The Absinthe Earl

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  “The Faery library,” he replied. “There is somethin’ thou wilt wish to see, havin’ to do with Diarmuid’s curse.” He stuck out his chin and continued staring out the wheelhouse window.

  I frowned. “Can you not simply tell me?”

  The redcap turned then and met my gaze. “Billy swore an oath, as the Danaan warrior told thee. Some things he mayn’t say. Not without invitin’ a fate worse than death.”

  Billy shuddered, and he continued staring at me strangely. I got the sense he wished me to understand something he had left unsaid. Could it be that he truly wished to help me but was prevented from doing so directly by his blood oath to Balor? Could it be that some book in the library would explain how Diarmuid’s seal was to be broken? I didn’t like the delay in joining the others, but this detour could prove valuable. When I left Edward at Brú na Bóinne, he had not yet come to understand how or when he was to break the seal.

  “All right, Billy,” I said. “Let us go there.”

  Billy returned to his navigation, and I said, “What of my other questions, Billy? How did you know I needed rescuing?”

  “Billy knew he’d lock thee away,” he replied. “It’s in the king’s nature. As for how Billy got free—they’ve almost all of ’em left the castle. Pocketed Billy in the dungeon, did they—leavin’ in such a rush as not to be mindful a redcap can pick a lock like no other folk. And the wee rat-faces they left to mind Billy?” He sniffed in the air, flicking his thumb and finger as if at an insect. “Meh!”

  “Well, again I thank you,” I said. His story held enough water to let me breathe easier for now. It was true I had asked the king to show mercy. And heaven knew I was happy to be out of that tower.

  I left Billy to his navigation, but after a moment, he said, “Why, lady?”

  “Why what, Billy?”

  “Why ask the king to show oul Billy mercy? After them praties, an’ all?”

  I frowned, considering. It was a question I’d asked myself without receiving a satisfactory answer.

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I suppose it seemed to me you had your own troubles that caused you to make the decision you did, and not all of them were of your own making. The same may be said of us all.”

  “Hmph,” he grunted, scratching the rough stubble on his chin.

  Both Billy and I fell to musing. I wondered why the library, but perhaps it was an obvious choice. Isolde had found information there about her family tree and the alternate histories. And I had planned to visit there myself before agreeing to go with Finvara to Gallagh.

  I have seen it, offered Cliona.

  Have you? I prompted. When first I learned of my connection to the Danaan woman, I had striven, I realized now, to preserve some distance between us out of fear of what was happening to the earl. Either she had respected this or she, too, had preferred to preserve a separation. But as our peril increased, I knew that I would need her—I certainly could not expect to survive the battle without her aid—and I began to feel it was important to understand her better.

  My husband was a hard man, said she, and I could feel the mournful flavor of her words. My mother had taught me to read some Latin, and I wanted to continue my studies, as well as to read the books and documents my husband possessed. Especially during the time of my confinement with our daughter. But I was not permitted. He was God-fearing, and he believed that his neighbors would think me a witch. When I came to Brú na Bóinne, Diarmuid continued my education, and he introduced me to the library so I could read the history of my new people. It was there I found the histories of Ireland and learned that my child’s children could be lost.

  Since the night I danced with Queen Isolde, one thing that had puzzled me was the idea of the Danaan warrior poring over history books. It hardly seemed in his nature. Now I understood.

  So you went to Diarmuid with this information, I said.

  I cried over my daughter. I railed at him for making it impossible for us to be joined again in death. I told him the least he could do was save my mortal descendants. He had perhaps been selfish in some ways, but had I not also been, in trying to take my child from her father? Diarmuid deserved better from me. But he did what I asked, and it affected us all. It is no great wonder Billy hates us.

  It was impossible not to be moved by this tale of woe. I cannot fault you, I told her, and you should not fault yourself, for trying to make a better life for your child, or for your grief over your permanent separation from her. I am deeply sorry. I believe I can imagine what that might be like.

