by R J Darby
“I know how it sounds, but you must wait!” Rowan pleaded as he grasped the leprechaun by the arm.
“Hogwash!” The leprechaun snatched away to the direction of the hall, only to alert the gorta to his position by his movements and have one on top of him within half a minute. The remaining group huddled together as the crunch of bones was heard.
“Please, see, we need a way out soon.” Rowan was certain of his wife's ability. Blessed or not with banshee blood, however, there was a more pressing certainty; that sounds the gorta would have run out of lives to tear from the mortal coil and turn their attention to their little group. His respect among the people wears thin as he have them stay with the body locked woman and cobbler, feeling as though they were within the eye of the storm, and soon, the lightning would reach them. All they could do was watch and hope that she may see something.
The siege goes on. There is destruction everywhere, and the air is filled with the tang of blood and the clash of weapons. A leprechaun with hair as orange as a flame, scarcely able to call herself woman rather than a girl, shouts out to the women and children. Despite her age, they follow her. There is a jewel on her cloak that marks her out as the daughter of the general. If anyone can guide them to safety, it is her.
Ahead of this flame-haired woman are four burial mounds (which by the birth of Naimh will have increased tenfold). She directs them to one in the center. It is a cairn made up of particularly heavy stones. Each one is twice the size of those on the other mounds. Several are taller than the leprechaun themselves, including the descendants of the Merrow, who can be distinguished by a flick of blue within their eyes.
“I need you all to push.” The woman is obeyed immediately. She commands even greater respect than Rowan - perhaps even more than a banshee. Regardless of the confused look on their faces, each lof the eprechauns did their part. Both old women with hands without fingerprints from years of filing in workshops and soft ones that are barely big enough to lift the usual kind of pebble to toss onto a cairn as they passed by, work together.
The stone is shifted. Instead of a wall of rocks (which is what could be expected), there is darkness. The inside of this burial mound does not house a body. It is a tunnel, one which has been built in secret preparation for the potential siege, and one that the daughter of the general knows will be the only hope.
With a wave of her hand, she directs people into the shadows and hands to every tenth woman a glowing torch. Children do not want to enter what appears to be a jaw of everlasting darkness and are carried, sometimes two or three at a time inwards.
The red-headed woman turns her head to see how many more are left. The line is shortening - as is the distance between them and the attackers. She will not go in before the others, however. That is not the way a woman of a dignified line behaves.
By the time she can get herself into the long tunnel, the enemy is close. A refreshing warm hit her. Whether it is from the shelter of the earth which goes deep within or the knowledge that there is just enough time to activate the level within that will close the entranceway, she does not know. With the speed of an eel cutting through the rivers, she pulls it down. The stone begins to move back to its place.
But not before an arrow hits her so squarely in the chest that it slits the side of her heart. For a second, there is nothing but silence. Then she gurgles as blood begins to pour from her mouth, staining her pretty lips with rouge in preparation for her burial.
One thought crosses her mind. It is not her family or her friends. It is not even of the bee she had adopted many years ago until the return of his hive well she lovingly let him free. The thought that crosses her mind is one that has been so deeply ingrained in her by her father, but it seems almost happy that she can finally achieve it.
Protect the people.
As her life forces its way out of her body, her hand remains staunchly gripped. She will not let go of this lever. The reapers may have her soul, but not until they have allowed her the courtesy of seeing the door shut. Even if that would mean her time to accept death would pass.,
As the final crack of light coming through from the Quiet Place and the glow of flames with lost behind her and darkness engulfed the passage, so did it take her. Her hand slipped away, and she fell, taking her last breath of the musky air in the place she loved most and had sworn to protect, she smiled.
“This way!” Naimh pointed towards the cairn from her vision. Rowan ran with her the moment she began to go, and although others lingered, they soon went with them.
“This is blaspheme.” One said, not that he was going to argue with a potential plan to save his life.
“The center cairn, the one with the bigger rocks. It is a passageway. There are just enough of us to open it.”
“You are a grand woman!" Rowan tangled his fingers with hers as they ran together.
“We'll be sound when we get in, but for now, don't waste a single bit of energy on a breath. Run.” The last word was punctuated with such a strength that no one would believe her if she had said so on her own accord, but she was only one part in fifty banshees. They would scarcely have believed half leprechaun.
Once within the cairn, they stood still with hearts beating in unison, first quickly and then slowing down.
“I thought that you said this was not a burial.” Rowan nodded towards a skeleton slumped against the wall with bones old enough that they look like they would turn to powder if touched. Rotting fabric hung off of the figure, and the weight of an old emblem dragged them further downwards.
Naimh clutched the lever, hoping that it would still work after all of this time. The wood snapped in her hand.
“No!”
“Let me.” She was soon rummaging in his pockets. He took out a wood handles file and jammed the point into the crumbling timber that had once driven the mechanism. There was not enough room. Splinters still blocked his way. And in the distance, the deadly gorta had turned their attention towards the escape route. They hurtled towards it with the speed of the arrow that had pierced the brave young woman's chest so many centuries before. Thankfully, they were much further away, but the archers had been. Nevertheless, it was going to be close.
