The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale

by O'Connell, Bishop

  She took several gulps of the water and tried to catch her breath. Brendan’s face was pale, and when he took a deep breath, he winced. She’d forgotten about his ribs.

  “Get your breath back,” he said. “We can’t stay here long. We’re out of sight, but in this forest, the trees keep no secrets.”

  “Are you okay?”

  He followed her gaze down and saw that his bandaged hand now held his side. He dropped his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  Caitlin had to believe him. He knew what he could do better than she did, but she had her doubts. Besides, he was clearly struggling with something.

  “What happened back there?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You didn’t seem, well, yourself.”

  He stared at the ground. “Sorry if I scared you. I’ve got this—­” He drew a breath. “This beast inside me.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It’s a—­” He looked around as if the word he wanted was hanging in the air. “A frenzy, a battle frenzy that takes me. The deamhan buile, it’s called.”

  “No. You just got angry because of what he called you. I understand, I got mad—­”

  “There’s more to it. Me parents did something to me. I don’t know what. It made me faster and stronger, but it weren’t free.”

  Caitlin fought back tendrils of fear nibbling at her stomach.

  “I’d hoped it wouldn’t be an issue. But now that Fergus himself is involved, you need to understand—­”

  “You’re a good man,” she said. Whether it was for him or for her, she couldn’t say.

  “Listen, the buile is something you should well be afraid of.” He was looking right at her now, his gaze hard. “It’s the embodiment of rage. I’m no longer meself. I’m blinded by it, and I can’t control it.” He swallowed. “That’s why I told you that, if I tell you to run, you must.”

  Caitlin saw the pain and the fear in his eyes. It left her dumbfounded. “No, no one who’s done what you have—­”

  “Damn it, would you listen? I can’t have another—­” He looked away.

  “Another?” Then it all started to make sense.

  She should’ve seen it before. How could she have missed it? It might have been her he was looking at, but she wasn’t who he was seeing.

  She lifted Brendan’s face and forced him to look at her. As plainly as words on a page, she could read him and knew that she was right.

  “What was her name?” she asked.

  “Áine.” His eyes were wet with tears, and he shuddered.

  “Like the Irish goddess of love?”

  Brendan smiled and sighed. “Aye. She was every bit the name, as well. Loveliest thing I ever saw, and tough as steel.”

  “From a man who spends so much time around faeries, that’s quite a compliment.” Caitlin swallowed. “Brendan, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want—­”

  “Dante’s the only person what knows it all.” Stray tears spilled out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Absently, he wiped them away.

  Caitlin listened.

  “One night, she was late meeting me, so I went to look for her. I found her, and the oíche that were set upon her.”

  Caitlin squeezed his hand and wiped an errant tear of her own away.

  “I lost me head, and the buile took me, right there in the alley. I didn’t know what was what, or who was who. I knew only rage. When it was done, I’d cut the dark bastúin down, all of them. But I’d done in a dozen innocents, and her as well. I killed them all with me own hands. It weren’t till well after that I learned she was—­” He swallowed, unable to finish.

  “Brendan, you can’t blame yourself—­”

  “It was me own fault, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have let the beast out. I should’ve controlled it. I knew it was there. I’d used it before in little ways. When I saw what they was doing to her, well, that was all it needed to take control.”

  “You didn’t mean to.”

  “Aye, but me intentions don’t change things, do they? She’s still in the ground, just the same.” He let out a breath. “I’m sorry to be dumping this on you now, love.”

  He stared right into Caitlin’s eyes, and it sent a shiver through her.

  “You understand now?” he asked. “I’ll not have the same happen to you or, God forbid, Fiona.”

  Caitlin saw it in his eyes. He was pleading with her. “I understand.” She wiped some tears away. “Thank you.”

  “Dar fia, would you stop thanking me? I’m not a fecking saint. I’m about as far from it as you can get.”

  “You’re not a saint,” she said, then silently added, You’re much more than that. “I just meant thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

  “Well, I had to, didn’t I?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  He leaned back against a tree. “I admit, it’s nice to tell someone else about her.” He smiled, but it was bittersweet. “She deserved to have others know about her. She was so kind. More full of love than any dozen others put together. And she was bloody well more than I deserved. I was lucky to have her in me life, even if only for a bit. Lord knows, she could’ve done better than me.”

  “Don’t.”

  He looked at her again and Caitlin felt that same shiver run down her spine, but this time her heart beat a little faster as well. The last piece fell into place.

  I remind him of her.

  Caitlin closed her eyes. She truly understood the massive weight and torment he’d been carrying this whole time. She felt ashamed for how she’d been acting, so weak and small.

  “We should get moving.” He wiped his eyes. “We’ve been here too long as is. I’ll try to keep a better pace for you.” He offered her his hand.

  She took it and he pulled her up. She could still feel the anguish, the guilt, and the dark clouds that loomed over him. “You can let it go,” she said. “You can let it go without letting her go. She’d want you to hold onto the joy and happiness you shared, not the darkness . . .” Brendan drew a deep breath, and when he let it out, it seemed perhaps he stood a bit taller, carried less of a load. He smiled and nodded, just once.

