tam interrupted, and Bansi, fighting her own fear and sadness, almost wondered if she could hear regret in his voice. ‘We needed you if we were to find Bansi before the Dark Sidhe did, but you made it clear you’d never go along with any decision to bring her here. So the company pretended to agree to do it your way; but secretly we decided I should bring Bansi to Tir na n’Óg – whatever it took.’
All the fight seemed suddenly to leave Pogo’s body. He lay as if crushed under Tam’s boot, head and limbs flopping weakly on the ground. ‘What – you mean that Caithne . . .?’
The knife at Bansi’s throat moved slightly as Tam nodded. ‘Caithne, Aed Firetongue, Bindweed – all of us. Everyone except you, Pogo – and Flooter; we couldn’t have trusted him to keep it quiet. But the rest of us were all in agreement. It was too risky to do what you wanted – to guard Bansi until the gate closed. What if we’d failed? What if the Dark Sidhe had got her? So I cast a glamour over her parents’ room; pretended they’d been kidnapped; persuaded her to come to Tir na n’Óg with us. And persuaded you to go along with it. I never thought it would end up like this, though. And I’m truly sorry it has. Truly I am. There’s no time left, now. I’m sorry, Bansi. Hold still and it won’t hurt a bit, I promise.’
Slowly, he began to force the dagger closer. Bansi felt her arms begin to give way; she pushed harder, but to no avail.
‘Tam, please! Think about what you’re doing! This’ll make you as bad as the Dark Lord! And you can’t be! You can’t!’
‘Maybe I am, though. He’ll kill you to gain power over Tir na n’Óg; I’ll kill you to stop him. It could be there’s no difference between us at all. I’d have let you live if there was any other way, mind you, and I truly wish there was. But I will never bow to the Lord of the Dark Sidhe – or any other tyrant – if I can help it; and if killing you’s the only way out of it, then that’s what I’ll do. And I have to do it now. For the sake of Tir na—’
And then he yelled and dropped the knife. The pressure against Bansi’s hands gave way, and without thinking she pushed, squirmed, forced herself free of his grip, stumbling on the rocky ground as she turned.
Flooter was swinging by the teeth from Tam’s wrist, his jaws clamped tight. Tam flailed and thrashed his arm through the air in a vain attempt to shake him off, but Flooter hardly seemed to notice. He tried to tap the side of his nose knowingly; missed wildly as Tam whirled him round.
‘Nrrrgrrdy knrrrws hrrw thrr clrrrrcrrng trrvrrv!’ he mumbled cheerfully, and his grip slackened. He let go, landed with a thump. ‘Not even the cluricaun!’ he added, sitting up. ‘Here, Pogo! I’ve kept her safe again! How’sh about that key?’
But Pogo was too busy to answer. Freed from under Tam’s foot, he rushed for the jack handle, grabbed it, swung it violently. Tam dodged nimbly, caught the little man with a kick in the back that sent him and his weapon flying in opposite directions. Swivelling, he leaped through the air, shouldered Bansi aside as she reached for the fallen knife, seized it, flew at her, white blade slashing out wildly as he grabbed for her. In mere moments he had her again: one wiry arm round her waist, the other fighting to bring the bone knife to her neck. Hot pain sliced across her thumb as she threw both her hands on to his and struggled to hold the dagger away. A raw, stark shout of fury and desperation burst from her; she felt his strength overpowering hers, saw the evil gleam of the white blade drawing ever nearer to her unprotected throat . . .
And then Tam howled in pain and dropped the knife as Pogo, with a mighty leap, brought the jack handle down hard upon his wrist. A twist of steel as the brownie landed, and Tam’s feet were knocked out from under him. A bound, and Pogo was on his former friend’s chest, one end of the crooked metal shaft pressed firmly and painfully into the púca’s throat.
‘Not a move, Tam,’ he warned.
Tam grimaced. ‘You fool, Pogo,’ he said hoarsely. ‘She’ll die in any case.’
‘Then I’ll die protecting her.’
‘So you’ll both be dead. What good will that do? And what’s the life of one mortal child against the whole of Tir na n’Óg? It’s not me who’s the traitor, Pogo. You’ve betrayed us all.’
Bansi stooped and picked up the white bone knife. The hilt felt somehow greasy and uneasy in her hand. Her skin crawled as she held it, and her fingers revolted at its touch; she had to force them not to drop it as she held it out.
‘Pogo,’ she said, ‘can you use this creepy thing instead? If you can stand to hold it, that is. I need the steel to help Granny and Mrs Mullarkey.’
Pogo, not taking his eyes from Tam, held out his free hand and took the knife. ‘That’s the feel of dark magic, that is,’ he told her, pressing the blade against Tam’s throat and passing her the jack handle. ‘I wouldn’t want to hold it for long – but then I don’t think we’ve got long.’
