Then it was sliding more quickly – still unbelievably slowly, from Bansi’s point of view, but its movement was detectable without staring; and the others in the circle were starting to move in the same sluggish slow-motion way.
Bansi plucked the dagger from the air, and shuddered. In this accelerated state, the feeling of wrongness was multiplied to one of evil, as if the knife possessed a malevolent will of its own. Seized with the desire to get rid of it, she dashed its point against the nearest stone, hoping to blunt it at least, or shatter the blade if she could.
To her surprise, it sank into the stone as though into butter or honey – easily, and with no resistance – and stuck there, firm and immoveable. She tugged at it, but it would not come free.
Time around her was definitely moving faster, or else Bansi herself was dropping out of whatever strange acceleration had held her; for the friends and enemies around her were clearly moving now, slow and ponderous as great snails – all but the little cluricaun who, frozen in time like the others a moment before, had once again vanished.
To the Lord of the Dark Sidhe, things looked very different. He had been on the point of slitting Bansi’s throat, about to spill her blood onto the sacred earth and claim the inheritance of Derga, when suddenly his fingers, gripping her hair, had been twisted agonizingly apart. Simultaneously a huge force had knocked the knife from his grasp, wrenching his shoulder painfully. His captive had disappeared; the dagger had vanished as it left his hand. Conn released his own prisoner and was suddenly on the ground, choking and retching. A blur of motion caught his eye; there was the knife, buried to the hilt in one of the stones. Beside it, a shimmering haze resolved itself into Bansi O’Hara, albeit slightly vague around the edges.
His dignity forsaken, the Lord of the Dark Sidhe ran at her, fury and alarm fighting for possession of his senses. Bansi blurred again, not quite vanishing as she moved aside at the last moment with astonishing speed. A shaft of pain shot through his injured shoulder as he careered into the stone. He let out a yell of pain and turned; she looked more solid now, more real, but as he reached out for her she stepped back quickly. Impossibly quickly.
Anger clouded his mind, dulled his thinking. Growling with rage, he turned on the girl’s grandmother, thinking to use her as a hostage.
Another haze of motion, and Bansi collided with him, her momentum hitting him hard, hurling him gracelessly to the ground. But she was slowing; he could see her more distinctly by the minute. He sprang to his feet, turning as he did so, following her with his eyes, drawing strength and power from the enchantment-charged environment.
Behind him, Conn spat and retched and gasped. He rose to his knees and found himself staring once more at the steel jack handle.
‘If you know what’s good for you, Fido,’ Mrs Mullarkey observed, ‘you’ll roll over and play dead like a good wee doggy.’ Conn looked up into her face, and growled. ‘I said, down, boy!’ she commanded, jabbing at him painfully. He yelped and lay sullenly back on the ground.
Bansi slowed, dropping gradually back into normal time. The Lord of the Dark Sidhe pinned her with his gaze, tracking her as a hunter tracks his prey. The air crackled around him.
‘Give up, child,’ he said, his voice dripping enchantment. ‘I have ensured that the very air of this place is saturated with magic; and so I am master here. You cannot win.’
His words thrummed and throbbed around her, pushing at the boundaries of her mind; and yet somehow her head remained clear.
‘I think I’ve won already,’ she said. ‘Whether you kill me or not, you won’t get what you want.’ She held up her dusty, injured thumb.
The Dark Lord looked at her without comprehension and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, and the wind began to whip around him once more. ‘Now I will win. And you will die.’
The last syllable stretched out, changing as it did so into a long unearthly cry. It seemed to come from many voices, and from somewhere else, as though his throat had become the gateway into another world. Lights flickered around him, wraithlike lights which sucked the brightness from the torchlight and vomited out shadows that capered and cavorted in the air before him.
‘He’s mad!’ whispered Tam.
‘Aye, well, we knew that,’ Granny said tersely.
‘No, but . . . If he’s doing what I think he’s doing . . . he could kill us all!’
‘Och, well, as if he hasn’t been trying to do that all day! Which puts him in good company,’ she added with pointed sarcasm.