  Heaven knew I thought about my own mother every day.

  Someday, you will have your own child to worry over, Dana willing, she said. But I have been blessed to find you, and there are others—distant relations you know naught of. I have Diarmuid to thank for this.

  Why the connection between us, lady? I couldn’t help but ask. The answer Finvara had given to this question had been illuminating. Why not an Irishwoman?

  You are in part an Irishwoman, and you are the only one who bears my family legacy, the mark of Faery.

  I suppose that we also have scholarship in common.

  We had something else in common, but I could not quite bring myself to question her on that point. I had to believe that some choices had been entirely my own.

  I glanced up at the helm then, wondering how long it would take us to reach the Faery library, which I understood to be superimposed, dimensionally speaking, on the library at Trinity College.

  I noticed we were approaching a larger ship—a Gap galleon. I thought at first it was the Queen of Connacht, but then I glimpsed the baleful eyes of its figurehead.

  “Billy!” I cried, starting to my feet. “That’s a Fomorian ship!”

  “Ach, aye,” he muttered grimly.

  THE FAIRY GATE

  Edward

  I had never seen so many soldiers gathered in one place. Standing with Isolde and Finvara atop a hill beside Drumcliff Castle, near Sligo Bay, we surveyed the queen’s army. They were arrayed on the plain between us and the southern slopes of Ben Bulben, green coats vivid against the winter grass. Thousands of bayonets shone sharp and bright as the clear December day. Columns of smoke rose from their breakfast fires. Did they understand what would happen this day? It was a soldier’s lot not to question, but I did not envy them the awakening they were about to receive, and I hoped against my suspicions that Isolde had adequately prepared them.

  In these quiet moments before the battle, I permitted myself to wonder about Ada. What was she doing at this moment?

  Cursing your name, was my ancestor’s reply. Within the tone of reproach, I detected a note of smugness. Diarmuid, I knew, would never have let her out of his sight. I wasn’t sure which of us was the more selfish.

  Finvara would not speak of her other than to confirm the success of their mission to the bog and assure me that she was unharmed. He made it clear that he considered it his business—that he now considered her his business. For the time being, I would have to tolerate him.

  I knew that my ancestor’s thoughts were at least half occupied with the vengeance he would seek against the fairy king despite my promise to exact none.

  I had guarded my own thoughts well in this endeavor, and my ancestor had not become aware of my intention until I wrote my brief letter. At that point, I had only to present it to my feathered courier, procured for me in advance by the lady Caer, before any coup over the body we shared could be mounted. “Rage” was too mild a descriptor for Diarmuid’s reaction, but by then, even he understood that nothing could be done. This business of war could not be postponed while he was off rescuing his lady. Also, I got the sense he believed he would see Cliona before the battle was decided. I could only hope he was wrong. It would probably mean loss of the aid she had promised—that of the banshees—but it was difficult to imagine that this loss would significantly affect the outco
me.

  When this was over, I would return to Faery and free her. It might very well be the end of our association. But I would sooner lose her than sacrifice her—along with anyone else who may have become part of this bargain. She and I had never spoken of the more earthly hazards of our coupling, but they had never been far from my mind. I intended to do right by her if she would let me, but if not, I would at least do all I could to prevent her suffering in any way for her decision to give herself to me.

  One of Isolde’s generals joined us on the hill to discuss battle strategy. I viewed this as premature, as still missing from the scene before us were both the fairies and the Danaan warriors. But as I observed her discourse with her female commanding officer—noting the difference in the queen’s demeanor, not only her respectful tone and lack of archness, but the way she leaned in, lightly touching the other woman’s arm, and the softness in her gaze—something occurred to me that hadn’t before. I realized that I’d been a fool not to see it, and that there had been less whimsy in some of her actions than I had imagined.

  “It is time, Edward.” The queen addressed me in a tone of command. “If you cannot do it, you must give over to Diarmuid.”