  Nothing else needed saying. He led the way back to the trail, and she followed.

  They continued moving at a brisk, but much easier, pace through the woods. When she looked around at the barren trees, Caitlin noticed they didn’t seem so intimidating anymore.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-­THREE

  The winding path continued through the woods, and the utter silence bore down on Caitlin. Aside from their footsteps on the tiles, there was no sound at all. There were no birds, no rustling leaves, no insects buzzing, nothing. Woods were supposed to be full of life. These were devoid of it.

  Brendan stopped and crouched down low.

  Caitlin knelt behind him, hand going to her knife. “What is it?” she whispered.

  Brendan sat perfectly still, scanning the area and sniffing the air.

  Agonizing seconds ticked by.

  “Dia ár réiteach!” he said and stood up. He yanked off his pack and tossed it into the woods. “He’s done loosed the hounds of hell.”

  A loud horn sounded from behind them, shattering the silence, and from ahead came a scurrying sound followed by barks and growls.

  “Stay behind me,” he said. “Get your knife out. I’ll try to keep them off you, but one might get past me. Be ready.”

  Caitlin drew her blade.

  Brendan unsheathed his knives and spun them so he was holding them in a reverse grip.

  Caitlin’s stomach tried to mimic the move.

  “Don’t hesitate,” Brendan said. “Trust your instincts and think about Fiona.” He looked over his shoulder at her, and this time his eyes brought her comfort instead of fear.

  Two large black do
gs came running down the trail. They looked like mastiffs, but their fur was as black as pitch and, like the horse before, they had smoldering red eyes.

  The hounds stopped a dozen or so paces in front of Brendan. He put one foot back and gave a rumbling growl. The hounds bared their teeth, which were the color of slate, lowered their heads, and growled back.

  The three stood there, staring each other down. Then, at the same moment, they leapt at each other. Brendan slashed one across the muzzle. The other avoided his blade and sank its teeth into his wrist, and the three fell to the ground.

  Brendan drove a knife into the flank of the hound that gripped his arm. Darkness and orange lights seeped from around the blade. The hound let out a whimper and released him. The other licked its muzzle, and the seeping darkness from Brendan’s slash stopped.

  Caitlin watched, frozen. Her heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it could break her ribs. Somehow, these hounds’ similarity to real dogs caused her more fear than the unreal shadow things from before. As if sensing her fear, one turned its gaze on her and bared its teeth.

  She felt like a child, but she gripped the knife tighter in her white knuckled hand and thought about her lost child.

  The hound looked at the blade, then at her. It was almost as if the dog knew what it was.

  “No!” Brendan shouted and pounced on the beast.

  The dog moved just in time. Brendan’s blade missed, but his arm went around its neck. The other hound, now free, went after him again, and the three tumbled and rolled. Brendan kicked repeatedly at the one tearing at his boot before landing a blow to its head. The hound released him with a yelp as it was knocked several feet away. Brendan twisted and hurled the other into the woods. There was a thump as it struck a tree, followed by a whimper. Brendan was quick to his feet, as were the hounds. When he faced the one he’d kicked, the other leapt from the trees to stand behind him.

  Slowly, they began circling him.

  Every time one of them looked at Caitlin, Brendan lunged at it and slashed in the air, drawing its attention back to him.

  Caitlin wanted to help, but she struggled to figure out how.

  In concert, the two hounds attacked again.

  Brendan met the first with the handle of one knife and swiped at the other with the blade of his second.

  The hound at his front had faked. Brendan’s knife passed through empty air, which allowed the hound to dart past him, heading straight for Caitlin. She gasped and jumped back. Her footing slipped and she nearly fell, thrusting out wildly with the knife.

  It bit into flesh. There was a yelp, and the blade was wrenched from her hand.

  She caught her balance and saw the hound eyeing her warily. The handle of her knife stuck out from its front shoulder, and the thing paced on its remaining three good legs, watching her. It lowered its head, pulled back its lips to expose sharp gray teeth, and growled, low and deep.

  She took a breath to stifle her terror and stared at the blade. Wisps of darkness drifted from the wound each time the monster moved. She knew she had to get her weapon back.

  The beast barked and lunged at her, snapping its powerful jaws.

  She flinched and jumped back.

  It repeated this maneuver several times, never closing, just driving her back, almost as if it were taunting her.

  Caitlin just kept looking from the hound to the knife, waiting for a chance.

  When next it lunged, she went forward instead of back, throwing herself past it. As she dove, less gracefully than intended, she reached out for the handle. Her hand touched the carved wood and she grabbed it, holding on for all she could. The blade tore free, and the dog yelped as Caitlin hit the ground. The world turned as she tumbled, but she came up short when she smacked into a tree.

  She rolled to her back and watched with wide eyes as the beast sprang at her throat with open jaws. She screamed and closed her eyes while gripping the knife in both hands and driving it forward. She felt an impact and heard a yelp of pain, then weight bore down on her arms so fast it threatened to break them.

  She opened her eyes and was face-­to-­face with snapping jaws. The knife was buried in the creature’s massive chest, and it was pushing hard against her. She grunted and pushed back with all the strength she could find.

