The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale

by O'Connell, Bishop

  Brendan opened his mouth, then closed it and clenched his jaw.

  “What’s a díbeartach?”

  Brendan flinched. When he spoke, it was softly, through gritted teeth. “Listen carefully. There’s a power behind words, and that’s not the kind of word to bandy about.”

  “I—­”

  He looked at her, anger flashing in his smoldering eyes. “I wouldn’t say it again.”

  Caitlin felt a rush of fear, and she pressed herself against the passenger door, her hand reaching for the handle.

  Brendan blinked and looked away. He got out of the truck and slammed the door.

  Caitlin’s stomach twisted as a fresh dose of guilt and panic took hold. She got out and walked around the truck.

  Brendan was a few feet away, smoking a cigarette and pacing back and forth.

  She watched him for a long time, trying to figure out what to say. Nothing came to her.

  Brendan looked at her, then away. He took another drag, then blew out the smoke.

  “Brendan.”

  He didn’t look at her.

  “You shouldn’t smoke.” As soon as the words got out, she winced. “And I can’t believe I just said that.”

  “You’re right.” He looked at the cigarette. “It wasn’t always like that, you know? They used to say they was good for you.” He dropped the butt on the ground and crushed it out. “I suppose it’s past time I gave it up.” He dropped the pack of cigarettes into a trashcan.

  “Wait.” Caitlin grabbed his shoulder.

  He turned, and when his eyes met hers, she took a step back. He wasn’t mad. He was hurt. Whether it was the word that had cut him, the fact that she’d been the one to say it, or both, she didn’t know. But it didn’t matter; the results were the same. She ran a shaking hand through her hair.

  He spoke quietly, never looking at her. “If you’re thinking I’m going to back out, you needn’t worry. I promised I’d get her, and I will.”

  Caitlin opened her mouth.

  “It means ‘outcast’ or ‘exile,’ ” he said so quietly that Caitlin barely heard him.

  “What?”

  Brendan swallowed with effort and his face twisted. “Díbeartach, it’s a curse that means ‘outcast.’ ”

  Caitlin lowered her eyes.

  “It weren’t your doing. You didn’t know, but you have to be careful with words. This is a massive ball of shite, but you’re handling it better than anyone could expect.”

  A subtle tinge of grateful relief whispered over her.

  Brendan looked at the sky, then at the store’s door. “We need to pick some things up before the place closes. If you’re needing the jacks, you should do it now.” He shook his head. “I mean the toilet, bathroom, loo, whatever.”

  “I know what you meant.” Not knowing what else to do, Caitlin hugged him and let out a deep sigh when she felt one arm wrap around her and give her a small squeeze.

  He opened the door for her. “Go on with you, then. They’re at the back of the shop.”

  Caitlin went down the small aisles of the store. It looked as though it hadn’t changed since the 1950’s. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Brendan nod to an old man behind the counter.

  Caitlin stood in front of the restroom sink, washing her hands and looking at herself in the mirror. “Get it together.” She splashed some water on her face and went back into the store that time forgot.

  Brendan was standing at the register. On the counter sat a loaf of homemade bread, wrapped in white paper. There was also a quart of milk, a jar of local honey, a small bottle of whiskey, four bottles of water, a bag of trail mix, and some fruit.

  “That’ll be twenty-­nine, forty-­seven,” the old man said after the ancient register spun and lifted the numbered tiles into view.

  Brendan opened his pouch.

  “At least let me pay for this,” Caitlin said.

  “It’s fine—­”

  “Please, it’s the least I can do.” She realized then that she didn’t have her wallet. Reaching into her pocket, she fished out a ­couple of bills and set them on the counter, glad she often forgot to check before doing laundry.

  The shopkeeper made change and bagged the food.

  Brendan picked up the bag. “See you around, Gordon, me best to Muriel.”

  “See you, Brendan,” Gordon said, waving.

  Caitlin opened the door. “So what is all this stuff, dinner?”

  “The fruit and trail mix is. Not much of a selection, I know. Normally, Gordon has sandwiches, but he was out just now.” Brendan pulled a backpack out from behind the driver’s seat.

  “It’s fine.” Caitlin accepted an apple, the bag of trail mix, and a bottle of water as he began putting things in the pack. “What’s the rest for?”

  “The bread, milk, and honey are for payment.”

  “Payment?”

  “Aye. We’ll be needing us a guide when we cross.”

  “What about the whiskey?”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “That’s for me.” He tossed the whiskey and a bag of beef jerky onto the seat.

  “Drinking and driving?”

  “Oh, don’t go there, love. We’re nearly there, and I could use me a bit.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “As a good and proper Irish girl, you should know better than to ask a fella to share his whiskey.” Brendan took a drink and sighed. “Oh, that’s not half bad, there.”

  He smiled at her, and she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. The last thing she needed was to distract him with her idiocy.

  A wry smile crossed Caitlin’s lips. “You know, you’re right. I’ll just help myself.” She reached over, grabbed the bottle, and took a small drink.

  “Aye.” Brendan started the truck. “That’s more like it, then.”

  The mood only grew solemn after that.