  “It is time,” I repeated faintly, my gaze shifting beyond her to a rock face high on the southwestern end of Ben Bulben. Many compared the mountain to a table, and indeed its treeless summit was nearly flat and crookedly oblong. The north side featured a formidable cliff-like face considered too dangerous to scale. The slopes on this southern side were gentler, yet still stark and imposing.

  For some time, I had been studying the bleak slab, and now a square of white limestone directly above the queen’s crown of dark plaits caught my eye. The fairy door. With this discovery came another realization: this was the weakest point of the seal. Once it was broken, through that door would cross fairy, Danaan, and Fomorian alike.

  But how was I to break it? How was I even to reach it?

  A ragged scolding cry tore at the morning, and I glanced skyward. A huge crow circled high overhead, and with each circle it wound closer to us.

  The Morrigan.

  It became clear she would land, and we shifted to make room as her great wings beat wind in our faces. A sinuous movement of her neck brought her black-beaded gaze to bear on me.

  A wordless understanding passed between her and my ancestor, and in that moment, I knew what I must do. I moved to her side, and she bent low, inviting me to climb onto her back.

  “Edward?” said the queen.

  Reaching between neck feathers, I grasped a hard quill at its base and hauled myself up. I checked that the pistol at my side was secure, and then drew Great Fury. Turning to the queen, I said, “Be ready.”

  The Morrigan lifted from the hilltop. If I’d found travel on the back of the water horse hair-raising, it was nothing to this. Soaring high above the battlefield, I could see across mountain, plain, and bogland to the east, and beyond the white-capped breakers rolling through the bay to the west, where ships of the royal navy approached like great storm clouds.

  We climbed high above Ben Bulben, where the atmosphere was cold and thin, and then suddenly we were dropping back toward the earth. Cold air blasted the hair back from my face, and I tightened my grip on the hilt of Great Fury, locking my gaze on the fast-approaching face of the mountain.

  Be ready, my ancestor admonished as I had admonished the queen.

  At the last moment, I raised the sword higher and swung with all my might in a downward arc. There came a blinding flash as the ancient blade clanged against the square of limestone, striking so hard that the weapon vibrated out of my hand and slipped from my fingers. The impact deflected the Morrigan’s light avian form, and we tumbled away from the mountain. I gripped a quill in each hand, closing my thighs against feathered sides, and somehow managed to remain astride as she righted herself in midair—just in time for me to watch the prow of a ship materialize directly before us.

  “Good God!” I muttered as the vessel pushed through a gaping hole in the side of the mountain, sailing right into the sun-washed Irish morning, dragging a black storm cloud behind her. At once I recognized Death Rattler—the Gap galleon crewed by the Fomorians who had attacked the Queen of Connacht.

  And suddenly, my heart, like the sword, plunged away from me. For on the deck of that ghastly vessel stood Ada Quicksilver. Over her loomed my enemy, Balor Evil Eye, the Fomorian king, commander of the Plague Warriors.

  “Close the gate!” bellowed Balor. His voice came at me like howling wind, rolling boulders, and raging rivers. Six-inch talons curled around the slender neck of the woman I loved, and something twisted horribly in my gut. “Close the gate behind us, and we shall negotiate the terms of your surrender.”

  Closing the gate would prevent both Finvara’s subjects and the Danaan from returning to Ireland to aid us; this I understood. And had I any idea how to do it—or any assurance that it would really save her—I would not hesitate.

  It will not, so we must find another way.

  “Fire!” The wind carried the voice of the queen’s general from the battlefield below us, followed by the din of perhaps a thousand rifles firing at once. I expected to hear bullets whizzing past my ear. Half expected them to pierce my own hide or the Morrigan’s, as we were so close to the target. I shouted for Ada to get down, knowing it was pointless.

  But in the aftermath of this violent noise, there was silence, and it appeared to me that neither ship nor captain had been hit.

  I reached for my sword before remembering that it was gone, and then drew my pistol.

  “Land on the figurehead!” I shouted, and the Morrigan’s flight path adjusted accordingly.