Bansi circled the Dark Lord warily; he turned, keeping her in view. The howling noise issued from his lips and kept coming, sustained far beyond the capacity of any mortal breath. His yellow eyes gleamed and sparkled. The cavernous Hollow darkened around him as the uncanny lights wove a cocoon of radiance and shade, a pulsating shell of mystical energy at whose core he stood, consumed with rage and greed and malice. It flared brightly, flared again, reaching out, touching the faces of everyone present with raw, malignant power. They felt its brightness, its heat, its deadly force; and all of them shuddered.
All except one. In the midst of the storm, Bansi O’Hara felt a strange calmness within. It was as if she was guided by a loving voice – or two voices, speaking in perfect unity. She stood tall, looking up at the Lord of the Dark Sidhe and the lethal writhing that surrounded him, and she was not afraid.
She knew what to do.
As the dark force flashed out again, she stepped forward. It was like walking into a furnace; the supernatural, evil heat of the Dark Lord’s magic threatened to consume her in an instant; and just for a moment, her resolve faltered. But the feeling came again, as if two well-loved voices – at once just like and yet somehow unlike her parents’ – were encouraging her, Go on, go on.
She stepped forward again, and stared into those wicked yellow eyes, eyes that were filled with hatred and badness and the sheer malicious joy of destruction, and she saw them open wide and greedy and gleeful in anticipation of his final victory.
Bansi O’Hara relaxed in the scorching fire of his magical onslaught. She felt something change inside her, as if those two voices had found a switch and gently thrown it.
And she breathed in.
The fire entered her lungs; it filled up her chest; it pushed up into her head and out into her limbs. And still she breathed in. She did not stop; she could not stop. The swirling, coruscating energies around the Dark Lord were drawn unremittingly into her until she felt as if she would burst; and still they filled her. She felt she would drown; the noise of dark magic hammered in her ears like the pulsing of panicked blood. And still she breathed in, as if her lungs were infinite, elastic, unending. She absorbed the magic that the Lord of the Dark Sidhe had called into Balor’s Hollow, summoned to his evil bidding and drawn to himself for her destruction. She took it into herself and kept taking, kept breathing in until her lungs ached. And still she breathed in, until all the magic in that place, all the power of enchantment, was imprisoned inside her.
Then all was silence.
The Dark Lord stood dumbfounded, all his magical energy stripped away.
‘How—?’ he began; and then he roared, an enraged bellow of frustration and fury. ‘No!You are nothing!You are no one! While I am Lord over all the Dark Sidhe! I will be King in Faery!’ He had completely lost control; a frenzy of anger possessed him. ‘And I will kill you with my bare hands!’ His reason gone, consumed by rage, he hurled himself at her.
The onlookers gasped and Granny O’Hara started forward; but Bansi O’Hara reached up as the Dark Lord’s hands came down and seized them in the grip of her own small fingers.
Inside her, the captured fires of enchantment blazed, somehow feeding her physical strength; and with an effort, she held him. He was caught in the grip of madness now and stronger for it, but the magical forces she held inside filled her with an energy she had never known, and she wrestled him to a standstill. They stood, the Dark Lord and the mortal girl, hands and eyes locked together, trapped
in a deadly stalemate.
And then she felt the fires within her burning out of control, bubbling, boiling over like molten lava. She tried to damp them down, rein them in; but they pushed up all the more. There was a bad taste in her mouth that spoke of the destruction she would unleash if she released the power from inside her, and she fought to hold it back. Her muscles tensed still further, her eyes bulged with the effort.
The Dark Lord saw her struggle. He pressed his advantage and bore down on her with all his weight. She summoned her strength, held him off, forced him away. Within her the mystical energies exulted like living creatures tasting freedom, as her attention was drawn from them and her hold on them slipped. She strained against her enemy, while inside her mind she focused on the magic and drove it back down. But it resisted her, pushing its way up again, and the dark Lord pushed against her, and she knew the strength to hold them both would not last.
She dropped to her knees; heard her granny gasp. Her friends! Whatever happened, she must save them. But the powers were working against her more than for her now; she could not contain them. She could not protect her companions much longer; but perhaps something else could.