Even as he spoke, an eerie noise swelled: a droning, throbbing, unmusical chant that issued from the throats of the courtiers of the Dark Sidhe on their high balcony. Bansi shuddered; the feeling the sound gave her was the same revulsion she’d felt as she held the knife. Moments later, the drums started up again – a slow, doom-laden pounding, quite different from the wild drumming of before but no less sinister.
Granny and Mrs Mullarkey were both sitting helplessly on the ground nearby, eyes streaming. It was a matter of moments to break Tam’s enchantment with the touch of steel.
‘This is a fine time for a sing-song,’ Granny muttered grimly, blinking up at the gallery. ‘Not much of a song, mind you. It would help if it had a tune, for instance.’
‘What are they doing?’ Bansi asked Pogo.
It was Tam, though, who answered, his voice rough and weak. ‘They’re adding their magic to the Dark Lord’s. That’s what they were doing before, with all the dancing – soaking the atmosphere with enchantment. Even he could never have created the barrier otherwise. And now, they’re helping him destroy it again. Or at least part of it – enough to get through.’
‘When he does, I wonder if he’d be happy to kill you instead of Bansi,’ said Mrs Mullarkey, rising to her feet. ‘I’ll give him a hand.’
And then the chanting grew louder, and as it did, Bansi saw for a moment a flickering in the air between the two stones on either side of the fiery hole. The sidhe warriors, smiling hungrily, gathered around the Dark Lord; the courtiers stared down malevolently as they chanted. Every eye was fixed on Bansi. The Lord of the Dark Sidhe, bathed in a strange light that seemed to come from within, pierced her with his poisonous yellow gaze; his hands reached out as if to tear the barrier in two. Conn, smiling coldly and wickedly, stood at his side, his injuries forgotten. The stance of his body spoke of his eagerness to kill.
Between the two standing stones in front of the Dark Lord, the barrier began to shimmer. The flames around the burning circle flared. Iridescent light bloomed, the colours rising stronger and brighter as the chanting grew louder and the air thrummed with its weird harmonies. The hot, intense scents of incense and bitter cinnamon filled Bansi’s head, drowning out everything except a profound nausea and a loud, violent roaring that seemed to go on for ever. The jack handle grew warm in her hands; she breathed deeply and, with an effort, stood tall and straight, defying her enemies.
Beside her, Granny and Mrs Mullarkey crumpled to the ground, hands pressed uselessly to their ears. Pogo collapsed, writhing, and rolled off Tam’s chest; Tam curled into a ball and lay shuddering feverishly. Flooter had vanished again, as mysteriously as he had appeared.
Gripping her steely weapon, Bansi stood alone.
All around them, coruscating brightness sparked and flashed from stone to stone and back again. Bright blue bolts of mystical energy leaped the gap.
The unearthly chanting grew like a surging wave, swelling into a single painful chord that held and held, throbbing and echoing painfully inside her head.
The roaring grew louder.
Like a curtain tearing, the portion
of the barrier between the two stones on either side of the burning, suspended circle began to peel from top to bottom, opening a doorway for their enemies to reach them.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In front of the Lord of the Dark Sidhe the magical barrier sparked and faded, sparked and faded. Flames guttered between the two stones. His warriors watched impatiently, eager to push at last into the circle; only seconds remained before the way was clear.
Bansi’s head spun nightmarishly. The walls and stones of Balor’s Hollow blurred and distorted before her eyes. A relentless, surging feeling of sickness swept over her again and again, each wave deeper than the last, and her skull vibrated painfully with the low, rumbling roar of the dark magic.
She clenched the jack handle and felt it grow warm, warmer still. The nausea began to fade; her vision began to clear; the strength began to flood back into her limbs. She gripped the steel shaft more tightly; it throbbed and pulsed as it absorbed the enchantment that swam around her.
Now it was glowing; and like a wave of clear bright water breaking over her, she was released from the spell. She stood, renewed, and breathed deeply, clasping the jack handle in both hands.
The singers on the balcony gave a single victorious shout as the last surge of magical energies sputtered between the two stones, and then all was silence save the roaring sound, now diminished to a distant undertone.
The Lord of the Dark Sidhe strode through the gap into the circle, eager to deliver the killing blow. His entourage followed respectfully, stopping at a distance.
Bansi hefted the jack handle and faced her enemy.
The Dark Lord smiled humourlessly. ‘Not exactly a warrior’s weapon, is it?’ he remarked. ‘Conn!’ Without taking his eyes off Bansi, he held his hand out. ‘Arm me, if you please.’
Bansi O'Hara and the Bloodline Prophecy Page 14