  The moment she lighted atop the fiery demon, I raised my weapon and fired directly at Balor’s white-lidded eye—and heard the click of a misfire. Then the weapon exploded right out of my hands, its barrel striking my right cheekbone painfully before it bounced off the demon’s snout and plummeted toward the ground.

  Anger boiled inside me—the anger of Diarmuid, who recognized interference from the Morrigan.

  Treacherous hag!

  Thus I was reminded she was not on our side, but on the side of the battle itself.

  I reached out for Great Fury with my thoughts, and the thrum of blood lust revealed its location on the battlefield below. But I could not leave Ada on Death Rattler.

  Ada

  “Call the Danaan!” I shouted at the earl, and the viselike grip on my neck closed even tighter, choking off my voice.

  Pulling hopelessly at what felt like iron pincers at my throat, I stared in horror at my captor. He was a dark-scaled monster with an oversize block of a head. The fangs of his lower jaw protruded several inches above gray lips, and his bare broad chest was the color of soot but covered with chalky burn marks that looked like Nordic runes. He watched the earl with one catlike eye while the other remained covered with a filmy white lid.

  Suddenly, the Fomorian king flung me aside like a child’s doll, and I struck the deck with force, not far from the booted feet of my betrayer, Billy Millstone. I watched, horrified, as Balor reached up and, with two talons, plucked at the film over his eye.

  “Diarmuid!” I screamed. If the lid was raised, we would not survive. Frantic, I scrambled to my feet so I could see the Morrigan. She and the earl were circling Death Rattler, dodging the spears the Fomorian crewmen were now hurling at them. The light of the Danaan shone out brightly from the earl’s countenance.

  “The foe is upon us!” shouted Diarmuid in a voice that surely carried across the Irish Sea to England. “For the Danaan! For Ireland!”

  Balor roared balefully, and my hands flew to my ears while the deck vibrated beneath me. A beam of crimson light streamed from the opening eye, knocking Diarmuid and the battle crow from their orbit.

  Crying out in alarm, I scrambled toward the rail, but a thunderous ba
ttle cry took my attention. Behind us, the fairy gate still yawned open, a black tunnel in the side of the mountain. Far below us, at ground level, warriors began pouring out of the blackness, roaring like wild beasts and waving swords in the air.

  Now come the Danaan! cried Cliona in relief, confirming my hopes.

  Balor turned his head slowly, but the Danaan, directly beneath us, were out of range of the deadly beam. He stepped forward, tipping his head over the rail, and the red beam swept down and across the battlefield, wreaking a wide swath of destruction right through the queen’s army. Gunpowder exploded, horses shrieked, and soldiers screamed as they were hurled into the air. When the beam cut off, the great eyelid closing at last, I saw that the ground had been scarred black in the shape of a lazy S. There were hundreds of broken and bleeding bodies.

  At this rate, the Fomorians need never lift a sword.

  “Why will their rifles not work properly?” I shouted at Billy, having no one else to ask.

  “Simple spells,” he muttered, “them that interfere with mechanicals. Especially them that need fire.”

  Of course. I remembered what Finvara had said about the spell for conjuring a fairy light—the easiest thing in the world. Rifles used combustion. Fire, water, air, earth—fairy peoples were masters of elemental manipulation.

  Powder is tricky among fairies, Mr. Yeats had told me.

  “This is dire,” I moaned, digging my nails into the railing. “They are defenseless.”

  The crow bearing Diarmuid suddenly appeared again to the ship’s port side, and the Danaan warrior held Great Fury high in the air. Death Rattler appeared to be creating weather around it, darkening the clear winter sky. Lightning cracked in the clouds, making the ancient blade flash.

  “Billy swore a blood oath, lady,” said the redcap in a pleading tone. “He could not help himself before, and he cannot help thee now.”

  “What!” I snapped, annoyed at the timing of this useless confession.

  But Billy wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at his spear, which lay on the ground between us.