‘The car!’ she yelled. ‘Get in the car!’
They hesitated for only a moment; after what they’d seen her do in the last few minutes, trusting her without question seemed the only option. Granny and the two brownies flung themselves into the Morris Minor without delay, the raven fluttering in behind them, and pressed their faces to the window. Mrs Mullarkey kept her eyes on Conn as she backed towards the car, but as she moved away he rose to his feet and began to stalk her, keeping out of reach of the jack handle. She jabbed at him; he leaped sideways and began to harry her. She jabbed at him again; but he was crafty, like a wolf in pursuit of a stray lamb.
‘Mrs Mullarkey!’ Bansi cried desperately. ‘Get in the car!’
The old woman tried; but Conn was there, between her and the vehicle, keeping just out of range.
A sudden motion, and Tam was there, too, clinging weakly to Conn’s back. Conn shook him off, but Tam caught his ankle as he fell, and held on. ‘Go!’ he shouted.
‘But—’ Mrs Mullarkey began.
‘Go!’ Tam yelled again, as Conn kicked him loose. He clutched once more at the wolf-boy’s leg; somehow managed to trip him and hold on. ‘It’d kill me getting in there – too much steel! Go!’
‘But—’ Mrs Mullarkey said again; and then realized he was right. Before Conn could free himself, she hurled herself through the back doors, pulling them closed behind her.
And Bansi stopped pushing, and set the magic free.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bansi smiled. And her smile became brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until it was like staring at the sun.
A wave – no, a tide, a storm, a hurricane – of energy broke from her, as all the magical forces she had held inside were suddenly and violently released. It rolled out across Balor’s Hollow, its dazzling intensity swallowing the Lord of the Dark Sidhe, gulping down Conn and Tam as they fought, roiling and churning wildly around the dark green Morris Minor Traveller as though trying to burn it away. It enveloped the standing stones with a glowing brilliance, swept on out to the wall-like cliffs, and surged upwards, forcing its way skywards like a great beacon of warning.
In the car, Bansi’s companions hid their eyes from the brightness.
On a nearby peak the brownie tribe, revelling in their victory as they watched the Dark Lord’s followers flee for their lives into the valley below, fell silent as they turned to see the night sky above Balor’s Hollow light up. They drew closer together for comfort, their newfound bravery almost deserting them. At length, one small figure hefted his horseshoe uncertainly and strode off towards the now-dying light. After a few seconds, and one by one, the others followed.
And then the blazing light expanded, rolling out across the landscape towards them; and before they had time to turn and flee it caught them, rolled over them like a great tidal wave, and they, too, were consumed.
If you had been there, in the barren basin of Balor’s Hollow as that bright ferocious light faded, you would have seen …
Nothing.
Nothing but the standing stones, and the desolate, craggy cliffs and the crazed rocky floor.
Of Bansi O’Hara and her companions, of the Lord of the Dark Sidhe and his warrior wolf-boy, there was no sign.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The shining, bright white light seemed now to come from within her, from her soul, through her hands and her eyes. It flowered and blossomed like a silent explosion, wiping out Balor’s Hollow with its grim standing stones and dark shadows, its history of violence and death and its cruel memories of pain and betrayal. For a moment, its clean stark brightness was all there was.
When it faded, the stone circle still stood around them; but the cliffs were gone. The early morning sun was shining cheerfully down, and a large oak tree stood high above them.
It took Bansi a moment to realize that she was standing in that other stone circle, on the hillside above the sleepy village of Ballyfey.
Everyone was staring at her. The entire brownie tribe – caught up in that last, roiling wave of light – dropped to their knees in reverence. Granny and Mrs Mullarkey, followed by Pogo and Moina, were climbing shakily from the car, open-mouthed in amazement.
‘Um … how exactly did you do that, love?’ Granny asked hesitantly.
‘I … I don’t think it was me,’ Bansi began uncertainly, but before she could continue she was interrupted by an excited Pogo.