  Drool sprayed her face as the hound barked and snapped, struggling to get at the tender flesh of her neck, but its claws couldn’t find purchase on the tiles. She pushed back against it, keeping it at bay. Her arms were burning and her strength was failing. She gritted her teeth, turned her face away, and twisted the knife hard to one side.

  The hound let out a pathetic yelp and twitched.

  A deep satisfaction filled her, and she twisted the knife back the other way. Again the beast convulsed and cried out. Finally, she felt the strength of the thing begin to fade. Anger mixed with the pleasure in her, and she twisted again and again. Each turn of the blade elicited another yelp.

  “Would you die already?” she said through gnashed teeth. Her arms felt like they were going to come off, and her hands were shaking. She couldn’t hold it much longer.

  At that moment, the hound snapped its jaws one last time, let out a breath, and went limp. Its full weight came down on her as its legs gave out.

  She blinked a few times, and the hound evaporated into a cloud of darkness and orange lights. Her arms dropped to the ground, and the fire in them at last began to subside. She gasped for breath, but a groan made her look up.

  Brendan was grappling with the remaining hellhound. Caitlin rolled to her knees, got to her feet, and moved toward him, but he shook his head and she stopped. The hound twisted in his grasp, and all Caitlin could think of was Hercules wrestling the lion.

  The muscles in his big arms flexed as he tightened his grip around the hound’s neck, grabbed its maw, and pulled it back. The other hand dragged the knife across the now bared throat, and, in seconds, there was nothing left.

  Caitlin ran over to Brendan and helped him stand. As he got to his feet, he sucked in a breath and gripped his side.

  “Are you okay?” She could see scratches on his face, neck, and arms.

  “Aye, I’m all right. Just smarts a bit, is all. And you?”

  “I’m okay.” The burning in her arms was fading, the adrenaline rush wasn’t. “Let me look at your injuries.”

  “Don’t bother.” He sheathed his knives. “They aren’t nothing serious.” He used his shirt to wipe some of the blood from his face. “Besides, we don’t have time. The hunt will be here soon.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say the hunt?”

  “Aye.”

  “As in, the wild hunt?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought Fionn Mac Cumhaill was the leader of the hunt and that they chased only—­”

  “Afraid that’s not quite right. Fionn and the Fianna defeated the hunt,” he said. “As such, the hunt had to obey his command. He didn’t lead them. He banished them back here. They’re a nasty bunch, and they hold a grudge.”

  “Against the Fian—­”

  “Look out!” Brendan shoved her to the ground as an arrow zipped through the air and struck Brendan’s shoulder.

  They both tumbled and rolled as they hit the ground. When they finally stopped, Caitlin saw the arrow shaft had broken in half. “Are you—­?”

  “It’s too late now,” he said. Anger burned in his eyes. He tore the broken arrow shaft from his shoulder without so much as blinking and tossed it aside. He walked back to the middle of the trail, drew his knives, and again spun them into a reverse grip. “They’re here.”

  Another horn sounded, this time so close Caitlin felt it reverberate through her. When it stopped, the air filled with the shouts and cheers of countless wild men.

  She stood behind Brendan, and over his shoulder she saw a massive throng emerge from the shadows and ha
ze. At the lead was a man over seven feet tall. His chest was bare, except for blue painted whirls and knots. He wore a wide leather belt and a blue battle skirt. A large helmet covered his face, but it allowed long blond hair to hang over his shoulders. Growing out of the sides of the helmet were antlers that should have belonged to a massive stag. The Hunt Master was flanked by two hounds identical to the ones they’d just dispatched. Behind him were warriors adorned in furs and animal hides, all carrying spears, swords, clubs, or other wicked-­looking weapons. All of them were screaming and shouting.

  The Hunt Master stepped forward. His left arm held a shield, and in his right hand was a spear. He raised his shielded hand, and the horde was silent.

  Caitlin could feel him taking the measure of her and Brendan.

  “Greetings, Fian.” The Hunt Master inclined his head in a slight bow. “Lord Fergus told us prey could be found in these woods.” His voice was deep, but clear, despite the helmet. “He did not say, however, that we would have our retribution this night.”

  Cheers and shouts erupted from the pack of warriors.

  “Nothing for you here, Cernunnos,” Brendan said. “Take your hunt and go back the way you came. Our quarrel is not with you.”

  “Your mate smells sweet,” Cernunnos said.

  Caitlin felt a chill run through her as the hunt began laughing and hooting. She could feel their eyes violating her.

  “I’ve been promised flesh this night, Fian,” Cernunnos continued. “If you stand aside, our quarrel with you can wait for another day.”

  Caitlin clenched her jaw, and images of Fiona filled her mind. Fury burned inside her and melted away the chill. She was tired of being afraid, tired of cowering, and, most of all, tired of obstacles keeping her from Fiona. She gripped the knife and took a step forward.

  “Fergus has my daughter!” she said. “And so help me, if I have to, I’ll cross through hell and back to get her.”

  “Well then, my lady,” Cernunnos said, “you’ve achieved half your goal. You see, we are the hordes of hell.”

  Laughter and cheers erupted from the hunt once more.