  Soon they were deep in the back woods. They’d been on a dirt road for what seemed quite a while, and now the trees loomed around them in the twilight. In the depths of the forests on either side, it seemed shadows were lurking and watching them. However, the shadows didn’t make her afraid now.

  This time, the shadows should be afraid of them.

  Brendan turned down what could just barely be called a road. He shifted his truck into four-­wheel drive and crawled over the rocks, through the mud, and across the ruts.

  The woods were deeper here, and the darkness was growing. Brendan reached down and flipped a ­couple switches. Lights on the bumper and a bar on the roof came to life. The trail in front of them was washed clean of darkness and shadows by bright, white light.

  Caitlin’s head snapped around when she saw movement in the shadows from the corner of her eye. “Could there be something in the woods watching us?”

  Brendan sniffed the air. “If there is, it’s not close by. It’s possible though that we might run into trouble at the sidhe mound.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  The trail ended at a clearing several hundred feet across. At the far end was a large earthen mound covered in grass and wildflowers. Something about it was oddly familiar.

  As Brendan pulled into the glade, the truck’s lights swept over the expanse of it. “Well, that’s something in our favor, then.” He put the truck in park.

  “What is?”

  “Either the oíche don’t know that Justin told us Fiona was taken to the Tír, they don’t think we’ll come after her, or they don’t care if we do.”

  “Or they’re waiting to ambush us.”

  “Aye, there’s that as well, I suppose. If they are though, it isn’t on this side. You’re sure you’re ready for this? No one, meself included, would think less of you if you waited here for me to bring her back to you.”

  Caitlin took a deep breath and tried not to
think about the whole of the situation. “I’m sure I’m not ready, but I’m still going.”

  “Well then, you’ll never plough a field by turning it over in your head.”

  Caitlin didn’t have an answer to that.

  Brendan turned off the engine and killed the lights. Darkness swallowed the clearing, leaving only the silvery glow of the moon upon the grass. They opened their doors and got out.

  Brendan pulled the backpack from behind the seats and dropped it on the ground. “Give me a minute, love.” He pulled something else out and draped it over the side of the truck.

  Caitlin’s eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, so she couldn’t tell what it was.

  As Brendan moved about on the far side of the truck, her eyebrows went up. Was he taking off his belt? There was the sound of rustling fabric, and it looked as though he’d just pulled his kilt off, folded it, and put it behind the seats.

  She cleared her throat and looked away. “Um, what, what are you doing?” She felt her face flush.

  “Putting on something a bit better suited to the task.”

  She glanced back just in time to see him take a different kilt from the side of the truck and wrap it around himself. He put something on each of his wrists. Finally, he pulled a long-­sleeved shirt over his head, opened a box in the bed of the truck, and pulled out a duffel bag.

  “All right, all’s well.” He dropped the tailgate of the pickup and set the duffel bag on it. “Come on.”

  Caitlin noticed that this kilt was similar to the other, but this one had leather straps on either side holding it closed, and it was a dull mustard color. Her mind clicked; it was saffron. Didn’t the Irish military wear saffron kilts? Well, at least her eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

  Something inside the bag glinted in the moonlight. He pulled out a wide leather belt that had two large sheaths built into it at the center. He wrapped it around his waist and secured it. Next, he slid two curved knives into the sheaths.

  She saw then that it had been leather bands he’d put on his wrists. On each, she could just make out some kind of symbol. Caitlin had to admit, it was quite a sight. She’d never seen a warrior preparing for battle before. If it was possible, he looked even more like he was in the wrong time.

  He pulled out what was either a long knife or a short sword. “You know how to use this?”

  “I took a self-­defense class once.” She took the blade. “We learned how to disarm someone with a knife and use it against them.”

  “Well, as weapons go, they don’t get much simpler. No need to worry about being fancy when it comes to it.”

  “When?”

  “Fine, if it comes to it, just do what you need to do.”

  She gripped the weapon. Things were certainly real now.

  He set a small jar on the tailgate. “Best to keep it tucked away out of clear sight . . . until you need it, anyway.”

  Caitlin undid her belt and fed it through the loop of the scabbard. After securing it to her satisfaction, she tried twisting the sheath so it would go horizontal to her waist, only to find it had some kind of swivel for doing just that.

  Brendan pulled a necklace, a piece of carved wood hanging by a leather cord, from the bag and put it over his head. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

  “Your fae blood should let you see through the glamours.” He opened the jar and released a rather unpleasant odor. “But just to be safe . . .” He dipped his finger into the jar.

  Caitlin tried not to breathe through her nose as he applied the jar’s contents to her forehead. It felt like he was drawing something. “Please tell me the smell goes away.”

  “Aye.” He chuckled. “In a minute or so it’ll soak into your skin and the smell will go.”

  “I don’t want to know what’s in it, do I?”

  “No.”

  He returned the jar to the duffel bag, put the bag back in the box, and pulled on the backpack. “All right then, time to go over the ground rules.”

  “Okay.”

  “I know you heard the old stories from your Nan, but you’ve also learned they weren’t all accurate. So, I’m going to cover everything. First thing, you do what I tell you, when I tell you.”

  Caitlin looked away as her cheeks flushed again.