‘Of course it was you!’ he cried, dancing around in a most undignified manner. ‘You returned the Blood of the Morning Stars to the sacred earth! The inheritance of Derga is yours, Bansi! You’ve inherited the power of your bloodlines!’ He stopped, suddenly aware of the surprised, amused eyes of his tribe fixed on him. ‘And … and you’d better learn to control it a bit better!’ he added gruffly. ‘Getting yourselves home was one thing, but bringing me and my whole tribe? No one asked you to do that, did they?’
A ripple of laughter spread amongst the brownies, and Moina, who had joined them where they knelt, leaped to her feet.
‘Ignore him, Bansi,’ she said, smiling. ‘You know what he’s like! But know this, too: you have given us dignity. You bear with honour the bloodlines of the Morning Stars of Tir na n’Óg, and you are the true inheritor of their father, Derga. So this tribe now and for ever pledges itself to your service, as we would have done to the Morning Stars themselves.’
As one, the whole tribe rose to their feet and bowed deeply. Then, silently and instantly, they slipped away into the long grass on the hillside, and only Pogo was left.
‘Hang on!’ Bansi exclaimed; but the brownies were gone. ‘How are they going to get home?’ she asked Pogo in sudden concern. ‘Don’t say I’ve stranded you all here? Won’t the gate have closed by now?’
‘Ah, I wouldn’t worry,’ he said, with a quick glance at the sky. ‘Time moves differently in the Other Realm. Here, it’s still Midsummer Day – only a couple of hours after we left. We can pass through the gate this evening at twilight, before it closes, and I dare say we can keep busy till then. There’ll be plenty to do round here, I can tell you. Aye, well … better be going myself, I suppose …’
Bansi felt a sudden rush of affection for the little man who had been so loyal to her. She dropped to her knees in front of him and took his hands.
‘Thank you, Pogo,’ she said.
Pogo blushed a deep burgundy. ‘Might have been better if you’d never met me,’ he muttered. ‘I might’ve got you killed, falling for that trick of Tam’s. Still can’t believe it of him, you know.’
There was a twist of sorrow in Bansi’s heart at the mention of Tam’s name. ‘I know … I really think he wanted to do the right thing, though. I mean – I think he thought he was doing the right thing … or at least, the least wrong thing. Poor Tam. I wonder what happened to him?’
&
nbsp; The little brownie shook his head sadly. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t speak ill of him. That – whatever-you-did, I’ve never known magic like it. No one could have survived that, without the protection of iron. I doubt we’ll ever see Tam again. I doubt there’s much of him left to see …’
Time moves differently in the Other Realm; so it may have been just then, or earlier, or later, or all three at once, that a flock of wild goats, grazing in the forest, came upon a young boy, face down and apparently unconscious. Curious, they began to nibble at his hair, and at the tattered, flame-coloured clothing that covered him.
The boy groaned, startling the animals into stepping back. His eyes flickered open and he regarded them with some confusion for a moment. Then he grinned: a wide grin, full of mischief and – you might have said, had you been there to see it – relief. And then, somehow, he was no longer there. In his place, another goat, slightly larger than the others and with luminous yellow eyes, tottered to its feet.
Being themselves creatures of Faery, the goats were not perturbed. They followed the new goat to see where he would lead them.
‘Poor Tam,’ Bansi murmured again.
‘Maybe. You won’t catch me shedding any tears for him, though. Not after what he did.’
‘Aye, well, so,’ came a familiar voice from behind the oak tree. ‘But … here! What about thish key, eh? Seein’ as I kept her safe an’ all . . .’
‘Flooter!’ Bansi exclaimed. ‘How did you—?’ In time, she stopped herself, knowing what the answer would be.
Pogo scowled. ‘What are you doing here, you drunken fool?’ he muttered.
‘Ah, Pogo,’ Flooter said cheerily, wobbling into view. ‘Sure, and aren’t I one of your merry band, now?’
‘You are not!’ Pogo insisted. ‘You’re just a red-nosed buffoon who keeps turning up like a bad penny!’
Bansi O'Hara and the Bloodline Prophecy Page 16