Rowan used his file to smash out what remained of the old lever. It was possibly the most inelegant carving which he had ever done, and if his tool had a voice of its own, it would have screamed at him for being used in such an undignified manner. Wood so rotten, but the inner reaches had turned black and scattered over the leprechauns who huddled within the entrance.
“Hurry!”
“Almost... there!” Rowan jammed the file within the crude gap and held it down. All eyes were on the closing entrance, apart from those of Naimh.
Naimh, using the last of the light from the rising sun which filled the sky with a red that matched the land, knelt down to the skeleton.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “I want you to know that if it wasn't for the vision of your death, these people would be dead by now. You've saved more than you could have imagined. I promise you I will endeavor to do the same. Be at rest.” Naimh drew out the arrow from the warrior woman's chest with as much gentleness as she would have pulled a thorn from her children's fingers. The skull rocked forwards as if to give a gracious nod. Perhaps if the door had allowed them a second more of light, Naimh might have convinced herself that she saw a smile on those chalky bones, but it was shut.
A thud hit the outside of the stone. Even a fear gorta cannot break through the will of the Earth elemental that lives within stones and crystals.
There seemed to be almost perfect darkness. Maybe if you had a visit vision long ago, she would have saved the children and brought torches along with her. Accompanying the darkness was a quiet - broken only by the slow breathing of those who could not quite believe that they had survived.
Naimh crumbled. The vision had taken so much more out of her than usual, and the weight of the death of all of those children was pushing down on her shou
lders. Still, she felt an ache within her to repent for all that she had caused by denying the truth of who she was. For her children, she would go on.
Rowan, as if he too had some mystical powers, found her form with ease. He slipped his arms underneath her without a single fumble and began to carry her.
“Are you going to take your file?”
“No. Best to leave it in case others need to find their way in the future. Would someone go ahead of me? I would not want to trip while carrying her.”
Not one, but all, lead the way in gratitude. In that black cavern that seemed to go on forever as they shuffled their way along, the survivors will like a royal procession. Naimh and Rowan where king and queen after saving all their lives. All of the titles, jewels, and gold within the world would not be able to fill the void that grew within them. Without even conscious consideration, the two leprechauns took on their new role, not for the glory of it, but from the need to bring meaning to the slaughter of their family.
As Naimh's eyelids drooped with the exhaustion of all that happened, she could not help but feel a kinship to the deceased redhead at the door. Both families had lost so much that repentance seemed like an unfathomable thing. Naimh hoped that after all of this time, the girl could find some solace. More likely though - she pondered before slipping into a dreamless sleep that would last for several hours - the thing which they had most in common more than unfillable and eternal heartache.
Chapter Four
A Tale Of Love And Loss
Six hours had passed before any of the group felt like the gorta are even close to far enough away. The shock of what happened formed over them like a cloud, and in those few hours they had only begun to process a little of what had happened. Realization fell on them like rain; however, a few drops of an overfull cloud. The party found themselves coming into a lush and verdant land, one which had small buildings of stone and a spring which flowed into a river so clear that it looks like polished quartz. By the mouth of this river, they allowed themselves a rest to drink.
“Where are we going?” asked the girl, as she cupped her hands in the shallows as a makeshift cup.
“The Kingdom. and the people there need to hear what has happened.” Naimh said. Hardly any of them had been to the Kingdom before. Actually, hardly any of them had left the safety of the Quiet Place before. With the exception of the old man, Jeremiah, and their two leaders, none of them had ever been beyond the rockery walls. The heads were too filled with the stories of devious humans to venture out, quite rightly so. Never expect that their home would actually have caused the fall silent one day.
“I think that is noble of you.” Jeremiah nodded. “I just heard that I have a position for a cobbler, or maybe even a woodsman, for an old man like me. In all of my years, I thought I would die in the Quiet Place.”
“You nearly did,” mumbled a leprechaun to his left, whom he ignored and continued to speak.
“I thought that it would be a comfort to me, knowing that I'd already lost my wife so very long ago. I should have liked to have gone in my sleep, surrounded by our shared things.”
Leprechaun, who snarked before, spoke up. “Then why did you bother to come with us? If you're already defeated, what point was there?”
“Enough.” Rowan furrowed his forehead with his eyebrows knitting together. “Each of us is allowed to tell their story. After all, the oral tradition might be all that we have after this. We've all lost people - dear people I might add - and I wanted to lay down and die as well, but that does not mean that I'm going to. We're all stressed, but keep your opinions to yourself.”
“I thought we all had a story to tell?”
“Yes, and once we get to the Kingdom, we will tell them, but if we beat up on ourselves, we will not get there.”
“I don't have to tell anyone such a depressing yarn as this. I'm angry. If your wife is such a witch, then why did she not predict this?” He jabbed a finger at Naimh with such force that the air in front of it made for a very small sonic boom.