  “No food or drink, at all. That’s why we’re bringing our own. Fae blood or no, you could still get bound if you partake. And for God’s sake, don’t make any fec—­any bargains with anyone. I don’t care how innocent they seem, or how helpful. These are clever ones. They’ll be masters of turning the deal so you wind up the worse for it.”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t be offering nothing to no one, and let me do all the talking as well.”

  “Understood.” Caitlin swallowed. “You’re in charge.” The knot that had periodically taken up residence in her stomach began to return.

  “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  Brendan dropped the keys to the truck in the box and led her to the base of the hill. As they got closer, she could see it was oval shaped and they were approaching a long side. It was fifty or sixty feet long, fifteen or twenty feet wide, and just as tall.

  They reached the base of the hill, and Brendan produced a strip of cloth. “I’ve got to blindfold you.” He stepped close to her.

  She felt the cloth cover her eyes and him tie it at the back of her head. His strong hands were on her shoulders as he stood behind her.

  “We’re going to walk anti-­clockwise about the hill nine times, but we have to do it facing backward.”

  “Nine times?”

  “Aye, three sets of three. Now, we’re not in a race, so go slow. I don’t want you twisting your ankle or the like. I’ll be right here guiding you the whole way. You ready?”

  Caitlin took a series of deep breaths, then nodded.

  “Here we go, then.”

  Brendan’s hands steered her, and she found them a comfort amid the blindness. After she stumbled a ­couple times, she decided to start taking high steps, placing her feet down slowly to measure the terrain first. Thankfully, Brendan matched her pace.

  Before long, the steps became part of a seemingly never-­ending chain. The sounds and scents seemed to become more vivid. She could smell the damp earth, even each of the different trees. She could hear the leaves rattling in the wind and the fluttering of birds in the branches.

  Just as she was beginning to wonder how much longer it would be, her stomach lurched, her head spun, and she nearly fell over.

  Brendan’s hands gripped her, and she only went to her knees.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Give it a moment.” He stroked her back. “The sick feeling, dizziness and the like, it’ll pass in a bit. Your first time crossing can be a rough one.”

  “Did it work?” She took slow, deliberate, deep breaths, trying to push the nausea back.

  “Aye.” Brendan untied and removed the blindfold. “Welcome to Tír na nÓg, love.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-­FOUR

  Caitlin felt like she had drunk too much, and, as a consequence, every time she tried to open her eyes, all she saw was a whirling blur of green and blue, which only served to make her feel worse. Thankfully, after a few more deep breaths, the spinning world started to slow and the dizziness and nausea began to fade.

  She opened her eyes and found herself kneeling on grass the color of a child’s crayon drawing—­beautiful, but unnatural. She saw Brendan’s silhouette against a blue sky. A warm breeze brushed over her, bringing the smell of grass and flowers in bloom. Memories of childhood summers came to her in a rush, of playing in meadows and fields with no cares or concerns. That’s what she smelled more than anything: the summers of her youth.

  “Can you stand, love?” Brendan crouched down and looked her over. “Well, you look as well as can be exp
ected. Come on. Let’s get you to your feet.”

  Caitlin stared at him. It was still Brendan, but there were definite, if subtle, changes. His scars were not so prominent. His shoulders looked broader, which was saying something. His jawline was strong, and his eyes had taken an almost shifting, electric blue color. Just beneath their surface, she could see something burning. It was a fire that, she knew, if let loose, could burn this whole land to ash.

  Brendan must’ve noticed her reaction—­not that she was trying to hide it.

  “Things can take a different look here,” he said, “but you can’t let yourself get pulled in or distracted by it.”

  Caitlin just nodded.

  “Come on, then.” He stood and offered her his hand.

  She took it and he pulled her to her feet. Her legs were a little unsteady, but she was able to stand. Brendan’s arm went around her waist and kept her from wobbling.

  “I’m okay, just give me a second.” Each passing moment eased the disorientation a little more.

  They were standing in a clearing similar to the one they’d been in moments before, but there were a few differences. The first, and most obvious, was that it was now daytime, near noon from what she could tell. In addition, it was spring here, as opposed to the autumn they’d left behind. Like the green of the grass, every color appeared much more vivid. The leaves, the flowers, the trees, even the clouds and the sky were the right colors, but unnatural in their brightness and depth. This place appeared more real than the world they’d left behind. She felt a bit like Dorothy leaving the black and white of Kansas for the Technicolor of Oz.

  “It’s quite a thing, isn’t it?” Brendan asked.

  “Quite a thing,” was all Caitlin could manage for a reply. She was actually here, in Tír na nÓg, the land of eternal youth, the place between shadow and light. In a real sense she was also home, or a piece of her was, anyway.

  “Let’s get moving. It’ll help.” Brendan used the arm that was still around her waist to urge her along.

  She complied, and they crossed the meadow. Behind them, as she suspected, was a large hill, the twin to the one they used to get here. Sounds and flashes of movement came from the woods around them. Caitlin scanned the area and realized her senses were improved. Her eyesight, which had been average, was now picking out minute details from a great distance. The sounds were clear and easy to distinguish. However, it all just served to feed a sense of paranoia.