The inside of her mouth felt as dry as cracked earth after a drought. He had a very good point. Although the man was grasping at straws in an attempt to displace is anger elsewhere, the throw of his stone had hit its target, plunging into truth. It did not matter, but the others did not know what her premonition had told her long before the spring equinox festival because she knew. She knew she had failed.
“She isn't a witch.” Rowan huffed. “And I would appreciate it if you didn't link as with words that connotate the mortals. We are leprechauns, not humans. Our magic comes from the gift the earth, from the gods and goddesses of the old. We do not bribe for it like a witch. Why sir! The way you throw out insincerity is not like a leprechaun at all. I think you should apologize to my wife.”
“I think she should apologize but not using her powers sooner.”
“Why you- you- you, Pooka!" Rowan was shaking his fist as the other man stood. It seemed that the fight was brewing. As if they had not already seen enough destruction for one lifetime. Naimh's fragile tones came between them.
“I cannot control when I get the vision.” She did not want to admit to anything else, but at least that was the truth, and she was going to tell the truth from now on, no matter what. Denial was almost as bad as lying, and it was plain to see what it had caused.
“Hmph! That's convenient, isn't it.” The man snatched up his coat and pulled it on with such force that it made a whip sound in the air. “I'm going. I feel safer alone than going with a group that follows the advice of a trickster witch. People like you give all of us tricksters a bad name.” With that said, he stormed off without a single goodbye.
“I'm sorry, my love.” Rowan rubbed her back.
“It's not your fault.”
Jeremiah added, “it's not anyone's fault. Not anyone but those gortas.”
Naimh wanted very much to be able to believe what he said, and although it was the gorta who attacked, she knew that she had left her people down. Let her family down. Her husband. Her children. Her friends. Everyone. As the callous combination of grief and guilt struck her in an unyielding manner, Naimh did not have it within her to correct him. Too much had already been taken. It felt as though her secret sin was the glue that was holding together the essence of her being. She had to cling onto that to stay alive for her husband. Morso, something deep within her wanted to be punished. Silent tears trickled down her cheek.
After a while, another of the rescued leprechaun spoke up. She was a village girl who had only lived two doors away and for a time had taken to being Rowan's apprentice, before the inevitable interest in boys had distracted her distracted or attention. Notably, her young man was not among them.
“I have to ask what everyone is wondering. I don't believe you are a witch, and even if I did, I would not be so mean as to say that. But Rowan, why is it that Naimh can see things?” She would have asked the woman herself, that would only be respectful, yes she feared that the answer would be clogged with yet more tears. Whether or not Naimh had known something, she had always been kind to the girl, and after thinking about it, she had decided that she would not believe such a thing as the existence of gorta either.
“Now there's an interesting revelation," Rowan paused to take a long breath that raised his chest before going on to tell the group of the rumors of banshee heritage. He spoke of how it was a story passed on between mothers and daughters throughout their family line that Naimh's great great great great great great great grandfather, or something to that effect, had been such a wily trickster but his wife simply could not keep him on the straight and narrow. Not that it mattered because she had only married him because she wanted children. Unfortunately, she should have been more specific in what she wished for. As a leprechaun, that should have been basic.
“Anyway,” Rowan continued, “they say that this great great great great - whatever he was, I'm going to say grandfather from now on if I use up all of the words I have -
this great grandfather, like to see who exactly he could trick. He had made his way through many humans-”
“But as we all know, they are very stupid. That's not much of an accomplishment.” Jeremiah chuckled, giving the first shade of laughter to the group since before the attack.
“Quite right! Anyway, he wanted to move on to something bigger. They say he likes a challenge. After taking the usual kind of town folk, he moved on to the Gypsies. Now or none of us would cross those. They know too much compared to their humble counterparts and almost trying to be the line between human and spirit.” The rest agreed. Gypsies, or travelers as many called them, were much more palatable to the leprechauns than the stock standard human. For one thing, they were more respectful of the land, which in turn meant that they highly valued the legacy of a leprechaun.
Rowan went on. “I don't quite know when which order he tricked other magical beings. Honestly, I think that each family added to the story. It is quite hard to tell when I found myself believing it was only a tall tale for as long as Naimh told it to Ivy.” Saying the name prickled like a holly bush.
“What kind of creatures did he trick?” Jeremiah asked.
“Many. There was one account of a mermaid, whom he persuaded would be better off with legs like a Merrow. By all accounts, that was how he managed to persuade her to swim into a shallow pool. He told her that when the tide went out, she would be in the company of humans. I don't understand why perhaps the idea of a water creature being able to travel the land is somewhat like our desire to be able to fly like a bird?”
“We would never try to do such a thing, though.”
“If this great grandfather set his mind on persuading you, I tell you! You would be on a roof with pork feathers tied to your arms. “
“And he would be getting a jolly good laugh.”
“Exactly. Now the problem was that he had told her she would be surrounded by humans, and she now have to take this as becoming one - understandable considering our ability to grant wishes.”
